Page 12 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

The next morning, Jacob’s conscience awoke him well before dawn. He hadn’t acquitted himself well in the barn with Miss Henry. She’d come to him a wounded wildcat, just like Dionysus. In response, Jacob had barked at her instead of easing her pain.

The worst part was that she hadn’t been wrong.

Jacob had promised to keep her abreast of any developments…

and then failed to do so. That he’d been busy all day with countless other cases was the reason, but not an excuse.

He was lead investigator on this one. If he wasn’t going to follow through on a thread, it was his responsibility to delegate the task to someone who would.

The problem was, the team had run out of people to delegate tasks to . Everyone had been assigned more than they were capable of achieving, from the siblings themselves to Philippa’s book club to Graham’s network of spies and informants.

They’d had no business taking on yet another case to begin with.

Yet what was the alternative? Miss Henry had already tried everything.

She’d done the exact street work the Wynchesters themselves would have done, and she’d taken her concerns to the authorities, who had laughed in her face.

If Jacob’s family had spurned her, too, she would have had nowhere else to turn.

Which… was how she was feeling right now. Disrespected. Unimportant. Abandoned.

Jacob scrubbed his face with his hands. If Quentin still hadn’t come home, then Jacob owed Miss Henry an apology as well as a thorough explanation. Even if her cousin was back home.

He bathed quickly and headed down to the breakfast table. Several of his sisters were already there when he arrived.

“Did you see Olivebury was robbed the other day?” Tommy asked as she reached for fresh toast.

“Olivebury, the speaker of the House of Commons?”

“Not the speaker, but one of the most important voices. A lot of members vote however he does.”

“And now he’s our latest client?”

“Not exactly,” said Elizabeth. “We don’t even know what was taken. But apparently the robbery unfolded in such an ostentatious manner that the authorities have decided we must have something to do with it.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” Jacob filled his plate as quickly as he could. “We don’t have time to defend ourselves from utter nonsense.”

“We’d better find time,” said Marjorie. “Before it stops us from being able to handle all of our other cases.”

“Speaking of which,” said Jacob. “Any news about Quentin?”

“No sign of him.” Elizabeth pushed the latest stack of intelligence toward his spot at the table. “You can read through the informants’ missives if you want detailed descriptions of the most boring houses in London. Quentin’s friends never leave their homes except to visit each other.”

Tommy set another stack on top of Elizabeth’s. “And here are the latest responses from the churches and gaols and hospitals. Nobody has seen anyone matching Quentin’s description, though they’ve all posted his likeness in a prominent place in case he happens to show.”

“Wonderful,” Jacob said with a groan. “Miss Henry is going to love to hear it.”

“Isn’t it an odd coincidence for us to have two missing persons cases in one week?” asked Marjorie.

“Actually, we don’t,” said Tommy. “Chloe said the other was a kidnapping hoax. This disappearance may not pan out to anything either.”

“Quentin is missing,” Jacob reminded his sister.

She waved her hand. “Chloe and I used to go missing from the orphanage all the time. We always came back eventually. Until we found Bean.”

“Quentin isn’t an indigent in an orphanage. He has income from his trust and a home to return to.”

“Doesn’t mean he likes it,” said Elizabeth. “I ran away from my previous family in search of a better life and found one when I met you all. Maybe Quentin is searching for something, too.”

“Miss Henry did seem to gloss over a few details,” Jacob mused.

Marjorie lowered her fork. “You noticed that, too?”

“I thought her reticence seemed to be related to whatever clothing he normally wears,” said Tommy. “Perhaps he’s like me and doesn’t always fit in the way society expects. And thus embarrasses his cousin.”

“She did make a point to underscore that he’d left the house looking like an ordinary young man,” Jacob agreed slowly. “But if that’s the case, it’s unlikely his attire had anything to do with his disappearance.”

“I still say runaway,” said Elizabeth. “She herself said they parted on bad terms. How bad, I wonder? Bad enough never to come home?”

“Maybe so, if his cousin’s embarrassment over his appearance makes him feel she doesn’t value him as a person,” Tommy said softly.

Jacob put his plate down. “I’ll go and find out.”

Maybe he and Miss Henry both owed each other an apology.

