Chapter Seventeen
Honora walked to Mr. Stanton’s door, the sun somewhere behind the gray clouds of late evening—because night was when the less desirable came out to play.
This time, she didn’t even need to knock.
Leonard was walking down his front steps before she made it there herself.
Her gaze washed over him, his wavy brown hair styled neatly.
A pity, really. But the rest of his appearance she could admire, even—a tad reluctantly—the more styled locks, paired with a deep-blue tailcoat, gold-hued waistcoat, and dark-cream pantaloons.
He was going to stick out like a parrot among sparrows.
“Leo,” she said with a smile, waiting until he was on flat ground with her. She trailed her eyes over his form. “You look very well.”
For a brief moment, she saw it. His eyes did a similar perusal, though much shorter. But the effect was just as impactful. “As do you.” His brows scrunched as he took another look at her dress. “That is what you are wearing?”
She looked down at her plain brown muslin. “Yes. We aren’t going to a ball. And while I am getting great enjoyment out of your ensemble, I am very much afraid you will stand out where we are going.”
“Ah.” He looked down at his own attire. “Well, that will have to be the way of it then. I am not going to change.” With a look at her carriage, he asked, “Are we to take your carriage? For I fear that will stand out much more than my attire.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I have arranged for another means of transportation. It will be here shortly.”
“Of course it will.” This time, his words didn’t have their usual biting edge, but rather were more a statement of fact that she would have thought of such details ahead of time. He ran his hands along his arms. “Goodness, it is freezing out.”
“Poor little rich boy,” she said, fighting a smile.
With a scoff, he looked toward her. “You are one to talk, rich little thief that you are.”
“Reformed thief,” she said, leaning forward and looking down the road as she heard hoofbeats clatter down the cobblestones. “I made a promise and I shall stick to it.”
Her conscience pricked, especially now that he had been open with her about his past and family. He still thought her a widow and knew barely anything of her past. But how did one go about divulging such things?
The carriage stopped beside them, and Leonard held a hand out to assist her up.
Her gloved hand slid across his, and her heart swirled at the contact.
There was something oddly intimate in the touch, especially since he didn’t pull his hand away as quickly as he usually did.
He let her hand linger, which only made her guilt for deceiving him stronger.
Pulling her hand away, she ducked into the carriage and took her seat.
It swayed as Mr. Stanton stepped in and joined her.
The ride was dark and quiet. Words clawed at her throat, secrets that begged to be told. Yet she forced them down. She and Stanton had work ahead of them, and this was not the time.
When the ride dragged on, Stanton began to shift in his seat, looking out the window with greater frequency. Their surroundings were changing at a rapid pace, and she was sure he had never before visited this part of London. She, however, knew it well.
When the carriage finally stopped, Mr. Stanton got out and helped her down. He did not have his eyes on her, instead looking about them with narrowed eyes.
“Do not worry.” She patted his shoulder as he closed the door behind her. The carriage quickly jerked into motion, leaving them alone on the dark road.
“Our carriage left,” he said, looking down at her.
“Yes.” She hooked her arm in his, then walked them forward. “We will have to find other means of transportation to get home.”
“I don’t like this,” he said beneath his breath.
Her hand tightened on his arm. “Consider it a cultural experience.”
“You are not nervous at all, are you?” His eyes slipped down to hers as they walked.
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Why?”
“Because.” They arrived at the door of a pub, which to any onlooker would seem an unsafe place to be—but not for Honora. She opened the door, and Leonard pulled his chin back as he gazed through the window. “I was practically raised here.”
His eyes widened, but she only jerked her head to get him to enter the establishment. Best to give him small bites of her past than to dump it all on him at once. Though, this evening was sure to be jarring for him, and there wasn’t much she could do to prevent it.
She slipped through the door, breathing in deep as she walked into the dim light and foul smell.
In a way, it was almost nostalgic—the burning in her nose at the pungent scent of alcohol and under-washed bodies.
But nostalgia had a connotation that meant she longed for that time again. And she most certainly didn’t.
She could almost see little Honora going from table to table, sneaking a coin or two under the pretense of being a sweet, helpless little girl.
But she hadn’t been helpless in the least. And neither had her father, who had been the one to put her to the task.
