Page 13 of A Spinster for the Rakish Duke (Notorious Sisters of London #3)

Chapter Twelve

“ Y ou are sure this is the place?” Donovan asked incredulously.

“Sure as sure can be, Mr. Connor. One of the reasons Mr. Bradford keeps me on is for my navigation and memory. If I had fewer aspirations, I’d be the best delivery man in all of London, hand on the book,” Mr. Herst said proudly.

The three of them stood in front of a squat brick restaurant just a short walk from the office. “The Soup Spoon,” was thinly painted on a worn wooden sign.

“A shame we already ate lunch,” Emma remarked offhandedly but genuinely, which caused both men to turn and look at her quizzically and watch as she proceeded to walk in. Both of them moved to catch up at the same time, Donovan talking to Mr. Herst as he went.

“So, you’ll be able to identify Jenny for us?” Donovan asked in a hushed tone.

“Um, no, I was instructed to deliver the letter to the owner of the business,” Herst said with a pleasant, if sheepish, smile.

“And who is that?” Donovan asked.

Herst pointed to a robust and heavyset man behind the counter, stirring a pot that was big enough to fit Herst inside of it with a wooden spoon as large as Donovan’s forearm.

“That is. He’s Mr. Spoon,” the apprentice whispered.

“That can’t be his real name, can it?” Emma whispered back, but Herst just answered with a shrug.

After a moment passed, Donovan walked up to the counter and cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said.

“A moment, sir,” the man responded in a gruff but pleasant voice. “This soup is picky. Got to make sure it doesn’t go wrong. Chowders are funny like that.” The man laughed lightly as if the joke was between him and the soup. Finally, he released the spoon.

“It’s the cream,” he clarified. “Has to mix just right with the heat, or the whole pot is ruined. Cream of eel, today's special. Would you care for a bowl?”

Donovan couldn’t deny the appealing smell that was wafting through the restaurant. “Unfortunately, the business that brings me here isn’t a meal. I’m an investigator, and I was hired to find a missing person. Do you perhaps know Jenny?”

The man cocked an eyebrow at him. “Of course, I know her. Jenny’s my daughter.”

“Ah, I see,” Donovan nodded. “Is she available to answer some questions?”

“You want to talk to my daughter, then you all each have to buy a bowl of soup,” the man said with a satisfied grin.

“Oh,” Donovan said.

“That seems perfectly amicable. I was very curious to try some anyway,” Emma said with a polite and friendly smile.

“As always, the lady is the one with the best head on her shoulders.” The man grinned, and Emma bowed her head to accept the compliment.

“My Jenny is my server. When your soup is ready, she can bring it to you.

It's after our customers come in for lunch, so she can sit and answer your questions while you eat.”

“Ah, thank you very much,” Donovan said, finding the whole of the interaction rather peculiar. He didn’t like being strong-armed into purchasing soup, but at least it smelled good.

The young woman who brought them their soup was likely younger than Emma but older than Mr. Herst. She seemed put off by the three of them.

After she placed their bowls, she took the remaining fourth seat and sat looking at them crossly.

She had a bit of her father’s stocky build and muscle and a bit of curve to her frame with wild red hair that hung past her shoulders.

“I presume you’re Miss Spoon?” Donovan asked as pleasantly as he could opposite the cross look.

“Call me Jenny. And I don’t know nothing about anybody who’s missing, so you can ask me whatever you like, but it won’t get you anywhere,” she told them.

“Well as long as you don’t mind if we ask,” Donovan continued, not wanting to let her put him off if he was on the right track. “My friend here, Miss Bradford, her brother is missing, and we were hoping you could help us find him.”

Jenny’s face softened a little. “Did you say Bradford?”

Emma nodded. “I’m Emma Bradford, and my brother Benjamin Bradford has been missing for a few days now.”

Jenny put her hand to her face, covering the small shocked “o” of her mouth. “Benny is missing? Oh no! I wondered why he hadn’t shown up for a few days. I was going to give him such a talking to about not writing or nothing. And nobody even knows where he is,” she said worriedly.

This was not the reaction Donovan was expecting. Truth be told, he found it a bit frustrating, especially since Jenny’s reaction seemed entirely genuine.

“I take it you were close with Mr. Bradford.”

“Well, o’course,” she said with a toothy smile.

“He is my sweetheart. Use to come here and talk me up something fierce. Not like every other lug who eats here and speaks in grunts. Oh, that man tells me the sweetest things. I have a whole stack of poems he wrote me,” she said, clearly proud of what she brought out in Benjamin.

“Really?” Emma asked shocked. “I’ve never thought Benjamin had a creative bone in his body. But he writes you poems? I would love to read one,” Emma said, a little smile forming on her face.

“I’m beginning to understand why Mr. Bradford was so private,” Herst remarked to Donovan off to the side.

Donovan pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting the growing cacophony, “but if I could ask just a few more questions.”

“Oh, if it means finding my Benny, then of course,” Jenny said earnestly.

“How long have you and Mr. Bradford been, um, courting?” Donovan asked.

“Oh, I think it's about a week away from five months,” Jenny said thoughtfully.

“Really?!” Emma gasped but then quieted when she saw Donovan give an exasperated look.

“And have you ever known him to have any enemies or people who would want to do him harm?” Donovan asked.

Jenny shook her head, “None that I can think of. He is a sweet man, who would want to hurt him?”

“Who indeed,” Donovan remarked. “There was no one who might have been jealous over your relationship with Mr. Bradford,” Donovan asked curiously.

“Not anyone with more rocks in their head than good sense to risk getting on my bad side.” She laughed with a rough snort which caused Herst to chuckle nervously.

“And,” Donovan leaned in and spoke a bit more hushed, “your father? How did he feel about your and Mr. Bradford’s relationship?”

“Ah, Pa was a bit sore at first,” Jenny said with a knowing nod.

“He is the type that sees hard work in the form of calluses and muscles. Worried that a soft man like Benny wouldn’t be able to support me.

But as soon as he saw how much my sweet Benjamin cared about me, they became the best of friends.

My Pa is more likely to bust someone good for speaking ill of Benny than to think about harming a hair on him, if that's what you are suggestin’. ”

“Not suggesting,” Donovan assured her. “Just inquiring. Covering my steps. To be frank, ah, Jenny we have come up fairly dry on leads, so I want to make sure I ask everything I can. I don’t suppose you have a direction you could point us?” Donovan asked unexpectedly.

“Well, I don’t know how much of a lead this is, but he used to have a lot of problems with that place that all the solicitors go to.” She seemed to mull over the words slowly.

“The Inn of Courts,” Herst volunteered helpfully.

Jenny nodded, “Yeah, that's it. The Inn of Courts. He said the men there didn’t respect him and were always treating him really poorly. Did not want him to succeed and were being unfair and all that. Biased, he said.” She nodded seriously.

“That's the closest thing I ever hear him talk about to having an enemy.”

Donovan jotted down a couple of notes on the matter. “Thank you very much, Jenny. You have been very helpful.” He was exaggerating just a tad but did appreciate the young woman’s help all the same.

“You will tell me if you find him, right?” she said, worry finding its way to her voice once more. “You will let me know that he is okay.”

“You’ll be the first person we tell,” Emma assured her while patting her hand.