Chapter 2 #2
He strode off, not looking back nor hanging about long enough for Bill to object.
The last thing he wanted was to drink with the man, but he had to admit he was curious about the people he had once known, and Bill would be more likely to talk freely to him than anyone else. Certainly, once he’d had a few drinks.
King walked briskly, shaking off the lingering ghosts of his miserable childhood, echoes of his father’s irate voice chasing him like the waves surging over the sand and shingle.
Leaving them behind on the shore, he forced his mind to the present, refusing to think of the days when he’d been helpless to fend off his sire’s fists, and made his way back to the town.
He hurried up the steps towards the terraced house where Alfred Marwick lived with his sister.
It had amused King no end to suggest to the crafty jewel thief that Little Valentine was the perfect place to live in obscurity, close enough to town for convenience but so far from anyone’s notice that he could live peacefully among the respectable residents who thought him such a nice, polite young man.
Not that he wasn’t. Markwick was a personable fellow, decent too, from what King had gathered.
Sly, though, and sharp as a blade. He’d thought the fellow had more sense than to try another such audacious job so soon after the last, but some fellows couldn’t wait to get their necks stretched.
He was in sight of the building, a neat little two-up-two-down in red brick with a green front door. The windows sparkled, and the front step looked freshly scrubbed. As King drew closer, the door opened, and a woman stepped out, locking the front door before turning.
He was close to her when she caught sight of him and he noted the slight widening of her eyes, the quick gasp. The resemblance to her brother was clear, and King bowed, wondering how much she knew about Alfie’s occupation.
“Miss Marwick?” he said pleasantly, doing his best not to appear threatening, though she did not appear particularly intimidated, which was interesting. Most gently bred ladies found it hard to meet his eye, not that he’d met many of that type in his line of work.
“Mr King,” she said, her tone giving nothing away.
King admitted himself surprised. “You know me?”
Her lips compressed as she cast a glance at his earring.
Was that disapproval? “Few men wear diamonds in their ears, Mr King. It did not take any great powers of deduction on my part. Alfred is not here, I’m afraid, so whatever it is you wished to say to him, you’ve had a wasted journey.
You may, however, speak to me, and I shall pass on any message. ”
“It’s rather a delicate matter, and one I prefer to speak to him about directly. Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I do not,” she said crisply. “Is he in trouble?”
“Not as far as I know,” King replied carefully, for if he wasn’t in London, he wasn’t in trouble yet. “Where is he?”
“How should I know?” she said with a snort, folding her arms. “I’m not his mother and, for all the consideration he gives me, he could have been dead in an alley this past week and I’d be the last to hear of it.”
“I see.” King frowned, annoyed now. He’d wanted to execute his good deed and be done with it.
Whilst hanging around to get to know the lovely Mrs Adamson was a tempting idea, he doubted any good would come of him staying here for long.
“Well, could you take a guess at when he’s likely to return here? Are we talking of days, or weeks?”
“You really need to speak to him,” she said, eyes narrowing. “And he’s not in any trouble?”
King shook his head, not wishing to frighten her. “Not with me. In fact, I’m here because he once did me a kindness, and I wish to return the favour.”
Miss Marwick considered this as King studied her.
She had fine features, high cheekbones and cool grey eyes that sparkled with intelligence.
Her hair was scraped back in an unbecoming style, however, and her pelisse was a drab shade of brown that did little for her.
Was that a lack of taste or a deliberate choice?
“He mentioned going to Whitstable to visit an old friend,” she said reluctantly. “If that’s the case, I’d expect him home by the weekend.”
King digested this, resigning himself to at least three more days in Little Valentine. “Thank you, Miss Marwick. You’ve been most helpful.”
She nodded, looking rather irked by the notion, which amused him.
“Are you on your way to the hotel for the musical recital?” he asked.
Miss Marwick stared at him in surprise.
“I’m staying there. Mrs Adamson mentioned there was an event on today. I’m to stay clear of the dining room,” he explained, enjoying wrong-footing her once more. She really did not seem to know what to make of him, but he doubted any of her conclusions would be favourable, and rightly so.
“It’s The Venturesome Ladies Club,” she said, watching his expression closely. “And yes, I am.”
“Then I shall walk with you, if you will permit me.”
“I don’t see that I have much choice,” she remarked dryly, but strode along the cobbled street as King noted the shops they passed.
Mr and Mrs Doomsday’s haberdashers was still going strong. Bagot the butcher, the baker’s shop, the cheese shop, all was as before, except for one thing.
“That’s new,” he observed. “Since when has there been such a smart dress shop in Little Valentine?”
“I do not know. Since I’ve been here anyway,” she replied. “You know this place? Alfie never told me that.”
King grinned, holding open the door to the hotel. “Born and bred, and Alfie didn’t know,” he told her with a wink, before following her in.
The sound of women’s voices reached him, and he peered towards the dining room with interest.
“Well, this is where I leave you. Good day to you, Mr King,” she said, looking relieved.
“Miss Marwick,” he replied, inclining his head slightly.
“Mr King, was there something you wanted?”
King turned, his day becoming markedly better as he took in the sight of Mrs Adamson.
She was dressed superbly in a gown of fine white cambric, heavily trimmed with Vandyke lace, the quality of which King was quite aware, having done more than a little trade in smuggled French fabric over the years.
Three bands of embroidered cambric pulled in the full sleeves at intervals, and a muslin sash, prettily arranged beneath her bust, drew attention to a splendid décolletage.
She looked like a sweet confection made of meringue and whipped cream and his mouth fairly watered at the sight of her.
“The temptation to reply to that question honestly is almost more than I can bear,” he replied, his voice low so only she could hear, as his gaze travelled slowly over her.
A hectic blush stained her fair skin, and he wondered how often she cursed her propensity to colour, for her complexion was the snowy white of a true redhead. A faint sprinkling of freckles danced whimsically over her nose like a scattering of tiny stars, a detail he found ridiculously charming.
“Then I must be grateful for your restraint,” she replied coolly, her green eyes flashing. “Ring the bell if you require anything reasonable. Mr Cogger will see to you.”
“Cogger, of course.” King grinned. “I meant to ask you how my old friend fared since you stole him away from me?”
“Stole him?” she replied indignantly. “I think not. I believe he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.”
King chuckled, delighted by her. “Did he, indeed? And little wonder. The filth of the rookeries is no match for a cosy place like this with such splendid company. I’m tempted to stay myself.”
“I cannot tell you how gratified I am to hear my hotel meets with your approval,” she said, and with such insincerity he had to fight not to laugh. “Now, if you would excuse me. I have business to attend to.”
She left him, with a swish of skirts and a rustle of lace and petticoats.
“Glorious,” King murmured under his breath, wondering when he’d ever been so captivated by a woman.
That she was a lady was beyond doubt. Her bearing was that of a duchess, her accent the real thing, not carefully sculpted by years of endeavour, and yet she was here running a hotel.
He wondered what the staid ladies of the town made of her and hoped they were not unkind, though he knew well enough how anyone who did not conform to certain standards would be crucified by their tattling tongues.
Somehow, though, he thought Mrs Adamson was up to their weight.
Certainly she was still here, and making a grand success of her business too, by the looks of things.
Admiration for her flamed to life inside him, making him wish to know more about the woman Mrs Fairway had begged him to help that night.
Much more. Just how bold was she, he wondered, a smile curving his lips as he realised spending another few days in Little Valentine might not be such a hardship after all.