“Hello,” Pandora said faintly.
He took a step toward her. Something about the movement sparked the same instinctive response she felt upon seeing a spider’s articulated skitter, or a snake’s undulation.
“Milady,” Mrs. O’Cairre burst out, quickly moving into his path and taking Pandora’s arm, “the warehouse is no place for you . . . your fine dress . . . there’s grime and oil everywhere. Let me take you back inside.”
“I’m sorry,” Pandora said in confusion, letting the woman bustle her quickly to the gallery and into the shop offices. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting, but—”
“You didn’t.” The woman forced a light laugh. “The deliveryman was just telling me about a problem with an order. I’m afraid I must see to it right away. I hope I’ve given you enough information and samples.”
“Yes. Have I caused a problem? I’m sorry—”
“No, but it would be best if you left now. There is much to do here.” She ushered Pandora through the office, snatching up the valise by its handles without stopping. “Here is your bag, milady.”
Confused and chagrinned, Pandora went through the shop with her, toward the front where Dragon was waiting.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how much time it will take,” Mrs. O’Cairre said. “The problem with the order, that is. If it turns out that we’ll be too busy to print your game, there’s a printer I can recommend. Pickersgill’s, in Marylebone. They’re very good.”
“Thank you,” Pandora said, staring at her in concern. “Again, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”
The printer smiled slightly, although her air of urgency remained. “Bless you, milady. I wish you very well.” Her gaze flickered to Dragon’s unreadable face. “You’d best go quickly—the construction and street traffic worsens toward the evening.”
Dragon responded with a short nod. He took the bag from Pandora, opened the door, and whisked her outside unceremoniously. They proceeded along the wooden plank walk toward the waiting carriage. “What happened?” Dragon asked brusquely, reaching out to steer her around a rotting hole in the planks.
“Oh, Dragon, it was so very odd.” Pandora described the situation rapidly, some of her words tumbling over each other, but he seemed to follow without difficulty. “I shouldn’t have gone out to the warehouse,” she finished contritely. “But I—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” It wasn’t a reprimand, only a quiet confirmation.
“I think it was bad that I saw that man. Perhaps there’s a romantic involvement between him and Mrs. O’Cairre, and they don’t want to be found out. But it didn’t look that way.”
“Did you see anything else? Anything in the warehouse that didn’t seem to belong?”
Pandora shook her head as they reached the carriage. “I can’t think of anything.”
Dragon opened the door and pulled the step down for her. “I want you and the driver to wait here for five minutes. I have to do something.”
“What is it?” Pandora asked, climbing into the carriage. She sat and took the valise from him.
“Call of nature.”
“Footmen don’t really have calls of nature. Or at least they’re not supposed to mention it.”
“Keep the shades down,” he told her. “Lock the door, and don’t open it for anyone.”
“What if it’s you?”
“Don’t open it for anyone,” Dragon repeated patiently.
“We should come up with a secret signal. A special knock—”
He closed the door firmly before she could finish.
Disgruntled, Pandora settled back into the seat. If there was anything worse than feeling bored or anxious, it was feeling both things at the same time. She cupped her hand over her ear and tapped the back of her skull, trying to settle an annoying high-pitched tone. It took a few minutes of dedicated tapping. Finally she heard Dragon’s voice outside the carriage, and felt the faint jostle of the vehicle as he climbed up beside the driver. The carriage pulled away and proceeded along Farringdon, heading out of Clerkenwell.
By the time they returned to the Queen’s Gate terrace, Pandora was nearly beside herself with impatient curiosity. It took all her self-restraint to keep from exploding out of the carriage when Dragon opened the door and pulled down the step.
“Did you go back into the printer’s shop?” she demanded, remaining seated. It would be improper to stand outside and talk with him on the street, but there would be no privacy once they entered the house. “Did you talk to Mrs. O’Cairre? Did you see the man I told you about?”
“I pushed my way in to have a look around,” Dragon admitted. “She was none too pleased, but no one there could stop me. I didn’t see the man.”