Page 49 of The Swan Detective (The Swan Syndicate #2)

Beckworth held out a hand and led Stella down the stairs to the waiting carriage. It wasn’t the one from the manor or the one from Waverly. This one was a bit more weather-beaten. Barrington was on the bench, but rather than his normal butler’s attire, he was dressed more for the merchant class.

They followed side streets and alleys, crossing back and forth to the point Stella had no idea where they were until she smelled the Thames. Barrington stopped a couple blocks from where the Daphne was moored.

Beckworth gave her a long, slow kiss. “We’ll have many eyes on you this evening. This won’t be like a small port village with limited constables.”

“I know.”

“Chester has men stationed in several places between the pub and the clubhouse.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got this.”

She grinned at his twentieth century speak. “I know.”

He leaned back. “Is that all you have to say?”

She considered his question, then shrugged. “I love you.”

He barked out a laugh. “Now, I know you’re fine.” He gave her a last quick kiss then hopped out of the carriage. He said something to Barrington she couldn’t decipher before the coach rolled away. She stuck her head out, but by then, Beckworth had already slipped away into the shadows.

B arrington stopped the coach a couple blocks away from the docks, and the door opened to reveal Michelson. He helped her down, and once they’d stepped back, Barrington drove off. They strolled down the street toward the pub as Stella eyed the people.

It was more crowded than the night she and Libby had spied on the thief. Beckworth had mentioned a couple of new ships had arrived, but at this late hour, the crowd appeared to be mostly sailors, many of them already weaving and stumbling along.

Michelson steered her down a block that she recognized as they drew close to the pub. “Do you remember your lines?”

“I remember what I was told to say, but I’ll freeze up if I have to remember lines. I get the gist of the assignment. I’ll get us a meeting with the captain or, at least, a look inside the clubhouse.”

“Keep in mind that the thief might not show up.”

Stella shrugged. “There are only two balls this evening, and the women with the remaining Deschanel jewelry have agreed to either lock up the items or remain home. Chester has placed a couple of men at each of their manors to deter the thief. With any luck, if he’d hoped to steal something tonight, he’ll be frustrated enough to want to drown his sorrows. ”

Michelson lowered his head, seeming to consider his next words, then lifted his gaze to the people around them. “That’s a possibility, but there are many other reasons why he might not show. I just want you to be prepared.”

“I understand. How long should we stay if he doesn’t show?”

“Let’s start with an ale and then order food. We’ll eat slowly, and if he hasn’t arrived before we finish a second ale, then we should call it a night and try again tomorrow.”

“Won’t that seem suspicious?”

“Sailors do it all the time. We find a good pub and spend a good portion of our free time there.”

That confirmed her earlier thoughts that sailors tended to congregate at their favorite watering hole. “But I’m not a sailor, and being a woman, I’ll be remembered.”

He chuckled. “True enough.” He scratched his head and then rubbed an elbow as he glanced around the street, either confirming their watchers were in place or searching for danger.

“Lady Swan is a smuggler. You’re waiting for a friend or customer, however you want to phrase it, whose ship is due to arrive any day.

You have to leave port soon and don’t want to miss them. ”

She patted his arm. “Perfect.” She stood straighter and ran a hand over her hair, tugging at a curl. “Let’s go.”

The pub was dark, smoky, and smelled of ale, overcooked fish, and the abhorrent body odor she’d become accustomed to from this time period. It was busier than she expected, and even with the boisterous voices, she heard murmurs in French.

When they reached an empty table toward the back of the room, they sat next to each other so they could talk without yelling.

She’d spotted André the minute they’d walked in.

He held a mug of ale while speaking to a burly man whom Stella assumed was a sailor.

She made eye contact with him for a mere second.

It was enough to elicit a slight nod in return.

While they waited for their first ale, Stella scanned the room, getting a feel for the place as well as the customers.

She’d felt everyone’s eyes on her as she’d made her way across the pub, and while she wouldn’t want to be caught in a dark alley with most of them, she didn’t perceive anyone threatening. She also didn’t spot the thief.

They didn’t have to worry about purposely dragging out their time. The two servers were kept busy, and fifteen minutes passed before their first ale arrived. By the time the meal arrived, they needed a second ale.

