Page 7

A be knew that old adage about killing two birds with one stone. He didn’t disagree with it, but he thought it rather lacking in ambition.

Why not three birds? Why not seven?

Abe thought seven birds with one stone was a much more compelling result. Not that he’d ever throw a rock at a bird. What sort of person did that?

If he wanted to doom some birds, he could just throw Freddy at them.

“Why are you following me?” he said to the rock in question as they rounded the corner onto Bow Street.

It was going to be hard to kill any birds at all today with the lordling in tow.

Freddy grimaced, loosening the cravat at his neck.

It was a warm morning, and the slick of rain on the pavement rapidly returning to the sky was not making it any more pleasant.

“I’m accompanying you, not following you.

I need to talk to Silas, and going through Cresson is my best bet while he’s all tied up in whatever lawyerly nonsense is currently keeping him away. ”

Abe didn’t respond. He didn’t like to bicker before he’d had coffee.

The Cuckoo’s Nest was a small eatery nestled among the solicitor and barrister offices that lined the blocks near the courthouse.

It had a red sign above the door that stood out beautifully in the mostly white, marbled buildings on either side of it.

And, most importantly, they served a hearty breakfast for a mere four shillings.

Freddy would be buying today, whether he realized it or not. How was that for an extra bird in the hand?

Or was he mixing adages now?

Abe had a standing weekly breakfast here with Cain’s law clerk, Joseph Cresson, who just now was seated at their regular table with his back to the door.

It was a lucky thing that Cresson was obsessively early, because the rest of the tables were full. Abe and Freddy garnered many sidelong glares from waiting patrons as they squeezed past the line and made a beeline for the table.

Cresson, of course, was oblivious, his nose almost touching the table as he scribbled into one of the journals he always had in his jacket pocket.

Last week, Abe had caught him doodling Cain & Cresson, Partners at Law in various renditions of an outdoor business sign before the younger man had slapped the cover shut with a hand that was turning just as red as his face.

It was one of those moments where the teasing would have been too easy, so it was best ignored altogether.

He flicked the younger man’s ear as he approached, bringing Cresson up to a straight spine and a slightly affronted expression.

“Morning!” he said cheerily, sliding into his usual seat and raising two fingers to the first serving girl who caught his eye.

Freddy took the chair next to him, giving Cresson a lopsided smile and extending his hand. “Mr. Cresson,” he said, with far more dignity than Abe had expected, given their short history together. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Lord Bentley,” Cresson replied, a wariness in his eyes as he shook the offered hand. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Yes, we’re all very surprised and pleasant,” Abe said impatiently, waving his hand. “Bentley wants to speak to Cain, so he invited himself along this morning. Do they have kippers today?”

“Sausages,” Cresson answered with a nod down to his empty plate and a shift in his glance to Freddy. “Mr. Cain is afield for a few days with a new client, I’m afraid. It is important business that has taken much of his time, but I will certainly alert him of your query when he returns.”

“What’s so important?” Abe asked, hope of new assignments sparkling in the air. “Something in the country, you say?”

“A rather large estate dispute out in Reading, though I imagine most of the case will be handled here in London. It is all very exciting.” Cresson’s face flashed with boyish enthusiasm. “There is speculation that Mr. Cain may be invited to take the silk if it goes well!”

“So young?” Abe replied, genuinely impressed.

“What does that mean?” Freddy cut in, discontent on his brow at being excluded, even as a plate heaped with gorgeous food was set in front of him. “What silk?”

“It’s the term for joining the King’s Counsel,” Cresson explained in a tone that suggested he could talk about this for days. “It is a great honor, and a necessity on the path to a judge’s seat. In fact …”

Freddy narrowed his eyes, a slight frown on his face as Cresson rattled off historical precedent.

Though he didn’t say it, Abe suspected that Freddy thought his half brother did quite enough judging already and it was only bound to get worse if he was given a robe and wig.

The bell above the establishment’s door sang again as another pair of would-be diners squeezed their way in, much to the grumbling discontent of those who were already waiting. This tore Abe’s attention entirely away from the table itself.

“Why, look, Bentley,” he said with sincere glee, just as Freddy had taken up his knife and fork. “It’s your mistress and your sister-in-law.”

