Page 52

FORTY-THREE

A ye, sir, Rosemont was in the habit of hiring a horse and cart from my establishment,” Jake Townsend said. “Employed my son, Ned, to load the bags of incense and deliver the goods.”

Slater stood with Ursula at the wide entrance of the livery stable.

J. Townsend Livery Services advertised private carriages, wagons and carts for hire.

Judging by the size of the stable, however, it appeared to be a small business—he could see only three stalls inside the building and a single, aged, badly sprung carriage.

Nevertheless, a stable was a stable and the scent of horses and all things related to them was heavy in the atmosphere.

Townsend was middle-aged, with a weather-beaten face and the tough, wiry build of a man who had spent a lifetime around stables. But he was eager to chat once Slater had made it clear to him that he would be paid for his time and cooperation.

Townsend was easy enough to deal with, Slater concluded, but Ursula was a complete mystery to him this morning. She was once again concealed behind her stylish widow’s veil. It was impossible to read her expression—not that he had been able to read it earlier at breakfast.

She had been in an odd mood when she descended the stairs that morning and her temper hadn’t improved with Mrs. Webster’s excellent coffee, at least not as far as he could discern.

Initially he had assured himself that the problem was that she had not slept well but now he was starting to wonder—not without some dread—if she regretted last night’s passionate encounter in the labyrinth chamber.

Perhaps she regretted the first one in her study, as well.

He was convinced now that the fact that she had locked her door last night was a very bad omen.

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

“So, Rosemont was a regular customer?” he asked.

“That he was,” Townsend said. He shook his head in a mournful way.

“Going to miss his business. He sold a great quantity of incense and the French stuff he called potpourri. But I have to say, I’m bloody damned grateful that my establishment was in the next street when his shop went up in flames.

The explosion not only destroyed his building, it did a fair amount of damage to the ones on either side, as well.

Luckily, they were empty. Gave us quite a scare, I can tell you. Horses went mad for a bit.”

“I can imagine,” Ursula said.

Slater heard the icy impatience that edged her words but she had the sense not to rush Townsend.

“According to the press, the authorities believe the fire was caused by a gas explosion,” Slater said.

“Aye, maybe.” Townsend’s face creased in disapproval.

“But if you ask me, it was all those bags of dried leaves he kept stored in his workshop that fed the flames. And between you and me, there’s no telling what chemicals he was using to make that incense and the potpourri.

The smell hung over the neighborhood for hours. ”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Townsend.” Slater took some money out of his pocket. “Just one more question and then we’ll leave you to your work.”

“What is it ye want to know, sir?”

“You said that Rosemont hired your son and a cart to make deliveries on a regular basis. I’d very much like to know the locations of those routine deliveries.”

“There were only two addresses. One was a mansion that housed some sort of private club. The other was a warehouse near the docks. Rosemont shipped a lot of his goods to New York, ye see.”