Fortunately, Mr. Kent, as always, set about distracting me. “So, as the world’s greatest detective, I prefer to give my solution last and put all the other proposed ideas to shame. Did you have a plan before I got myself tangled up in this?”
“I did—I mean, I do. You know, you don’t have to continue this detective act for my sake. I appreciate your help all the same.”
Mr. Kent cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not an act. The only reason I’ve never called myself one before is I didn’t want to put the other detectives to shame by association.”
“Oh, I see. It all makes sense now,” I said, dropping the matter. “I’ll keep my inferior idea short, then. Mr. Cheval wants Rose’s nursing expertise to help his sick sister. If her illness was tricky enough to make him search for Rose, I’m sure many other London doctors and medical societies were consulted for the case. One of them may know where to find Rose.”
He made a noncommittal hmm.
“And failing that, I suppose we might inquire at some chemist and druggist shops. Rose will need to replace the medical supplies she left behind, and we’ve always had a little joke about how linseed oil seems to cure most of our patients. We can start there and compare the contents of her bag with recent purchases at these stores.”
Mr. Kent nodded and clicked his tongue, thinking hard before he finally spoke. “You show promise, but allow me to demonstrate what my very real and true detective expertise can achieve.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I had this wild idea that we might ask some doctors about recent tricky illnesses, or alternatively, we might check the sales records at chemist and druggist shops.”
“Two brilliant ideas. Wherever would I be without you?” I said, trying my best to restrain my smile. Laughing should have been a relief, but it felt wrong, unearned. The warmth shared between us was both confusing and consoling.
After we sailed down another smooth thoroughfare and bumped over a few cobblestone streets, Mr. Kent rapped the roof, and the cab jolted to a stop by a corner.
“I will take a short jaunt around the block. Wouldn’t want to give them the idea we traveled together.” He paid the driver with a few coins, gave me a parting wink, and hopped out.
A little ways down the road, the cab found an open curb outside the Kents’ small but pleasing redbrick townhouse. The horse halted and let out a huff, as if he could barely withstand the city smells himself. The driver handed me out and waited by the cab while I climbed the stairs to the entrance.
The front door opened to reveal the Kents’ steward, Tuffins, who greeted me with a pleasant, formal air. “Miss Wyndham, welcome. Shall I send for your luggage?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you, Tuffins. How have you been? I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”
“There is never a bad time for your visits,” he replied.
As welcoming as I remember. I suspected his fondness for me stemmed from the fact that I was one of the few people who never made a request for “muffins” and snickered at the horrendous rhyme.
A footman dragged my trunk from the cab while Tuffins led me into the main entrance hall. The Kents’ home was richly decorated with fine, full carpets, silk drapery, and the typical furnishings, but my attention was seized by the countless family portraits lining the wall as if they were the wallpaper. Images of magnanimous men looking into the distance and stately women folding their hands in their laps repeated endlessly, only with slight changes for fashion over the years. If I ever had any burning questions of whether the Kent family had reputable ancestors, this hallway would hit me over the head with answers. No wonder Mr. Kent had established bachelor’s quarters elsewhere in London as soon as he could.
Tuffins ascended the main stairs. “Miss Kent has asked me to bring you upst—”
“Ev-e-lyn!” a voice chirped from the floor above.
I braced myself for the attack as Laura bounded down the stairs. Less fifteen-year-old girl and more pure energy that somehow took a human shape, she had the perpetual look of being about to fly apart at the seams: hair clinging for dear life, loose ribbons ready to untie, stockings half unfurled.
“I got tired of waiting!” she announced, embracing me tightly, her head tucked below my shoulders. She was almost my height, but the way she hugged me suggested she still hadn’t quite adjusted to that. “Ooh, I hope you’ll stay for a while. It’s been so dreadfully boring without you or Nick here! I tried to get Tuffins to hire a French spy or a man with a mysterious sort of scar, but our new footman is neither!”
“Sorry to disappoint, my lady,” Tuffins put in, leading us back up the stairs.
“You’re quite lucky Miss Wyndham’s arrival saved you!” she told him, then turned to gaze at me in her alarming, wide-eyed way. “Nick’s message sounded ever so distressing and urgent! What’s happ—wait! First, you must surprise everyone!”
“Surprise everyone? Laura—wait, did you even tell your mother I was comi—”