“Our French friend has been rather busy.” Michelson’s voice was low before he stuffed a chunk of bread in his mouth. He kept his eyes downcast with only an occasional glance at the door.

“I’ve counted five different sailors so far. They all seem to gravitate to him after they’ve purchased their first ale.”

“And they talk for about ten minutes before moving on.”

“It’s almost as if they’re checking in or sharing information.” Stella pushed her plate away after only taking a few bites. “And the food is terrible.”

Michelson took the last bite from this meal and pulled Stella’s plate over. “You’ve gotten used to all that fancy dining at the balls.”

She grimaced when she glanced at the meal. “It’s overcooked, and the meat’s stringy.”

Michelson shrugged. “It’s a hot meal, and most sailors can’t complain about that.”

After living on a ship for over a week, with the occasional port stops, she understood. She rubbed her stomach. She’d been spending too much time sampling the buffet tables at the parties and could use a few less meals.

“I don’t think André is gathering information,” Michelson said after a few bites. “I think he might be passing information on.”

“Really?” She hadn’t considered that.

“It’s just a guess, but whoever is running the operation only brought him in two days ago. It’s too soon to trust him to gather the information. And I doubt the information he’s passing on is of much value.”

“They’re testing him.”

“That’s part of it. And, unless he’s someone of importance, he has to start at the bottom like everyone else.”

“I wonder if the visit to the clubhouse was a one-time thing.”

The server dropped two mugs on their table, and as she moved off with their empty plates, Stella watched two men make their way to a table. She hadn’t seen them come in and must have missed it while the server had been clearing their dishes.

She tapped Michelson on the arm. “That’s our thief. The tall one with the sandy blond hair.” When she made to get up, he shook his head.

“Not yet. Wait for them to get settled and get an ale. Let’s see who else they speak with.”

She knew he was right, but it grated. She rubbed the side of her head again, a reflexive action to seeing the thief, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

He’d almost given her a concussion. No doubt he would remember the prick of the knife once she got in his face, which she was itching to do.

Instead, she grabbed her mug of ale and settled back in her chair.

The second man steered toward André while the thief selected a table. André’s gaze flickered to Stella for only a moment before he began speaking with the man.

“Have you seen him before?” she asked Michelson.

He continued to stare at the man speaking to André, and he rubbed his jaw, his eyes squinting as if trying to remember a specific moment. “Not here in London, but somewhere.” He turned away and focused his attention on the other side of the room.

The thief had settled, and when the server rushed by, he caught her by the arm and pulled her over.

She gave him a smile but kept her distance from his wandering hands.

By the time she left, the man who’d been speaking with André made his way toward the table.

The two men surveyed the room while they waited for their ale.

Stella lowered her head and turned away so he couldn’t get a clear view. She needn’t have bothered, since a drunk sailor bumped into an empty chair where two sailors were eating. Several loud, harsh words were spoken, and all eyes turned to them.

The drunk apologized over and over before stumbling toward Stella and Michelson. He never lifted his head and never met their gaze. Stella played with her empty mug, hiding a grin. Fitz never failed to amaze her at the timeliness of his actions.

She snapped her fingers and leaned over to whisper to Michelson. “I think the man with the thief was also with him the night we followed them to the clubhouse. I didn’t recognize him with his cape.” She snorted at her term for his cloak. He was a big man, and the cloak had been too small for him.

Michelson gave her an odd stare, then shook his head, returning to the topic from wherever his mind had wandered. She had that effect on people.

“I can’t be sure, but the more I think about it, I might have seen him during our trip to find McDuff. I just don’t remember where.”

“It will come to you, but it won’t stop me from going through with the plan.”

“Understood.”

She felt safe with Michelson, but having Fitz stroll through when she hadn’t expected it gave her more courage.

If anyone ever asked her why she trusted Fitz, the only words that came to mind were bold and unrepentant.

Her mother had harped on her being both, but then, her mother blamed her for many things.

She fingered the paper swans in her right pocket to be sure they were easily accessible. Satisfied, she slammed her empty mug on the table loud enough for the men at the surrounding tables to notice and stood, shoving her chair aside.