The Gentleman and the Thief (The Dread Penny Society #2) - Sarah M. Eden Page 0,7
glittered in her hair. She could have been made a permanent exhibit in the Tower of London directly beside the Crown Jewels and would not have looked out of place.
The woman noticed her and offered a quick, clearly rehearsed smile.
Ana curtseyed. “Mrs. Sudworth.”
No recognition touched the woman’s face. Not even the tiniest glint of familiarity. This woman had actively participated in the destruction of Ana’s family. Did she not remember her even the tiniest bit?
That was for the best, really.
“You played well,” Mrs. Sudworth said, dipping her head before turning her attention pointedly to her more distinguished companions.
“Forgive me for the interruption,” Ana said quietly and attempted to step around the group.
She bumped into Mrs. Sudworth, however, and not a light brush as she passed. Looks of disapproval and near disgust were cast at her, along with wrinkled noses and pursed lips.
Ana quickly regained her balance, offered a quick curtsey and a barely audible plea for forgiveness, before rushing off. She found a quiet corner of the room and sat, her violin case on her lap. Mr. Darby found her there a moment later.
“You seem to have become separated from us in the press.” He looked more closely at her. “Are you unwell? You seem shaken.”
“I bumped into someone. The crowd was too close. I suppose I’m a little embarrassed. And I likely should check that my violin was not damaged.”
“Make your inspection,” he said. “I’ll fetch you a glass of punch.”
He was such a kind man. Thoughtful and generous. And he seemed to think well of her, which he likely ought not.
As he slipped from view, Ana opened her violin case. It was the perfect excuse and the perfect pretense. She opened the small compartment where she stored her rosin and her polishing cloth. She tucked underneath them what she’d come to this musicale for and had, by a near miracle, managed to secure: a single silver bracelet.
Perhaps we should engage Mr. Walker’s help should fisticuffs be necessary. Miss Newport’s words from the evening before repeated in Hollis’s mind as he trudged down Garrick Street toward Covent Gardens. Boxing was not considered an ungentlemanly pursuit. Why, then, had Miss Newport assumed he would be inept at it? Fletcher was more obviously rough-and-tough, but Hollis could hold his own. Perhaps a round or two in the boxing salon at headquarters would put a bit of puff back in his pride. But first, he had a mission to undertake.
He spied Stone rounding the opposite corner. Hollis had bested Fletcher any number of times in the Dreadfuls’ boxing salon, but no one bested Stone.
Hollis and Stone came up even with one another.
“Fine day,” Hollis said.
“Care for a walk around the market?” Stone was not a man of many words. Speaking seven together at once was unusual for him.
“I’d fancy a stroll.” Hollis matched his stride.
This was not one of those missions which required the Dreadfuls to not be seen together. Stone had determined this particular task was best accomplished in as simple and direct a way as possible.
“After a late night, my legs could use a bit of a jaunt to finish waking up this morning,” Hollis said.
“Y’all shouldn’t stay out so late.”
“But if the evening is a fruitful one, the long hours are well worth it.”
They made an odd pair walking into the Covent Garden marketplace. London was not entirely without a diversity of appearances and accents, allowing Stone, despite his words heavily flavored with the sound of America’s South and his ancestry obvious at a glance, to not draw as much attention as he might have in a tiny hamlet tucked far from the roar of the metropolis. Yet, gentry coves—gentlemen of Hollis’s station—weren’t known for applauding that diversity.
“Was your evenin’ fruitful?” Stone asked.
“Not in the expected way,” Hollis said. “I’d hoped to see a couple of friends there, but they weren’t in attendance.”
The Dreadfuls were adept at discussing their secret activities without giving anything away. They could manage it even in a crowded marketplace.
“My friends’ absence seemed to strike most in attendance as odd,” Hollis added.
There was no verbal response; Hollis hadn’t expected one. Stone simply walked beside him, hands tucked in the pockets of his navy-blue tailcoat, eyes focused ahead, mouth drawn in a tight line.
“One was meant to attend with his wife, but she wasn’t there, either.”
Stone’s expression didn’t change even the tiniest bit, but Hollis knew he was listening.
“Our poor hostess was baffled,” Hollis said. “A few other people noted the absences as well.”