a villager style in straw, sitting perched on the bureau’s top. She wrinkled her nose. “Entirely unsuitable.”
But she’d seen a small milliner’s shop tucked in a side street off Water Street. She glanced again at the clothes she’d laid out, then down at what she was wearing—one of the jacket-and-skirt ensembles in a soft lemon yellow with an ivory blouse. She wouldn’t need the hat or the darker clothes until the evening; if she accomplished what she hoped to by midafternoon, she would have plenty of time to call in at the milliner’s and find something more appropriate. “Along with a good swath of black netting for a veil.”
She felt sure any milliner would have black netting to hand; no doubt the settlement had funerals enough.
With her clothes and headgear decided, she turned to her open suitcases, located her gloves, and discovered she’d packed a pair of mid-length black gloves. “Perfect.” Laying the pair aside, she looked down. Raising her skirts, she regarded her dusty half boots. “More than adequate for creeping about in.”
She released her skirts and smoothed them down. Sartorially speaking, she had everything she needed.
“Next—equipment.” She reached into one suitcase, underneath her clothes at the very back, and drew out what appeared to be a jeweler’s box, along with a silk roll of the sort ladies used to carry pearls.
She crossed to the small desk and placed both items on the surface. Smiling to herself, she sat on the stool, opened the jeweler’s box, and surveyed the tiny American-made pistol her eldest brother had given her for her last birthday. She’d already known how to shoot a pistol, but she’d practiced diligently with the smaller weapon and now counted herself an excellent shot, at least at appropriate range.
Just to check, she untied the cords about the jewelry roll and spread it open, revealing a pair of sharp daggers and a whetstone. Satisfied she had everything she would need, she returned her attention to the pistol; after gently easing it from its velvet bed, she hefted the familiar weight in her hand.
Carefully, she put it down, lifted out the cleaning supplies that had been nestled alongside it, and settled to clean the weapon.
The exercise, something she’d done many times in the past, freed her thoughts to wander. She was convinced Will’s disappearance was somehow connected with Undoto; she intended, therefore, to watch the priest, evening and night, until she saw whatever there was to be seen.
Her lips firmed; her gaze was fixed on the pistol in her hands, her eyes not truly seeing. “There has to be something.” Something about Undoto that had caused Will to haunt his services. Some link that would lead from Undoto to Will.
After reassembling the pistol, she laid it aside and picked up the whetstone and one of the knives.
As the sound of the whetstone passing along the blade filled her ears, she forced herself to face the fact that she had no idea if she would find anything—would stumble upon anything pertinent—by watching Undoto, but she had no other clue, no other avenue to follow.
So she would follow this one and see where it led.
The resolution had her reviewing the practicalities of what she’d planned. “First—find out where Undoto lives.”
That would be easy enough, but she would need transportation.
* * *
Robert found Sampson exactly where he’d expected him to be—in the taproom of the tavern above which he lived.
The old sailor was seated at a table in the corner; head down, he was scanning a news-sheet and didn’t look up when Robert and his four men entered the low-ceilinged room.
Despite the relatively early hour, Robert bought a round of ale for his men, himself, and an extra for Sampson, then carrying Sampson’s drink as well as his own, he crossed to the table at which the old man sat.
When Robert halted before the table, Sampson deigned to look up. And up.
When Sampson’s gaze found Robert’s face, the old tar blinked, then sat back, the better to view him.
Robert smiled and gestured with the mugs of ale. “Mind if we join you?”
Sampson glanced at the other four hanging respectfully back; he identified them as fellow seafarers and grinned. “Not at all.” He nodded at the four in welcome, then his gaze returned to Robert’s face as Robert placed the mugs of ale on the table and pushed one toward him. “Thank ye. Looks like me mornin’ just became more interesting.”
He scrutinized Robert as he settled on the stool opposite. “Was it your brother who was here before, then? Cap’n Frobisher?”
Robert nodded. “Yes. My younger brother.”
Sampson studied Benson, Fuller, Harris, and Coleman as they pulled up stools, sat, and sipped their ale. He looked back at Robert. “You’re another Cap’n Frobisher, then?”
Robert dipped his head in assent and took a long pull of his ale. The taste was distinctly different, but it was recognizably ale. Lowering the mug, he met Sampson’s inquisitive eye. “We’re here to follow the trail my brother blazed.”
Sampson sobered. “Aye. Good thing, too. I’d noticed people not turning up to Undoto’s services even before your brother came, but I don’t go farther afield in the settlement, so I just thought they’d growed bored with it and hadn’t bothered coming back. But your brother and his men said people had vanished, and I gather that’s still true.”
“Indeed. We’re trying to find out where they’ve gone, with a view to staging a rescue. My brother suggested you’d be amenable to helping us out with information.”
Sampson nodded. “Happy to help any way I can.” His lips twisted wryly. “And these days, supplying information is about my limit.”
“Nevertheless, we appreciate your help.” Robert sipped, then said, “What can you tell us about any changes in behavior of those you see regularly? Especially any changes since my brother was here.”
“Hmm.” Sampson’s brow creased in thought. He lifted the mug of ale and sipped, absentmindedly savoring the taste before he swallowed and said, “The most notable change would have to be her ladyship—Lady Holbrook. She stopped coming to Undoto’s services some weeks back. Thinking on it, her stopping would have been just after your brother sailed.” Sampson flicked Robert a shrewd glance. “Bit abrupt, that seemed—he and his ship were here one day and gone the next.”
Robert acknowledged the point with a nod. “He had his wife with him.”
Sampson nodded readily. “I remember her—pretty little thing.”
Robert’s lips eased. “In her case, you don’t want to be fooled by the prettiness. But she and my brother ran into strife courtesy of his—their—investigations, and they had to draw back. I’m their replacement—the next stage of the investigation.”
“Aye, well, there haven’t been any other major changes in those I see, other than Lady Holbrook not coming to Undoto’s services anymore, and for all I know, she might just have lost interest, or taken to her bed ill, or have too much to do.”
“Do you know if Holbrook himself is currently in the settlement?”