Never one who wanted to work himself, he found other means of finding funds.
“What are we doing here?” Stanton asked, his mouth hardly moving.
Honora glanced about, hoping to see a familiar face or two. “Leg work. We need to find Pratt and get that necklace back. It really shouldn’t be difficult once we locate him. He is quite the coward. With a bit of plying, and perhaps a payment, he will give us what we need.”
Taking further steps into the pub, Stanton lagged just behind, his head swiveling from one side of the room to the other. He was on high alert, and truly, she couldn’t blame him. This was not the most savory of establishments for newcomers.
Men glared at them from behind their cups, their eyes red and bleary with overconsumption of alcohol. Most held an ale in one hand and three cards in the other. Not much had changed over the last ten or fifteen years.
Then, like a beacon of hope, Honora spied a familiar face. “There.” She stopped, putting a hand to Leonard’s arm as he came up from behind. “I know him.”
“Let us get on with it then.” He inched forward. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.”
Ah, but if only it were that simple. Honora knew the evening that lay before them, and it would not be a quick one.
These men needed to be softened up before being willing to exchange information.
Even with Honora’s history here, she saw numerous card games in her future, several mugs of ale, and perhaps even a dance or two.
But best not burden Leonard with those details.
It was for his own good that he did not know.
“Let me do most of the talking,” she warned, her words a whisper. She made for the back corner of the room where Thrup sat, his back to the rear wall. A perfect place to keep an eye on everyone in the room. A wise choice.
Their boots stuck to the ground with every step, the soles of their footwear reluctant to fight the tug of dried ale and crunching bits of food.
“Hello,” Honora said, putting on a smile.
Thrup didn’t even look at them, picking up his cards from the table. “You two lookin’ for trouble?”
“Not exactly,” Honora said, relaxing her stance, hip slightly to the side as she leaned against the table. “I only wish to visit an old friend.”
Thrup looked up at her, his burly, hairy arms laid across the table, cards in hand. His face had pitting on his cheeks, and a permanent red hue to them. “’Scuse me?”
The other men at the table gave a low laugh, each of them eyeing her and Leonard. “Didn’t know you had such highfalutin friends, Thrup. What ye be hidin’ from us?”
“They ain’t my friends,” Thrup barked back, his mouth curled into a sneer and his brow pinched.
In this place, being associated with those in the upper crust was not a good thing. They were taught to despise those born into privilege, and to never even attempt to enter into that world.
But Honora had.
“Oh, come now,” she said, “It is rude to deny an acquaintance.”
“Can we go now?” Leonard pleaded from behind her. She could almost hear the slump of his shoulders in his voice.
She shook her head as all the others at the table nodded.
“Perhaps this will help your memory.” Honora knocked her knuckles against the tabletop to get Thrup to look at her.
Finally, the man gave her his attention, his eye color hardly discernible in the dark lighting, but she knew from history that they were a deep brown.
“What’s that?” he asked, his gaze leery.
She lifted her hand in the air, a single coin neatly tucked between two of her fingers. “One of your coins.”
Thrup’s face, already a hue of red, darkened further as his eyes raged. He slapped his hands on the table, standing.
Stanton took her arm, trying to pull her out of Thrup’s space. But she stood her ground.
“You come in here and steal? You got some nerve.” Thrup towered over her, his shoulders broad and his body, which appeared soft, a weapon of its own.
Honora shrugged, holding the coin in front of her. “Take it.”
Thrup’s mouth tensed, and he reached forward to do so. Honora lifted the coin higher in the air, forcing Thrup to get closer to her.
“What are you doing?” Leonard hissed, pulling harder on her arm.
“Reacquainting myself with an old friend.”
Thrup’s anger slipped, and he looked at her face with narrowed eyes. She lifted her chin, cocking a brow as she smirked.
With a smirk of his own, Thrup reached forward and slipped the coin from her fingers. “Well I’ll be. If it ain’t little Honora herself.”
“In the flesh.”
“Ha!” Thrup threw his head back as he barked out a laugh. Then he slapped Honora’s back before retaking his seat, scooching to the far end and leaving a space. “Sit, sit,” he said, waving her down. “It’s been too long.”