The color drained from Freddy’s face immediately, his fingers going slack on his cutlery.

The delectable Miss Millie Yardley had indeed appeared in the doorway, framed by sunlight.

She was dabbing at her pale throat and generous decolletage with a lace kerchief in a way Abe felt should have been directed specifically at him, while her companion, one Ember Donnelly, was shouting something at the barman.

“I must go,” Freddy mumbled, and though Abe would later recollect he must have exited in a normal fashion, it seemed just then that he vanished in a puff of white smoke, leaving behind his full plate and steaming coffee with a clatter of silverware and a delicately floating cloth napkin settling over his chair.

Judging from the lack of chimes, Abe surmised that Freddy had found a rear exit to flee through.

Cresson had stretched all the way around to look at the ladies, that customary redness creeping up over his ears.

Now, that is interesting , Abe thought. Perhaps he was not the only one fascinated by Miss Yardley’s handkerchief activities.

“Miss Yardley,” he called, so suddenly he might have startled himself just as much as poor Cresson. “Miss Yardley, over here! We have empty seats. Please, join us!”

Millie raised her gaze with a curious lift of her brows, only to sigh with annoyance when her gaze settled on Abe.

He grinned.

Ember Donnelly reacted much the same way, though she indulged in a full rolling of the eyes upon finding them in the crowd.

The women conferred for a moment while Cresson whipped back around to stare, wide-eyed in disapproval, at Abe.

“It’s too late,” Abe said with a smirk. “They’re coming over.”

“... because I don’t mind going elsewhere,” Millie was whispering to Ember, not nearly as quietly as she believed.

“Nonsense, the Cuckoo’s Nest is the only decent breakfast in the neighborhood,” Ember Donnelly answered, briskness in her Irish brogue. “Hello again, Mr. Cresson. Mr. Murphy.”

“I … I …” Cresson fumbled.

“Cresson, move to the inner chair for the lady,” Abe chided, enjoying himself a little bit too much. “Ladies, we have an untouched plate already here if you’d like it. I’m afraid our third had an urgent call to leave before he could enjoy it.”

Ember eyed the plate with interest.

“In fact, have mine as well. I’ll order another so the two of you may eat together.” He slid his plate across the table and signaled for another to the attendant.

“That’s not necessary, really,” Millie began, but seeing Ember take up the discarded cutlery without preamble, she shrugged and accepted the gesture. She didn’t balk at being seated next to Abe, either, at least not that he could discern. She simply avoided looking at him.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

“I hope you don’t mind if we speak about our business rather than socialize,” she said without looking up as she tucked her napkin neatly around her lap. “Miss Donnelly and I are here on a professional basis.”

“As are we,” Abe said cheerfully. “Say, Cresson, did you ever find those interview files I asked for on the jewel thief from last Season?”

That earned him a sidelong glare from Miss Yardley, her brown eyes sparkling a lovely whiskey shade of brown in the warm spring light.

Better.

“I did, in fact,” Cresson replied, seemingly relieved to have something familiar to speak on.

“I haven’t finished summarizing them yet for you, but should have them this time next week.

For today, I only have two small matters: interviews for a criminal case and an inheritance dispute resulting from bigamy. ”

“Oh, the second one sounds rousing.” Abe extended a hand to accept the files Cresson had prepared for him as the third plate and a cup of coffee for Miss Yardley arrived.

“Beg pardon,” he said sweetly, reaching past the ladies for a cube of sugar to drop in his own cup and noting the sharp intake of breath from Miss Yardley as he briefly brushed against her.

He settled back into his seat and opened the file, pretending to skim over it so that the ladies would begin to speak. Ostensibly, he was listening for information regarding Lady Bentley, but personally, he was curious.

Very, very curious.

Miss Yardley released her pent breath with a little huff and took up her reticule in her lap, reaching inside to retrieve a stack of money folded carefully into tissue paper.

She clipped the damned thing shut before he could make out much of the other contents, but he thought he spotted a small tin of rouge oil and an ink-filled leather journal.

A scent like sliced pears escaped the little silk bag in a gust as it was snapped shut. Her perfume, perhaps?

“Thank you kindly,” Ember Donnelly said with a smile and a shake of her curly head. “Did you decide on a night?”

