The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,98
a very bad idea.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Helena said cheerfully. “Could we have a moment of your time?”
The first brute peered uncertainly at the second. “Is she talkin’ to us?”
“Dunno,” his companion grunted. “Sounds like it.”
“I am, indeed, talking to you. My friend and I are searching for someone, and we were told he often frequents this place. A man called…”
“Mr. Bishop,” Calliope supplied when Helena paused, her brow knitting. “Mr. Art Bishop.”
“That’s it!” Helena snapped her fingers as the men exchanged a quick look, the corners of their mouths twitching. “Mr. Art Bishop. We’d like to employ his services.”
They’d received the name at the last “proper public establishment” they’d frequented. Which had just so happened to be a house of ill-repute. Calliope didn’t know if she’d ever forget the lascivious acts she’d witnessed…several of which she had half a mind to try with Leo.
If he didn’t strangle her before she had the chance.
He was going to be positively furious when he discovered the danger she and Helena had willingly subjected themselves to. Stephen as well. But it was worth remembering that no matter how angry their husbands were, they’d never actually hurt Calliope and Helena.
Unlike the Duke of Glastonbury.
Calliope squared her shoulders. She might have been scared witless, but she knew her fear paled in comparison to what Percy must have be experiencing. If tracking down and hiring a renowned thief-taker was what it took to get their friend returned safely, then that’s just what she and Helena would have to do.
“Have you seen Mr. Bishop?” she asked the brutes. “We really need to speak to him.”
“We might ‘ave. Aye, we just might ‘ave.” Again they looked at each other, and their grins grew. “Might need somefin to jog our memories, though.”
“Something to jog your memories?” Helena asked, puzzled.
“Money,” Calliope hissed, poking her in the ribs. “They mean money.”
“Oh!” Helena’s face brightened. “Naturally. This really is very thrilling.” Her expression turned stern as she withdrew a handful of shillings from her reticule and held them in a closed fist. “If I give these to you, gentlemen, I expect results.”
“And you cannot murder us,” Calliope put in for good measure.
“Yes. Under no circumstance is there to be any murdering.”
“Or maiming.”
“None of that either,” Helena said firmly. “Do we have an agreement?”
“Aye.” The larger of the two men held out his ham-sized hand.
After a brief hesitation, Helena dropped the coins into it.
“The person yer searchin’ for is sittin’ at the bar,” he said with a nod at the tavern. “Come on, Jack. Ye up for a flyer at Molly’s? Heard there’s a new girl. Real pretty like.”
The other brute grinned and groped his crotch. “Always.”
“Sitting at the bar,” Helena grumbled as the men sauntered off. “I paid five shillings for nothing!”
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” said Calliope. “Surely, that’s something.”
The door creaked noisily when they stepped inside. Immediately Calliope was overwhelmed with the smell of ale and sweat. Shuddering, she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as she followed closely behind Helena and did her best not to touch anything. A difficult feat, as the small, windowless room was cluttered with tables. And was that a…bear?
She gave a startled yelp.
Helena whirled around. “What is it?” she asked with some alarm.
Calliope pointed a trembling finger at the hairy beast standing on its hind legs in the corner, its enormous brown face perpetually frozen in a menacing snarl.
“Oh dear,” Helena gasped, and for the first time since they’d ventured into Seven Dials. she actually appeared a little bit afraid. “That’s quite a sight, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one before. I wonder where it came from?”
“A traveling zoo, most likely,” Calliope said as they gave the mounted animal a large berth on their way to the bar.
Roughly hewn and dimly lit, it was empty, save for the middle stool where someone sat hunched over a tall pint, their face shielded by a hat.
“That must be him,” Helena whispered. “Mr. Bishop. He’s shorter than I pictured he’d be.”
“What do we do?” Calliope whispered back.
“Introduce ourselves, I suppose.” Squaring her shoulders, the countess marched up to the bar and thrust out her hand. “Mr. Bishop,” she said pleasantly, “I’d like to introduce myself. I am Lady Helena Ware, and this is Lady Winchester. We’ve come on a discreet errand in the hopes of employing your services.”
“There isn’t anything discreet about you,” the thief-taker said dryly. He lifted his head, and Calliope gasped again. So did Helena.