Page 47 of A Whisper at Midnight

“There are a few goats in the lane, my lord.”

“Goats?” Tilda asked with a faint smirk. “I suppose we can get out here. We need to find the Jeffords’ lodging house.”

“I don’t suppose you have your pistol with you?” Hadrian asked her.

“I do not.” Her golden brows lifted. “I thought I would be spending my day at an inquest.”

“Take mine, my lord,” Leach said before disappearing for a moment. When he returned, he handed Hadrian the pistol he kept beneath his seat.

“What if you need it?” Hadrian asked.

Leach lifted a shoulder. “I’ll manage. Better for you and Miss Wren to have it.”

“Thank you, Leach.” Hadrian tucked the weapon into his coat, then stepped out of the coach. He helped Tilda down and looked about. “Now what?”

“We ask someone where the Jeffords’ lodging house is located.” She surveyed his clothing and frowned. “I wish you didn’t look so wealthy.”

Hadrian barked out a laugh. “Perhaps I should keep a threadbare coat in the coach.”

“Not a bad idea,” Tilda said, surprising Hadrian.

“I was joking.”

“Were you? Well, you should consider it. Let me do the talking. Just arrange your expression into something unpleasant.”

“What does that mean? Should I appear angry?”

She surveyed him, cocking her head. “Forbidding, I think. Is there anything you can do to make yourself unattractive?”

His blood heated because she found him attractive. He stuck his jaw out and narrowed his eyes. “How’s this?”

“There’s no hope of making you hard to look at,” she said with a sigh. “But this will do. Cross your arms over your chestand try to appear intimidating.” She spun about and began walking.

He hurried to fall into step beside her. Before he could ask what she meant to do, she approached a pair of women standing in a doorway.

Tilda grinned at them. “Afternoon, ladies,” Tilda said in her Cockney accent, which Hadrian had heard a couple of weeks ago when they’d gone to a tavern in the east end in search of the man who’d stabbed him.

The two women eyed her dubiously. Their clothing was worn and shabby but also revealing. Their upper bosoms were quite exposed. Hadrian supposed they were prostitutes.

“I’m lookin’ for the Jeffords’ lodgin’ ’ouse,” Tilda said. “You know it?”

“Aye, it’s up there, mayhap five or six ’ouses. It ’as a ’ook, because it used to be a butcher,” one of them said with a nod of her head in the direction of the lodging house. “What do you want with it?”

“Someone died there last night,” the other one said with rounded eyes.

Tilda stepped toward them. “I’d ’eard that.” She’d lowered her voice. “What do you know of it?”

“She were a lodger,” the first woman said. She sniffed and wiped her hand over her nose. “Might know more if you want to pay for it.” She looked toward Hadrian with a glint of interest. Then she raked him with her gaze before licking her lower lip. “Though I might tell you in exchange for a tumble.”

Had she just offered to give them information if Hadrian would lie with her? He would do as Tilda had said and let her speak, but it was difficult not to decline the woman’s suggestion.

Tilda handed the woman a coin. “’E’s not for barter. Besides, ’e’s a clumsy dolt. Stole those clothes off a drunken gent and nearly got ’imself caught.”

Hadrian quashed a smile. She was really too good at this.

“What do you know of the lodger?” Tilda prompted.

The woman squinted at the coin before tucking it into her bodice. “Showed up ’ere a fortnight ago or so. Kept to ’erself, but I could see she was carryin’.”