From within the house, footsteps approached and then the door was opened. The butler who stood within was obviously a superior servant, but his eyes rounded when he saw Alistair’s face. Helen bit back a sharp exclamation. Why did people have to stare so rudely when they saw Alistair? They acted like he was an animal or an inanimate object—a monkey in a cage or a bizarre machine—and gaped as if he had no feelings.
Alistair, meanwhile, simply ignored the man’s rudeness and asked for the duke. The butler recovered himself, inquired after their names, and showed them into a small sitting room before leaving to ascertain if the duke was available.
Helen sat on an ornate gold and black settee and carefully arranged her skirts. She felt wildly out of place here in the house where Lister lived with his legitimate family. The room was done in golds and white and black. On one wall was a portrait of a boy, and she wondered if it was a relation of the duke, a son perhaps. He had three sons by his wife, she knew. Quickly she looked away from the small portrait, feeling shame that she’d once slept with a married man.
Alistair was prowling the room like a cat on the hunt. He stopped before a collection of small porcelain figurines on a table and asked without turning around, “This is his main residence?”
“Yes.”
He moved to peer at the boy’s portrait. “And he has children of his own?”
“Two girls and three boys.” She stroked one finger gently over the embroidery on her sleeve.
“Then he has an heir.”
“Yes.”
He was behind her now, out of her sight, but his voice sounded quite near when he asked, “What age is his heir?”
She frowned a little, thinking. “Four and twenty, perhaps? I’m not sure.”
“But he’s a grown man.”
“Yes.”
He came back into her sight, wandering to the tall windows overlooking the garden in back. “And his wife? Who is she?”
Helen stared at her skirt. “He’s married to the daughter of an earl. I’ve never met her.”
“No, of course not,” he muttered, turning away from the window. “I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
He didn’t say it with any condemnation in his voice, but she still felt heat climb up her throat and face. She wasn’t sure how to reply and thus was rather relieved when the butler returned.
The man’s face was impassive now as he told them that the duke was not receiving visitors. Helen half expected Alistair to demand to see the duke and push past the man. Instead he merely nodded and escorted her to the waiting carriage.
She looked at him curiously after the carriage pulled away. “Was that helpful to you?”
He nodded. “I think so, although what he does next will be more so, I hope.”
“What he does next?”
“How he reacts to our presence in town.” He looked at her, a corner of his mouth twisting up. “It’s like poking a hornet’s nest to see what will happen.”
“I’d think you’d get a hoard of angry hornets swarming you,” she said dryly.
“Ah, but will they attack immediately or wait for another poke? Will they come all at once or send out scouts first?”
She stared at him, bemused. “And poking Lister like a nest of hornets tells you all that?”
“Oh, yes.” He looked quite satisfied as he held the curtain open with one finger to gaze out the carriage window.
“I see.” She believed him, that somehow he was gaining knowledge in a masculine war, but such Machiavellian mechanisms were too complex for her. She merely wanted her children back, pure and simple. She chided herself to be patient. If Alistair’s methods could bring back the children, she could wait.
She could.
“I need to make another errand,” he said.
She looked up. “Where?”
“I have to see about a ship at the docks.”
“What ship? Why?”
He was silent, and for a moment she thought he would not reply. Then he frowned and glanced away from the window to her. “There’s a Norwegian ship that’s docking the day after tomorrow, or at least it should be. On it is a friend, a fellow naturalist. I’ve promised to see him.”
She watched him. There was something more here that he wasn’t saying. “Why can’t he come to see you?”
“He’s a Frenchman,” he said. His voice was impatient, as if he didn’t like her questions. “He can’t leave the ship.”
“You must be very good friends, then.”
He shrugged and looked away from her, not answering.
They rode in silence until they made the hotel where Alistair had purchased a room for them both.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said before she descended the carriage. “We’ll talk then.”
She watched as the carriage pulled away, her eyes narrowed, and then she glanced at the hotel. It was quite nice, an expensive establishment, but she had no wish to sit in the elegant room and twiddle her thumbs waiting for him.
She turned to one of the hostlers lounging about the front of the hotel. “Can you find me a sedan chair?”
“Aye, mum!” The boy took off like a shot.
She smiled. Alistair needn’t be the only one to keep secrets.
THE MAN WHO’D followed them from Lister’s residence to the hotel continued to trail Alistair after the carriage pulled away. Alistair grunted in satisfaction and let the window curtain fall. The man was on foot, a rough fellow dressed in a buff waistcoat, black coat, and wide-brimmed hat, but the carriages rolled so slowly in London that he could easily keep up. Interesting that Lister wanted to know where he went as well as Helen. The duke had obviously pegged him as a threat, sight unseen.
Alistair’s lips curled. As well Lister should.
An hour later, the duke’s man was still trailing the carriage when it stopped in front of the dock master’s office. Tall ships were crowded in the middle of the Thames, where the channel was deep enough for their hulls. Smaller boats and ships were in constant motion, ferrying goods and people to the anchored ships. The smell of the river was sharp here, part fish, part rot. Alistair jumped down and strode inside the dock master’s office, pretending not to notice the follower, lounging now against a warehouse wall. There were several men milling about inside the dock master’s office, but everyone fell silent when Alistair entered. He sighed. They would begin talking again, avidly, when he left. It became wearying after a while to always be the most bizarre part of other people’s days.