‘Do you know someone called Kilby?’
He went utterly still, wariness in every line. ‘Where’d you hear that name?’
‘Lord Cambourne, and I think Papa knows him.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Don’t go askin’ no questions about Kilby,’ Fitch said at last. ‘Better if you’d never heard the name. Safer.’ He swallowed his mouthful. ‘His nibs asks again, tell him you don’t know nothin’. Safer,’ he repeated.
* * *
Kilby was still at his desk when Jig reported to him, but Jig noted with relief that, far from drumming his fingers, the man was eating.
‘Jig. What have you got for me?’ Kilby bit into a chicken leg.
‘Still no sign of Hensleigh, guv,’ Jig said, trying not to stare at the rest of the chicken.’ His stomach rumbled.
‘Girl might be covering for him.’ Kilby spoke through a mouthful.
Jig shook his head. ‘Don’ reckon, guv. Sounds like she ain’t got no money an’ the gent come a-calling tonight.’
‘Did he now?’ Kilby set the half-eaten chicken leg back on the platter. ‘Anything on him?’
Jig swallowed spit. God, that chicken smelled good. ‘Got a name—Remington.’
Kilby’s hand froze halfway to the tankard. ‘Remington?’
‘Yeah. Struck me, too,’ Jig said. ‘But it ain’t him, guv.’ Like he wouldn’t reckernise a bloke he’d helped beat bloody? Weren’t blind, or dicked in the nob, was he?
‘No. Of course not.’ Kilby took a swallow from the tankard. ‘You can describe the fellow?’
Jig nodded. ‘Tall. Taller’n me. Well set-up cove. Moves like ’e’d strip to advantage. Real easy on ’is feet. Dark hair. Dresses like quality. Not real bang-up new, but quality.’
‘Probably tupping the girl.’ Kilby sighed. ‘Pity.’
‘Woman owns the lodgings reckons that’s the way of it,’ Jig said. ‘Been flapping her mouth all over. But I ain’t so sure.’
Kilby stared over the rim of the tankard. ‘And what engenders this extraordinary optimism, Jig?’
Allowing that he didn’t understand any of them breakteeth words, Jig got the idea. ‘Well, you wanted me to find out why young Fitch’s earnings was down.’
‘Yes?’
‘So, I seen ’im hangin’ round a lad playin’ the fiddle. Right crowd there was.’
‘So Fitch should have had easy pickings.’ Kilby’s fingers drummed in such a way that Jig reckoned Fitch had better watch out for himself. ‘The little rat’s holding out on me, is that it?’
‘Not ezackly, guv.’ Jig went on. ‘Far’s I could tell, he weren’t picking pockets at all.’
‘What?’
‘No. Just makin’ sure no one else helped theirselves to the takin’s.’
Kilby sat back. ‘Maybe we’d better have a word to this lad with a fiddle.’
‘Well, now,’ Jig said, ‘funny you should say that, guv. I ain’t sure it is a lad—’
‘What? You said—’
‘Reckon it’s the girl. Hensleigh’s girl, playin’ for pennies. And—’
‘And why would she be doing that—’ Kilby said, looking interested.
‘If she’s givin’ rides to a toff,’ Jig finished. ‘It don’t make sense.’
‘No,’ Kilby said. ‘It doesn’t. Get word to Fitch that I want his takings up. Nothing else. No word of this. And he’s to be given a couple of night jobs.’
‘An’ the toff? You want me to find out more?’
‘No. Keep an eye on the girl.’ Kilby’s eyes bored into him. ‘I don’t have to tell you that she is to remain untouched, do I?’
* * *
The party at Aldwick House was in full swing when James arrived. He ran into his host in the first of the open salons.
‘Ah, Cambourne.’ Viscount Aldwick held out his hand to James. ‘Didn’t see you in the reception line.’
James shook his hand. ‘My apologies to you and Lady Aldwick, sir. I’m afraid I was rather late.’
Aldwick smiled briefly. ‘Never mind. As it is, I wonder if you might just slip along to my library. It’s not generally open tonight, but someone there would like a word with you.’
* * *
The library was lit only by the fire in the hearth and a single branch of candles on the chimneypiece. Shadows filled the room.
‘Cambourne?’ A dark figure rose from a wing chair by the fire.
James knew the quiet, deep voice. ‘Hunt? What the devil are you doing here?’ He moved towards the fire. ‘How—?’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. There’s no point asking how you are—I saw the notice in the papers about your brother’s death. If there’s anything I can do...?’
Close enough now to make out Huntercombe’s features, he could see lines carved in the older man’s face that hadn’t been there six months ago. Deep lines and a shadow in the eyes that had nothing to do with the darkness of the room.
Huntercombe smiled briefly. ‘Kind of you. I wondered if I might have a word?’ He glanced around the library. ‘I knew you’d be here tonight, so I sent a note around to Aldwick this afternoon and he told me to make myself at home. I’m not actually invited this evening, at least, I suppose I would have been, but—’ He shrugged.
James nodded. A man deep in mourning for his half-brother didn’t normally attend balls. The Marquess of Huntercombe was only in town to attend the House of Lords. ‘You didn’t have to come out like this. I would have come to you.’
Huntercombe reached for a decanter on the wine table beside him. ‘I know. But I thought it better to be a trifle circumspect. Brandy?’
James took the chair on the other side of the fireplace. ‘Thank you. Circumspect about what?’
‘I heard young Remington had a little trouble recently. With a certain Captain Hensleigh.’
James leaned forward. ‘How do you know about that?’
Huntercombe’s eyes closed. ‘Don’t worry—it’s gone no further. Your cousin’s man and my valet happen to be brothers. Is the boy really
