I paid no attention as I seated myself opposite Brewster and accepted the ale the publican put before me. I’d pay for mine as well as Brewster’s, as had come to be my habit.

“I don’t know where he is,” Brewster said before I could speak.

“But your employer will,” I replied. “Will you ask him to send the man to Grenville’s house? I’m certain we can all practice discretion.”

“No, I will not.” Brewster locked his hands around his tankard. “You stick your neck out too far, Captain. His nibs will snap it off, one day, and I don’t want mine coming off with yours.”

“You only need to deliver the message. Mr. Denis will know I am the audacious one, not you.”

Brewster’s lower lip firmed in a way I’d come to know meant he would be intractable. “No. He’s sent me to look after you. That means keeping you from endangering yourself from him as well. I have to say, watching you is more trouble than a whole flock of unruly sheep. You go off every which way. Leave it, Captain. That’s my final word on it.”

Chapter Four

“Very well,” I said. “I will hunt down the surgeon myself.”

Brewster’s sigh nearly shook the table. “Will ye not listen to those with more sense than you? It’s dangerous to go asking certain questions about certain people. Ye want nothing to do with the man.”

I regarded Brewster in some perplexity. He was surly by nature, it was true, but he usually gave in and approached his master with my messages, deciding that if Denis grew angry at me, on my own head be it. This time, I read fear in his eyes. It made me wonder very much.

“I am seeking the surgeon’s expert opinion,” I said. “I have no wish to make a friend of him.”

Regardless of whatever the surgeon had done to get himself sentenced to transportation, I had recognized competence, even brilliance, in the close-mouthed man. I knew that what secrets the bones had to tell me, he could reveal them.

“You’re a fool,” Brewster told me bluntly. “I’ll have nothing to do with it. M’ task is to keep you from harm, not let you race toward it.”

“Better men then you have failed at such a task,” I pointed out. “And I am still alive.”

“Huh. Not for much longer, I’m thinking. Why do you want to go poking at old bones anyway? The poor lass is dead and gone. Nothing you can do.”

I felt the stirring of pity I’d had when I’d looked down at the skeleton displayed so nakedly on the table. “Someone did that to her, took away her life, her chances. Whoever it is ought to pay.”

Brewster obviously did not agree with me. He had been a help to me a time or two in the past, but he did not share my zeal for bringing culprits to justice. He, like most of the world, thought I should keep my long nose to myself.

“We are at an impasse then,” I said. I drank the ale, which was a good brew, if a touch bland. The old public houses that looked as though they’d fall down about me often had the best ale in London.

“’Suppose we are,” Brewster said.

“I will simply visit your employer and ask him for an address.”

Brewster thunked his tankard to the table and leaned toward me.

“Now, there you go off again. I told you, I’m to keep you well and alive. If his nibs loses his temper and offs you, he’ll blame me.”

Did James Denis lose his temper? I wondered. I had seen him enraged before, but that had been a special circumstance, and the result of that rage had been deadly.

On the other hand, I’d witnessed a man set off an incendiary device in Denis’s study, and Denis’s sangfroid barely slip.

“You could refuse,” I suggested. “When he tells you to look after me, you could ask that he give you another, less thankless, task.”

“Huh,” Brewster said. “Ain’t worth m’ life, asking something like that.”

I took a final sip of ale and rose. “Then I’ll be off. Perhaps I’ll catch him in a good temper.”

Brewster glanced at his tankard, aggrieved. “Now?”

“Indeed. If you must follow me about, then follow.”

I gave coins to the publican, took up my hat and gloves, and tapped my way out to the street. Brewster, noisy with grumbles, followed.

***

I took a hackney to Curzon Street. Stumping up to the pub to find Brewster had taxed the strength in my weak leg, and I needed to rest it. That hurt my pride, but I had no wish to be laid up the rest of the day.

When we arrived at Denis’s door, number 45, the stiff-faced butler informed me that Denis was not receiving, as he had another appointment.

I told the butler I would write a note. The butler assumed I meant I’d write the letter at home and send it, then realized I was determined to step into a room in this house and compose it there. He looked as aggrieved as Brewster but let me in.

I was rude, yes, and I’d never dream of being so highhanded in anyone else’s house, not even Grenville’s.

These men, however, had been happy to beat upon me a time or two, and had certainly threatened, hurt, and even killed others at Denis’s command. I saw no reason to let them cow me. If Denis wished to use me, he would have to put up with me as I was.

The butler led me into a reception room which held a small davenport desk—a delicate, gilded piece with small drawers and a sloping writing surface. The desk could be easily carried to set in front of a sofa for the comfort of the writer.

The drawers held plenty of stiff, expensive paper, ink, and pens with nibs sharp and ready. Apparently, Mr. Denis expected this desk to be used.

Or perhaps he did not. This house was furnished and stocked down to the last detail, but much of it was for show. I never felt it was a true home.

I smoothed out paper, dipped the pen in the ink, and scratched a few words. The desk was slanted at such an angle that writing was comfortable. Perhaps I would suggest such a piece for Donata.

“Pardon me, sir,” the butler said, easing his way back into the room. “Mr. Denis will see you now.”

I glanced at the half sentence I’d penned, the ink already drying. I folded the paper and stuffed it into my pocket. I started to put away the ink and so forth, but another footman sidled in and began to do it for me.

I followed the impatient butler out and up the stairs, sensing his agitation.

I discovered the reason for his haste when we reached the top of the second flight, nearing Denis’s study.

A cry of fear and pain sounded beneath me. Startled, I leaned over the banisters to see what was the matter, just as a man burst from a room on the floor below.

He was an ordinary-looking gentleman in a plain suit a man of business might wear. His brown hair, which was thick, stuck out every which way—from my vantage I could see the balding spot on the crown of his head. I could also see his beak of a nose on the face he turned up to me.

“Sir!” His cry was filled with despair.

Before I could answer, three of Denis’s men caught up to him and bore him to the floor.

I started for the stairs. The butler tried to stop me, but while he was cast from the same mold as Denis’s ruffian footmen, he was older, and I was quicker than he.

“Leave him,” I snapped, hanging on to the railing as I charged downward.

The man they were beating was small and spindle-shanked, his old-fashioned knee breeches hardly adequate padding against their kicks. I put a strong hand on the broad shoulder of one of the footmen, and yanked him away.

The thug turned on me a look of astonishment, before he balled up a giant fist and heaved it toward my face.

“No.” The sharp command from above, in Denis’s silk-smooth voice, halted the fist in midair. “Bring the captain upstairs.”

He gave no orders as to the smaller man, whom the other two footmen proceeded to beat and kick. I glared up at Denis.

“Surely he can be no more threat to you,” I said. “Whatever lesson you intended to teach him is learned. If they go on, they’ll kill him.”