Chapter 22 #2
“Excellent idea,” Bram said. “But you’re Scottish. Miss Watts is English.”
“She can have a Scottish friend,” he snapped back. “But if it makes you happy, I’ll not speak. Miss Downing can do that. We’ll go in first,” Mungo added before anyone else could protest.
He placed a hand on her back and nudged her toward the door. When she didn’t move fast enough for his liking, he reached around her, opened it, and nudged again.
“I don’t need direction, nor your large hand pushing me.”
“Move, then,” he muttered, following her inside.
She said something else under her breath, but he didn’t catch it and likely wasn’t meant to.
Few people spoke to Mungo that way. Most found him intimidating.
Not the Nightingales, of course. But others.
And definitely not Eliza. She seemed determined to point out his flaws to the younger members of the family and annoy him by calling him Mr. Mungo.
He shouldn’t respect her for it, yet he did.
Inside, the tea shop was larger than expected.
Lanterns glowed softly, reflecting off patterned wallpaper.
Steam curled from teapots on nearby tables.
One wall was lined with shelves of mismatched books, chipped teacups, and vases stuffed with dried flowers.
Cozy, Mungo thought. At least the walls didn’t feel as though they wanted to crush him.
“Hello, Maggie.” Eliza went straight to a table of four women. Mungo stayed at her back.
The one she’d greeted rose as they approached. “Eliza. It’s been so long. How are you?”
“Well, thank you, Maggie. I am enjoying my new position very much. The family are lovely, even if they have a few crotchety staff members.”
Clearly, she meant him.
“All households have those,” another of the ladies said. “Staff who think they have more rights than anyone else.”
“Exactly that,” Eliza said.
Mungo ground his teeth.
“Is this your man?” Maggie’s sharp gaze shifted to Mungo.
He attempted something like a smile. Her brows rose, unimpressed.
“Oh no, this is Mr. Fraser,” Eliza said, pulling Maggie’s attention back to herself. “We’re searching for his friend Polly Watts. She’s with the Holton Agency as well.”
A subtle rustling came from behind them, which told him that the others had arrived and were seating themselves at a table. Mungo kept his attention on Eliza and the women.
“Well, she needs to keep that quiet. Mrs. Holton doesn’t like her girls to have family or beaus,” one of the women said.
“Why do you think that is?” Eliza asked. “It’s a bit odd.”
“She doesn’t want anything getting in the way of the Holton Agency’s stellar reputation. Connections to other people do that, apparently.”
“Do any of you know Polly Watts?” Eliza asked.
“She could be a special,” one of them said.
“Special?”
“You don’t know about the special girls, Eliza?” one of the ladies asked, her face showing surprise.
She shook her head.
“Mrs. Holton runs a highly respected agency and often gets requests for maids or other staff from overseas. She selects the best of us and then pays the passage for them to travel.”
“Yes, I know some of them travel to Europe,” Eliza said. “But I hadn’t known they’re called specials.”
Mandy nodded.
“Polly has not been in touch with Mr. Fraser,” Eliza went on. “Nor was she at her lodgings when he called to take her to their favorite place for tea. If she’d gone to Europe, you’d think she’d have told him.”
Favorite place. Mungo could honestly say he’d never had one and didn’t plan to, especially not in London.
“I’ve had friends go to Europe. One day they’re there and the next gone. It’s how the Holton Agency does things.” Maggie shrugged.
“And do they come back to England after their employment has ended?” Eliza asked.
Good girl. He’d have asked that too.
Maggie looked at the others seated at her table, and they all shrugged as if to say they didn’t know the answer to that.
“Were you nice to Polly, lad?” Mandy asked with narrowed eyes. “That sometimes drives a girl off.”
“Oh yes,” Eliza said quickly. “Mr. Fraser is very shy and works in the same household as me. He’s gentle and sweet-natured. He’s never mistreated anyone.”
Her ability to lie without blinking was impressive.
“If any of you comes across Polly,” Eliza said, “please contact us at 11 Crabbett Close.”
“Of course, and I’ll pass that around to the other girls.”
They turned to leave and didn’t acknowledge the others seated at a table but kept walking until they were outside. Mungo fell into step beside her.
“It’s odd, don’t you think, this policy that the Holton Agency girls have no close ties to anyone?” She stopped suddenly and looked at him.
“It’s odd, and I’ve no idea why it’s the case, but I don’t like it. Nor the business about the special girls selected for Europe.”
“I’ve never heard of that, and neither has Sylvie, or she’d have told me. Clearly we are not special.”
You are.
“Keep moving. It’s cold,” he said, nudging her forward.
The wind was sharper now, gusting around corners with enough force to sting exposed skin.
“Why would people want English girls, who don’t speak their language, as staff, Mungo?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, either, but it feels off.” She’d never called him just Mungo but he didn’t mention that fact.
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me even drink the tea.” Alex’s voice carried down the lane. “Absolute torture.”
They reached the carriage, and Eliza told the others everything they’d heard in the tea shop.
“That sounds odd to me,” Leo said. “The special girls and no close bonds with anyone.”
“Agree. Something smells like a year-old barrel of fish,” Alex added.
“I’ll go to Scotland Yard and start making enquiries. We will also need to go to Holton’s. Something does sound fishy about that place,” Gray said.
“Did you have any visions or come up with anything in there?” Mungo asked.
Calder was standing slightly back, his eyes moving around the scene as if Fenella would suddenly appear.
“I saw a woman, who I believe is your niece, and she’s in a room with another girl.” Ellen shot a look at Calder before continuing. “They’re all right, from what I can gather, but I don’t believe they want to be there.”
“Old Mungo is showing me a tattoo. Not on him ….” Alex squinted into the distance. “On another person, and it’s a Triquetra.”
“How do you know what a Triquetra is?” Mungo demanded.
“Remember, it’s in Uncle Bram’s red book, and the Baddon Boys Gang all have them tattooed on their arms,” Alex said.
“That’s right,” Bram said slowly.
Mungo felt the ice-cold fear slither down his body. He was now sure Fenella was in danger—serious danger—and they needed to find her.
“For now, we return home, as dark is falling, and tomorrow we renew our search, starting with the Holton Agency. If we find nothing there, we slip in at night and look.”
“I can’t sleep if I know she’s out there,” Mungo said.
“And where is it you’ll look, then?” Leo demanded.
“You run around London with no plan or location in mind, you’ll end up in trouble. We have to find her, and to do that, we must have a plan,” Bram added.
Mungo nodded, looking at his brother. It had been years since they’d shared a look, but they did so now, and both knew exactly what they’d be doing after the household was bedded down for the night.