“Good day to you. My name is Lord Kelkirk, and I would like to enquire after a lady who may have entered your establishment just minutes ago. She was dressed entirely in black.” The woman didn’t offer a nod or smile of encouragement, just studied him with her faded eyes. The scent of dried herbs was almost overpowering, and he could feel a sneeze coming as he took a few moments to look around him. Hanging from every available space was an array of dried things. Some were herbs and others appeared to be the appendages of dead animals. All were covered in dust.
“No lady of that description has entered this shop, sir.”
“You’re sure,” Simon questioned. After all, she was elderly and may just need another prod. His uncle was getting on in years and could be vague upon occasion.
“Because a body is old it does not mean it’s dimwitted, sir. If I says no woman of that description has entered this shop today, then she ain’t.”
“Would you tell me if she had?” Simon questioned. The woman cackled just as Simon thought a witch would. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he attempted to hold back a sneeze. Once started, he was unsure he could stop without leaving the shop.
“Well now, that depends on what a person is willing to pay for the information.”
Snorting, Simon handed over several coins, which she promptly tucked into her bodice.
“No woman of that description has come to this shop today,” she said with a wide, toothless smile that left Simon with no doubts he had just been hoodwinked.
“Very cunning, madam.”
“You needs to rise a bit earlier to get anything over Bea Bugs, my lord.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that really your name?”
“Course not. Don’t know as my ma had many brains, yet don’t think she’d come up with something like that. Has quite a ring to it, don’t it?”
“An illustrious title, Miss Bugs, for a colorful lady.” Giving her a bow because really, she had bettered him without blinking and he, gullible fool he was for thinking that with age came a dulling of wits, had allowed it to happen. Pushing aside what looked to be a hanging bunch of small, pointed teeth, he then left.
Shaking his head a short while later, he walked from the last shop with as much information as he’d had when he’d entered the first and considerably lighter pockets. No one had known anything about a lady dressed in black. So if she had not come here to visit a shop, then perhaps she, like he, had been passing through the lane en route to meeting someone. But why would the proper Miss Belmont have cause to meet anyone here? It made no sense at all.
Now hopelessly late to meet Daniel and purchase the horse, Simon made his way back to the main street and then towards the club. He wouldn’t mention this little incident to his friend, not until he knew what the hell had just happened. And he would find out. In fact, he would be questioning Claire when next he saw her, which would very possibly be this evening.
His first impulse had been to storm around to her house and demand an explanation, but that would achieve nothing. She would simply refuse to see him, and in turn, her family would be alerted to whatever she was doing. He was fairly certain her brother had no idea she was skulking about dressed like an old crone in a lane that, whilst not the worst in London, was hardly the best.
Was she meeting a lover? Simon had to stop while he thought that over. Claire Belmont with a lover. No, it did not settle well with him, nor did he want it to. Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, he started walking once more.
Was she ill? Had she come here to get something she desperately needed for her health? This thought made the pain intensify. Claire always looked a picture of good health, to his mind. Of course that was because she was always perfectly dressed, her hair never out of place. In fact Claire did everything perfectly, never did anything that would raise the collective eyes of society. She smiled when she should and spoke about the correct topics to the correct people. She was the epitome of all a young lady should be, at least until today. Today she’d behaved irrationally, and he was determined to find out why.
Dear god, what had she just done? Claire Belmont fell back against the worn seats of the hackney. She had just hit Viscount Kelkirk in the face with her reticule, which held a heavy pouch of coins, and that was after fleeing from him like a crazed idiot.
“No, no, no.” Claire felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes but would not give in to them. What should she do now? Pulling the note from her reticule, she reread the words.
Your brother left something behind in France, Miss Belmont, when his regiment passed through. If you want to know what, then meet me in Tuttle Lane at eleven o’clock tomorrow. Bring money and come alone.