Evan opened the carriage door and vaulted to the ground. He told Buchanan to follow discreetly behind until they reached the lawyer’s office, instructed his coachman to turn right onto Shoe Lane and wait there.
“Take my arm, Miss Hart.” Evan clasped her elbow and assisted her descent.
The lady didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as her feet hit the pavement, she hugged his arm as if they were lovers who couldn’t bear to be parted.
They bustled through the excited crowd, amid the din of hawkers flogging their wares and the raucous laughter of those huddled around a puppetry booth. Although Evan noted a few shady characters lingering in doorways, they arrived in Long Lane without incident.
“Mr Golding’s office is opposite the Old Red Crow,” Miss Hart said.
Like the coffee-houses and alehouses along the row, the tavern proved popular with cloth merchants and those seeking boisterous entertainment. It was only a matter of time before a fight broke out amongst the drunken revellers.
“I assume Buchanan accompanies you when you visit your lawyer?” Evan experienced unease at the thought of Miss Hart wandering these streets alone. Not that it was any concern of his, but still.
“He does, yes, though Lady Hollinshead was kind enough to lend me the use of her carriage the last time I visited.”
Yes, he recalled seeing Miss Hart in the company of the countess. Surely a lady of great social standing would have found a suitor for the daughter of her closest friend. Lady Hollinshead knew enough eligible gentlemen to fill Miss Hart’s dance card. Yet Evan had never seen his wallflower grace a ballroom floor.
“Does Lady Hollinshead know why you came to visit Mr Golding?” he said, directing her across the busy thoroughfare. As an agent of the Order, the smallest things roused his suspicions.
“Of course not. While she has been more than kind since my mother died, I trust no one but you with the sensitive information.”
The swirling heat in his chest seemed to occur whenever Miss Hart vocalised her faith in him. While women fawned over his handsome features, praised his prowess in the bedchamber, none had commented on his character.
“Perhaps your mother confided in her closest friend.”
“Not when the mere mention of hidden treasure would cause untold problems. You’ve seen the lengths people go to in the name of greed. Besides, Lady Hollinshead would have mentioned it. She noticed my preoccupation with you.” Miss Hart brought him to an abrupt halt in front of a neglected townhouse and gazed at the facade. “This is the place.”
Evan was curious to know how she had explained her interest in him. “Did you tell Lady Hollinshead you wished to marry me?”
Miss Hart looked up at him and raised a shapely brow. “I told her I’d heard you were a wild, adventurous sort. She agreed and said you were unsuitable company for an innocent. She will expire from apoplexy when she learns of our impending marriage.”
“Had I a mind to encourage your fantasies, I might agree.” But oh, how he admired her tenacity. “Now, let us harass Mr Golding until he gives us what we want.”
Namely, the last clue without Evan sacrificing his bachelorhood.
“You could strap the lawyer to the rack, crank the handle and stretch him a foot and still he will not give you the answers you seek.”
“I can be extremely persuasive, Miss Hart.”
“Then prepare yourself for a great disappointment.” She pushed open the black paint-chipped door and slipped inside. “He insists on abiding by a set of written rules.”
Evan followed her into the stark hall with its faded blue wallpaper and cracked floor tiles. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Based on the shabby surroundings, he could not imagine anyone hiring the lawyer to present a case. “Do they have many clients?”
“I have no notion.” She mounted the narrow staircase without gripping the dirty handrail. “Perhaps things were different seventy years ago. Perhaps our ancestors chose Mr Golding’s father for a reason unbeknown.”
In retrospect, slovenly men were easier to manipulate. They lacked determination, were not as rigid when it came to rules. Hopefully, Mr Golding conducted business in the same slipshod way he treated his premises.
“We shall knock on Mr Wicks’ office,” Miss Hart whispered when Evan joined her on the first-floor landing. She moved to the door at the end of the corridor. “Mr Golding deals with clients, whereas his nephew fulfils the role of clerk.”
Evan suspected the younger man resented his lowly position in the firm. “Might you permit me to speak on our behalf?”
Miss Hart smiled. “By all means, take the lead.”
He inclined his head to her before knocking on the door three times.
The scraping of chair legs on the boards preceded the scuffle of footsteps and the incessant mumblings of a man who had nothing better to do than talk to himself. Mr Wicks yanked open the door and hit them with his brandy breath.
Excellent. The fool was half-cut at midday and probably didn’t give a damn about rules and regulations. Evan would have the third clue in his possession before the mantel clock chimed the hour.