Page 23 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

Rose nodded, examining Dory as she put the dress back on the table and applied the iron again. ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time in the nursery lately,’ she said.

Dory didn’t look up. ‘I take my sewing up there sometimes, instead of the sewing-room. It’s nice to have company while I work.’

‘Hmm,’ said Rose. ‘You do seem to have been a bit glum lately. Since Christmas, really. Is everything all right?’

‘Of course,’ Dory said. Now she looked up. ‘Winter gets everybody down, doesn’t it?’

‘And working in the sewing-room, I suppose you’d notice that Mr Sebastian doesn’t play his piano so much, these days. I think you used to enjoy his playing, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. You can really do with something to listen to while you sew. Now I can listen to Jessie and Nanny chatting. And children always liven up the place.’

Rose snorted, and pushed away from the door jamb. ‘Most people wouldn’t agree with you there. Children should be seen and not heard.’

‘Poor things! Sometimes, when Jessie’s busy, I tell them a story to keep them from under her feet, and they sit and listen, so quiet and good.’

‘Well, don’t let Mrs Webster catch you up there,’ said Rose, moving away. ‘You know she likes people to be in their place.’

The man waiting for Sebastian at the Blue Posts in Rupert Street was as nondescript as it was possible for a person to be.

He was dressed like a member of the clerking fraternity, his clothes old but well-kept, his boots decent and polished, but not to a high shine.

His face was clean-shaven, his hair neatly cut, and his features were so unremarkable that if you turned away from him it was hard to remember what he looked like.

If you had to describe him to a third party, ‘medium’ and ‘ordinary’ would be the words you reached for.

His name – or the name he chose to give – was, appropriately, Mr Bland.

It was not a place in which to appear too wealthy and fashionable.

Rupert Street itself might be respectable in a small-trader way, but it connected with a couple of narrow courts which teemed with lower forms of life.

The area in general was shabby and run down, and the many pubs were of the sort that tended to be described as ‘haunts’, whose customers ‘frequented’ them.

They sat at a table in a corner on the far side, facing the door.

It occurred to Sebastian that this had been a deliberate choice.

With the oak panelling on two sides of them they were in the shadow and no-one could get close enough to overhear them without being seen, while they could watch everyone who came in and out.

Sebastian would never have thought of any of that, but Mr Bland had somehow sharpened his wits.

‘Now, sir,’ said Mr Bland, ‘I have made some progress. There was a draper’s shop in Cheyne Walk, a family business called Spencer’s.’

Dory had given her surname as Spicer, but it was close enough, thought Sebastian.

‘A neighbour I spoke to remembered that it was well thought-of, but began to go downhill a bit when Mrs Spencer died and Mr Spencer had to run the business alone.’

‘And the daughter?’

‘The neighbour didn’t remember a daughter, though there was a young woman who served in the shop sometimes.’

‘I suppose that was her.’

‘Could be, sir. Well, now, when we come to the tailoring business, that’s much better remembered.

The proprietor was a Mr Percy Hubert, known as “Jack”, and he was apparently quite a live wire.

Always full of jokes and chat, but he was said to be a good tailor.

They undertook fine repairs to ladies’ clothes as well. ’

‘You seem to be talking in the past tense. Is the shop no longer there?’

‘No, sir. It was a double premises, and the larger part is now a hardware shop. The smaller part is a second-hand-clothes shop, selling men’s and boys’ suits.

It’s called Smithson’s now, but under the shop sign, which is painted over the window, you can still just about make out the outline of “Hubert Tailoring”.

So there’s no mistake. It’s the place, all right. ’

‘And this fellow, Jack Hubert?’

Bland shook his head. ‘Gone, sir. So far I haven’t managed to find out anything but that he supposedly took to drink and the business suffered. It will take more work – and more time – to track him down.’

‘But you believe you can?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. There are lots more people to talk to, and threads to follow. And all the other resources – the police, hospitals, poor-houses. If he drank enough to lose his business, he almost certainly came to the attention of one or another. The question is, Mr Tallant, how far you want me to go. It will probably take many months, and you know my fee.’

‘I want him found. I don’t care what it costs. Are you willing to go on?’

‘Yes, sir, if that’s what you want.’ He cocked his head. ‘When I do find him, what do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing to alarm him. Nothing to reveal who is paying you. That’s crucial.’

‘Of course.’ He sounded just slightly wounded. ‘Discretion is my watch word.’

‘Just send to me straight away, by telegram, that you’ve found him, and where. And you must keep an eye on him until I decide what to do, in case he moves again.’

Bland nodded. ‘May I ask what’s he done, this cove?’

‘You may not.’

‘As you please. Just tell me, does he know you’re looking for him? And is he likely to be armed? I have my own safety to think about.’

‘No, he doesn’t know. And I don’t suppose he will be armed, but I couldn’t say for sure.’

‘Very well,’ said Bland. ‘And now, to the delicate question of my fee.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Sebastian said, reaching for his pocket-book.

‘Not so obvious, Mr Tallant, if you please,’ Bland said quickly. ‘Under the table, and try not to show it. Two guineas for what I’ve discovered so far, and another three on account for the next stage – I’ll have expenses, you see, hotel bills and suchlike.’

‘Five guineas, then.’

‘Make it sovereigns for a gentleman such as yourself. Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to do business with you.’

‘Find him,’ Sebastian said, with quiet emphasis.

‘I will, sir. You can count on it.’