“Should be exactly a week from now,” Millie replied with a sigh. “I still need to track down a box of high-quality cigars. I’ve no idea where to buy such things. And I have to prepare for the Wharton ball tonight.”

“I can take you somewhere for the cigars after we eat ,” Ember said cheerfully, thumbing quickly through the bills before relocating them to her waistcoat pocket. “I keep a stock of all manner of vices at the club, you know. But you’re on your own for the ball.”

Was Miss Yardley renting out a gambling hell for Lady Bentley? What possible, deliciously scandalous purpose could a dowager countess have for wanting to reserve such a venue?

Abe cleared his throat and turned the page in his file, still not having read a single word.

“I’m sure you have,” Millie replied with some amusement. “I regret we have not spent more time together before now. You must have many stories to share.”

“Oh, I do,” Ember assured her. “Inheriting the Forge was akin to moving to another world when I was widowed. I’d be happy to tell you all the scandalous details sometime.”

“I think you should join us on Thursday, actually,” Millie corrected. “Lady Bentley says the Spinsters adore a good bit of scandal.”

“Ah, to be a spinster,” Ember sighed wistfully, lifting a morsel of sausage to her lips with her fork.

“Dot will be there too,” Millie added brightly. “She says she hasn’t seen much of you since you moved to St. James.”

“Not by design, I assure you,” Ember replied.

“It’s just been very busy since the relocation.

I miss all the Fletchers terribly—Dot, Percy, even that damn cat.

I’ve an urge to sneeze just thinking about her, and yet I want to scratch behind her ears and tell her what a good cat she is all the same. ”

Abe winced. He was familiar with the cat in question. He was reasonably certain it was a witch or some manner of malignant fae in disguise.

Then again, all cats fit that description, didn’t they? This one was just embracing her role with unseemly enthusiasm.

Silas had named the creature Queen Mab. As far as Abe was concerned, that meant he was in on it.

“Is everything correct?” Cresson cut in as the ladies’ conversation veered toward the new Cain baby and the plumpness of her cheeks.

“What? Oh, yes,” Abe said, snapping the file shut. “Right as rain. These shouldn’t take more than a week or two. I am anxious to get the jewel thief notes, however. Any way you can speed that up?”

“I can give you what I have as of now if you want to come back to the office with me,” Cresson said, his voice sounding a little thinner than usual.

In fact, Abe noted, he was holding his coffee cup so tightly that his knuckles were white. And there wasn’t even anything in there anymore. He’d quaffed it as soon as the ladies sat down.

He blinked at the other man, who was already setting about the business of buckling his leather case.

“Now?” Abe asked, looking down at his uneaten breakfast with a frown.

Cresson gave a curt nod. “Yes. Now. I’ve business elsewhere this afternoon.”

“Have a lovely day, gentlemen,” Millie Yardley said to them, her voice holding a hint of dismissal.

It was the first time she’d looked directly at Abe since he’d called out to her, and she looked rather more pleased at the prospect of his departure than he’d have preferred.

She gave him a smug little smile. “Thank you for the table.”

Abe winked at her, which stole her smile away, and snatched a sausage link from his plate as he was forced to follow Cresson to the barman, where he counted out payment for their breakfast and the ladies’ too.

“Is she really his mistress?” Cresson asked in a hushed voice as his change was tallied, throwing a sidelong glance at Abe. “And she’s friends with his wife’s sister?”

“Who? Oh, Miss Donnelly?” Abe chuckled. “Like her, do you?”

Cresson colored again. “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s all right, Joe. She’s a handsome woman,” Abe wheedled, grinning widely. “You might have spoken to her while she was sat next to you, though.”

Cresson ignored him, accepting the coins from the barman. “Never mind.”

“Lord Bentley sows enough discord that those in his wake have found kinship with each other, unlikely as it may be. But to answer your question, she had a business arrangement with Bentley. She doesn’t any longer. It was hardly the love affair you’re imagining.”

“I’m not imagining anything,” Cresson snapped, and shoved his way through the waiting crowd for the door.

Abe shrugged and threw one last glance behind him as he followed.

He found some balm in the fact that Millie Yardley’s eyes followed him all the way to the door.