“Precisely?” Robert asked, relief making him foolish. He was favored with a withering look. “I beg your pardon.” He cleared his throat and banished the smile from his face. “I believe that I can answer your questions. No need to disturb Mr. Lynch.”
“Hmm. Yes, well, thought it best to speak to the people in that there area at the same time as the snatch. Find out if anyone saw the two characters who made off with you and Miss Whitfield.”
“There was a third man as well.”
“Hmm, indeed, Morley, but not until the farm. I’ll get to that later.”
“Are you going to visit the Beyer farm?” Robert thought about his burning need to throw Cassidy into a secure cell somewhere around dawn tomorrow. The farm was really too far away—the wine cellar of his town house would have to do.
“Pardon?” Robert realized that his internal thoughts had overshadowed Mr. Warner’s dialogue.
The Runner stopped midsentence, fixed Robert with a steely look—which made him squirm like a schoolboy—and rocked back on his heels. “Something wrong?”
“Distracted is all.”
“Abduction and violence not of interest, Mr. Newton? You must live an exciting life. Thought you were a clerk.”
Robert clenched his jaw briefly before he spoke—clearly and without any hesitation. “I am a lawyer’s clerk, Mr. Warner, and while it might not be the most exciting of careers to some, I feel it is worthwhile and immensely satisfying. Miss Whitfield’s abduction is of grave concern to me; however, at present I am greatly distracted by a difficult situation involving a friend.”
“A difficult legal situation?”
“Why do you ask that?” Robert said quickly—too quickly if one used the smug look on Mr. Warner’s face as a barometer. With a swallow of discomfort, Robert offered the man a weak smile.
“You are a lawyer’s clerk, as you said, Mr. Newton. Stands to reason that a friend might come to you on a legal issue.”
“Oh, yes, right. Exactly.” But it was too late, the Runner was aware that something was decidedly amiss.
With brows raised, the Runner stopped rocking on his heels and leaned toward Robert. It was a very predatory stance.
Robert swallowed yet again.
“Has a friend of yours gotten into difficulty? Is he involved in Miss Whitfield’s abduction?”
“No, no. Of course not. One has nothing to do with the other.” Robert reassured the Runner as best he could, leaning away, trying not to feel intimidated. “His situation is more immediate—his danger is imminent—whereas Lydia’s danger has passed.” Robert cringed upon hearing Lydia’s first name slip out, and he shook his head in disbelief.
Mr. Warner chose to ignore the faux pas, for Robert was certain that the slip had not gone unnoticed. “Would this danger involve a dawn meeting?”
“That is a leap of logic that I do not understand.”
“Come now,” Mr. Warner said in a bonhomie sort of way. He straightened and began to rock back and forth on his heels again. “You society pups are not original. No surprises in your high spirits. Been getting into scrapes in the same way for years: gambling, riding neck-or-nothing, chasing a bit of muslin. None of these would call for the use of the word dangerous.”
“I misspoke.”
“Think not, young sir. I believe that you, being a clerk and all, are very careful with words. No, don’t think dipping too deep could be called dangerous, or even drawing someone’s cork. Pockets to let is more of a waste, what with all your blunt, and, well, the petticoat line is a whole lot of trouble—but, again, not dangerous. No, if I were a betting man—and I’m not—I would say your friend might be facing a pistol at dawn. That is not only dangerous, it is illegal.”
“Of course it is.” Robert turned to the window and scrubbed at his face before resting his forehead on the cold glass. He had to decide if Rennoll was a menace to avoid … or stop.
“It’s a practice that requires luck and skill. Wouldn’t want to count on either, if it were me.”
“Indeed. Is that all you need to begin your investigation? I will not feel any security for Miss Whitfield until the criminals are found. It was no happenstance. The thugs were waiting, knew her name and nature. It was planned—”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Newton. And the sooner I get started the better. Give me a day or two here, and then I’ll need to speak to the young lady in question.”
Robert lifted his head with a start and a smile. “Oh, of course. I shall drive to Roseberry Hall with you, to initiate the introduction.”
“A letter would suffice.”
“No, no,” Robert turned. “With all that has occurred, a stranger requesting an interview might be somewhat disconcerting. I wouldn’t want Miss Whitfield to feel any misgivings.” Though Robert was certain Lydia would take it all in stride—not nonplussed in the least—he still felt an overwhelming urge to see her, to smell her soft lavender scent, and to watch the light in her eyes sparkle as she laughed.… “Pardon?” Robert realized there was a great deal of silence emanating from the other side of the room. He flushed in discomfort; he had been caught woolgathering for the second time in their short meeting.
“Distracted again?” asked the Runner. “Not by the same thing, I’m thinking.”
Robert had never observed before that a silly smile pasted onto a person of a serious character could look quite out of place—as if the lifted cheeks caused pain.
“No, indeed. A very different subject.”
“Not dangerous, I’m thinking.”
“Indeed not.” Robert would almost welcome the return to their discussion about dueling. “So then, we are settled in regard to your investigation. You have enough to start with?” Robert heard the repetition of his words and flinched.
“Yes, I believe I have it all straight. Still, I must warn you, and this will likely come as no surprise, there is a good chance that I will not discover who is behind this foul deed. We don’t always succeed.”
“Yes, I understand. It is what I expected, though I do hope that this will not be one of those cases.”
The Bow Street Runner’s shrug was not in the least reassuring.
*
Lydia tripped and would have taken a tumble had she not been holding Hugh’s hand.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked, helping her into the carriage.
Frustrated by her clumsiness, Lydia settled beside Cora and then turned to stare at the offending step. “Yes, yes. Splendid. Thank you,” she replied absentmindedly.
“Are you sure?” It was Cora’s turn to fret needlessly.
When Lydia turned, exasperated by the fussing, she met a confused rather than worried expression. “Why? Do I not look fine?”