Raven (Gentlemen of the Order #2) - Adele Clee Page 0,59

ago. A devious man might have used an alias to travel.

“I saw a man lurking in the woods,” Blent countered. “Not a vagrant or poacher, but a gentleman. I’ve had the hounds out every night searching for him.”

Finlay snorted. “Let me guess, he has blonde hair and ridiculous side whiskers.”

Lord Adair? Was Fitzroy a liar and a pest?

“No. He was clean-shaven, tall with a mop of golden blonde hair.”

“Mr Archer! It has to be him.” Sophia’s words sent the room plunging into a heavy silence.

But if this stranger was Mr Archer, why did he not simply call at Sophia’s home in Portman Street and ask to visit Jessica? Why all the secrecy and lies? Had he returned with Maud? Heavens above, that would certainly complicate matters.

“But why the sudden change in her medication?” Mr Ashwood mused.

Blent shrugged. “Mrs Friswell has been trying different restoratives in the hope it will help with whatever the doctor puts in his vials. The doctor has grown suspicious and makes Jessica drink the medicine before he leaves.”

No doubt Mrs Friswell believed in her herbal remedies, but it was highly likely she had been making the matter worse. Finlay had been right to insist they remove Jessica from Blackborne. Finlay was always right. Except when it came to their estrangement. Had they grown close again after Hannah’s death, he might have prevented this nightmare. And yet the fact he’d become lost in a dark cloud of grief, the fact he’d struggled to find his way back to her, made her love him all the more.

“Nothing has changed since yesterday,” Finlay said, addressing Sophia and his colleagues. “I need to get my hands on the doctor and throttle the truth from his lying lips.”

“Then tell us how we can be of service,” Mr D’Angelo replied. The gentleman seemed excited at the prospect of witnessing a fight.

Finlay stroked his beard while he thought. “First, we need sleep. Sloane, I’m sure you can find Blent a room.”

“Indeed.”

“I shall visit the apothecary in Hyde Street. I stole vials from the doctor’s bag and asked the apothecary to determine the contents. Sophia, while I’m away, perhaps you could sit with Blent and Jessica and see what else you can learn.”

Sophia glared at Blent. “Yes, we have a lot to discuss.”

“Do you need my assistance?” Mr Ashwood said. “I can stay if required.”

Finlay glanced briefly at Sophia before turning to Mr Ashwood. “Would you remain here until we return this evening? I wish to apprehend the doctor at what we hope is his residence in Miles’ Lane. I need Sophia to accompany me.”

Mr Ashwood inclined his head. “Of course.”

“I suppose I am to play host while you romp about town,” Mr Sloane said with a frustrated sigh.

Finlay smiled. “You and D’Angelo may accompany us. When it comes to the doctor, I have a strange suspicion nothing will go as planned.”

Chapter 17

The cobbled thoroughfare of Miles’ Lane was barely wide enough for a carriage and provided little scope for those wishing to hide in the shadows. The lack of street lighting helped, as did the fact the entrance to the mews was directly opposite a row of four townhouses.

“If the late Mr Goodwin worked at Coutts, then one would presume he’d own the most elegant house on the row,” Sloane said, drawing the brim of his hat lower on his brow. “Bankers are renowned for their greed. I doubt he lives opposite the church.”

“And St Michael’s occupies the upper half of the lane,” Finlay added. “Then we agree, one of these four houses must belong to Dr Goodwin.”

“Well, we cannot stand here all night wondering.” Sophia pulled the hood of her thick blue cloak around her ears. “We shall catch our deaths if we linger.”

“Have no fear, my lady,” D’Angelo said. “I shall remedy the situation.”

D’Angelo ushered them back into the shadowy entrance of the mews. He tilted his hat, loosened his cravat and staggered across the cobblestones, singing a ballad to a lost love as he approached the door of Number 2.

Sloane sniggered. “If he’s not careful, someone will raise the sash and shower him with gold.”

“Shower him with gold?” Sophia repeated.

“Drown him with the contents of the chamber pot.”

“D’Angelo could reek of piddle and still charm the ladies,” Finlay replied as Sophia sidled beside him, hugged his arm and shivered. “They’d scramble over a pit of vipers to bathe those hard muscles and slide into his bed for the night.”

Finlay would wrestle vipers, too, if he thought he might earn an