Although the Wynchesters owned several carriages, Jacob decided to walk to Cheapside. He could cover the two miles in half an hour, which wasn’t significantly more time than he would waste ringing for a coach to be readied and brought round.

Besides, the fresh air would help to clear his head. He did like Miss Henry, human hedgehog. Prickly on the outside, and secretly soft underneath.

He found her door with ease and rapped the knocker.

There was no response for a long minute.

Then the door cracked open, revealing Miss Henry in a russet-colored round dress of moderate width, pleated at the bottom in three layers.

Bright sprigs of orange ribbon adorned the faded hems, brightening the earth tones with a dash of color.

Perhaps it was the simplicity of the dress that made Miss Henry stand out all the more.

She would be radiant in a floor-length burlap sack.

“What do you want?” she said with obvious inattention. Her gaze was on the pencil stub she was sharpening with a dull blade.

“To apologize, and to share what information we’ve managed to gather. Might I come in?”

She glanced over her shoulder, then opened the door wide. “Make yourself at home. But take off your shoes, first.”

“Take off my… shoes?”

Miss Henry gestured to a small carpet just inside the door, the leather half-boots she’d been wearing the day before tucked neatly in one corner.

When he hesitated, she crossed her arms. “I’m the one who has to sweep up after any uninvited visitors.”

Whether this was a Caribbean custom or a quirk of Miss Henry’s, she was right. He removed his boots at once and lined them up next to hers.

“We’re alone?” he asked. “You really don’t have anyone who helps you in the house?”

“Oh, did you come to Cheapside expecting to be chaperoned ? Please excuse me for not being an Almack’s princess like the fine young ladies you’re used to. As I mentioned, I am the maid, and the cook, and the butler. Which means I’m very busy, so if you could get to the point?”

Jacob flashed an uncomfortable smile that was more like a grimace and stood awkwardly in the middle of her kitchen in his stocking feet. Stockings that were a Christmastide gift from Kuni and dyed bright Balcovian pink.

“Have you visited all of Quentin’s friends?” Miss Henry asked.

Not Jacob personally, although they’d sent spies to each location on the list. For Miss Henry’s sake, he hoped they could resolve this case soon. Ideally before the Wynchesters and their extended network fell apart like a broken machine.

“Every one of their homes is under constant surveillance,” he assured her. “At the first sign of your cousin—or anything suspicious at all—you will be the first to know.”

She arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he told her. “Our team regularly checks in with each other, but those briefings don’t mean there’s been a breakthrough on a case. I should have explained better up front, and I should have kept you up-to-date, even if the only news is that there isn’t any.”

“I may have reacted poorly, too,” she admitted. “You cannot understand how terrible it is to sit and wait and wonder, and not receive the slightest communication from anyone. Not you, not Quentin…”

“I do empathize with you. And though we have taken on more than we can efficiently handle, I swear that we are trying to find your cousin.” He handed her a two-page report highlighting efforts they had made thus far, and any responses or intelligence their investigation had gathered.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she scanned the long list of completed or ongoing tasks. “This makes me feel some better.”

“Might I glance around your home?” he asked. “I might see something that could be of use to the case.”

He expected her to balk at this, or at least escort him through the premises under her watchful eye, but she simply held up her palm and returned to whatever she’d been doing at her table.

Revising a previous draft, from the looks of it.

Some people hated editing their work, preferring only to create fresh, but Jacob loved the refining process.

For him, crafting the perfect poem was like whittling a statue out of marble.

Slow and painstaking work that required great attention and care, but if all went well, the result at the end looked like it had always meant to be exactly what it now was.

Miss Henry did not look as though things were going well. She was attacking her manuscript pages with such vigor, the pointed tip of her pencil had scratched through the top sheet in several places.

Jacob knew better than to offer unsolicited opinions while a writer was in the midst of her work. Yet he could not resist the urge to inch a little closer.

A whirl of brown fur darted out from beneath her chair and swiped long white claws at Jacob’s bootless feet.

“Yowch!” He hopped from one foot to the other, trying to avoid stepping on or being mauled by the rabid creature with the black-and-white-striped face and sharp fangs.

“That’s Rufus,” Miss Henry said without looking up from her manuscript.

Jacob sputtered, “You have an attack badger?”

“Is his high energy bothering you? At ease, Rufus.”