The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

Tomas placed a tatty pocketbook on the table and flicked to the relevant page. “I took notes on everyone who came in after you left, ma’am.”

“So you remained in the taproom for two hours?” Lucius attempted to clarify. It was the first chance he’d had to speak about the incident. “Did anyone suspect you were there to spy?”

Lucius and his men rarely visited local establishments. People were nosy by nature, and he did not need anyone prying into his affairs.

Tomas shook his head. “A fancy coach came in, and the bluffer took to—”

“Bluffer?” Sybil asked.

“The innkeeper,” Lucius said and gestured for Tomas to continue.

Tomas nodded. “The innkeeper took to bowing and scraping while the lord barked orders.”

Lucius’ heart thumped against his chest. “Did you make a note of this lord’s name?” If it was Newberry, he would start polishing his pistols.

“Faulkner. Lord Faulkner. A right old nabob who still wears powder and lace. Had a young bit of muslin with him. A tempting armful.”

The lord was a pretentious prat with the brain of a donkey. “I doubt Faulkner is our man. Do you have a list of those who entered after Miss Atwood left?”

Tomas nodded. “A family of three from Grantham who never went upstairs. A handful of people o

ff the stagecoach who had no time to eat and had to fill their pockets with bread.”

Tomas continued with the descriptions of two merchants from Ripon selling spurs, farmhands looking for work and a spinster and her young niece, who had an eye for anyone in breeches.

Sybil looked up from buttering her toast. “Did anyone else approach the innkeeper? Whoever instructed me to come to the Black Swan must have an arrangement with the owner.”

Tomas shook his head.

“Perhaps the innkeeper didn’t have time to alert our quarry of your arrival,” Lucius said. “Unless the devil is staying at the inn.”

Silence ensued.

Then Tomas gasped. “A woman renting a room upstairs came down and passed something to the bluffer. I took her for a lightskirt, thought she was paying by the swell if you take my meaning.”

“Perhaps it was the woman who warned me off the stew. The one staying opposite room number five.” Sybil dropped a sugar lump into her coffee. “She did look world weary, so could be what some call a Bird of Paradise.”

Tomas smiled. “A ladybird.”

“If so, I imagine she would have warned you off the sausages, not the stew.” Lucius laughed, and Jonah sniggered. “Did you notice anyone else visiting the upstairs rooms?”

Again Tomas shook his head. “Other than the woman with the ghostly streak, only one—”

“Ghostly streak?” Lucius froze. “That’s an odd description.”

“Tomas is referring to her hair,” Sybil said, sipping her coffee. “It was as black as yours but with a shocking streak of grey.”

Lucius flopped back in the chair. His blood turned cold. Were they talking about Julia Fontaine? The rational part of his brain scrambled to find another explanation. Having a streak of grey hair was hardly a strange anomaly.

“What is it?” Sybil’s deep frown spoke of his own apprehension. “What’s wrong?”

“The woman, was she thin with wide, sad eyes? Was she a little shorter than you, Miss Atwood? Did she have a scar running across her cheekbone?”

“I’m not sure about the scar,” Sybil said. “I barely took much notice. But she is as you describe. Why? Is it someone you know?”

“It’s someone I hardly know at all.” Darkness threatened to devour his good mood. Soon the storm would break to unleash a torrent of confusion, guilt and despair. He glanced at Jonah and Tomas. “That’s all for now. We’ll remain here and study Atticus’ notes for a few hours.” He daren’t risk going down to the vault, not with spies lurking in their midst. “Patrol the grounds. Be vigilant.”

Both men nodded and took their cue to leave.