she leaned back and made a point of not looking straight at him. “Come in!”
Miranda entered. “A message just arrived for you, my lord.” She handed the note to Simon and left.
“It’s from my secretary, Winthorp,” Simon told her as he scanned the lines. “He says there’s a man waiting to see me – a messenger has responded to our advertisement in the paper. I have to go.”
“Will you be back once you’ve spoken with him?”
“I’m afraid I won’t have time.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “There’s another matter I need to attend to once I’ve finished speaking with the messenger.”
“Of course.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I will see you this evening then.”
“Yes. If you can be ready by six, I’ll have my carriage pick you up then.”
Looking much like a man torn between the desire to stay and the need to go, Simon left without further comment. Ida glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was only a little after two. There was still plenty of time for her to get ready.
With this in mind she resumed her seat on the sofa and topped up her tea before gathering up her knitting. Hopefully, the messenger waiting for Simon would be the right one. She glanced at the clock again. Four hours felt like a very long time to wait before she would find out more.
Chapter Eighteen
Deerford opened the front door for Simon when he returned home. “You ought to know that your uncle is here as well. Arrived ten minutes ago. He’s currently waiting for you in the parlor.”
Simon instinctively glanced toward the formal receiving room. He hadn’t expected his uncle to call on him first. He removed his gloves and handed them to Deerford along with his hat. “And the courier?”
“Has turned into couriers since Winthorp dispatched his note to you. I’ve shown the three men to the benches outside your study since I presume you will want to interview them each individually?”
“Quite right. Thank you.” Simon glanced around the corner to his left and saw the men waiting. He gave his attention back to Deerford. “Please serve some refreshments for my uncle and tell him I’ll meet with him soon.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“And Deerford?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Do you know if Winthorp was able to ensure the attendance of the required guests for this evening’s dinner?”
“I do not know, my lord, since he has not yet returned. As I understand it, he decided to deliver each invitation personally.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Deerford.” Simon turned into the hallway and strode toward the candidates who awaited him. Once he was done, he’d have to face his uncle. Given Mr. St. John’s revelation regarding Princhet along with Elliot’s sizeable investment in the Shadwell Gun Works, Simon knew he had to question him at greater length and try to uncover the extent of his possible involvement.
Reaching the couriers, Simon gave them each a quick glance. That was all it took for him to be sure the man he sought was not among them. They weren’t the right age or height and none had the scar Murdoch had described.
Still, they might be acquainted with the man Simon was after, and they had stopped by to apply for the position he’d advertised, so he decided it was only fair of him to speak with them each in turn.
As he’d expected, he learned nothing new, so he thanked them all for their time, told them he’d get in touch if he needed them, and went to find his uncle. The man was sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace when Simon entered the parlor. And he did not look the least bit pleased.
Simon frowned until he was sure his expression was just as stark as the man he faced. He’d not really considered how to pry the information he needed out of him, but he had hoped an amicable conversation over tea and biscuits would provide the opportunity he required.
That did not appear to be the case, however.
Nevertheless, Simon decided to make an attempt at cordiality. “I trust you’ve received the invitation to dinner this evening?”
“I did.”
“And will you attend?”
“Look at me, Simon. I need a cane now in order to stand, never mind walk,” Elliot grated, not answering the question.
“It’s not even been a full week since you were shot, so that’s hardly surprising,” Simon said. “Care for some tea?”
“No.” Elliot crossed his arms. “What I want is for you to explain why