“I must interrupt these niceties,” Havilland said heavily, stirring in his seat. “To ask you a rather delicate question, Mrs. Nye.” His tone was deeply sarcastic, and she waited with an impassive expression for him to speak.
“Yes?” she said at last when he continued merely to fix his hawk-like gaze upon her without further speech. “Pray ask your question, Mr. Havilland. I will not take offence at any question you ask in pursuit of duty.”
His frown deepened. “I must ask you to corroborate your husband’s whereabouts,” he said, glancing at Nye’s blank face. “For last night, between the hours of midnight and four o’clock this morn.”
Mina kept her eyes trained on Havilland’s face. “Why, as to that,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I see nothing sensitive about my answer. His place as a husband was clearly tucked in bed beside his wife. Which I assure you he was, until Edna knocked on the chamber door this morning on your arrival.”
“You are a dutiful wife, Mrs. Nye, I perceive,” Havilland said dryly. “In this respect at least, you are sadly predictable.”
“I would hope I have a healthy respect for the institution of marriage,” she replied quietly. “That was the way I was raised after all.”
Havilland’s mouth worked for a moment as though he was struggling in the grip of some strong emotion. Then he shot out of his seat. “Guthrie,” he barked, seizing the hilt of his sabre. “We will take our leave of you, madam. Nye,” he said, nodding toward her husband who nodded in return, but otherwise made no reply.
“Good day to you,” Guthrie echoed with another bow. “Good day to you, Mrs. Nye,” Guthrie echoed with another bow. Mina nodded and smiled.
“I won’t see you out, gentlemen,” Nye said, approaching the table. “As I have not yet breakfasted.” He pulled out a chair at the dining table as a scowling Havilland wrenched the door open and flung out. Guthrie followed, wincing.
Mina half expected Nye to rise from the table on their exit, but to her surprise, he reached for a muffin and took a bite. When he’d swallowed, he said. “I take two sugars in my tea.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t liked to ask in case it showed a lack of marital knowledge. “Will you take another cup?” Wordlessly, he pushed the cup and saucer across the table at her. Mina poured it out and added the sugar and then handed it back. The whole time she was thinking furiously about that cupboard full of exotic teas and the cellars that Nye apparently guarded so jealously. Was she being fanciful, or did that, in addition with the fact two Excisemen had paid them a visit seemed to indicate one thing?
Could ‘The Merry Harlot’ truly be a hub for smugglers? She raised a toasted teacake to her mouth before lowering it again. “Are you regularly visited by Excisemen here?” she asked.
Nye shrugged, slathering more butter onto a muffin. “Once in a while, maybe.” Seeing her eye fixed on him, he paused. “This coastline used to be notorious.”
“For smuggling?” Mina voiced aloud and he gave a terse nod. “I see.” Wheels were turning in Mina’s mind. She could not help but remember the rumbling and dragging noises she heard at dead of night in a wholly different light. What if it had been shipments of French brandy that were being rolled over the cobbles? Would that not make more sense than a cavalcade of ghostly monks carting bodies toward the cliffs?
She was just pondering how best to broach the subject when a sharp rap was heard on the door. Nye looked up with a heavy frown as it opened, and Jeremy checked on the threshold before sauntering into the room. “Dear me, how very civilized!” he drawled, turning in a slow circle to take in the new features of the parlor room. “Wonders have been wrought here, of which I have ne’er seen the like!” He was looking dapper as ever in a tweed walking suit and was carrying an ebony which he twirled lazily before him.
Nye’s frown deepened as Jeremy approached the table and threw himself down into a chair. “Good morning, good morning,” he caroled, drawing off his gloves. “No, I won’t take tea,” he shuddered at Mina’s murmured enquiry. “Never touch the stuff. Tell me,” he said, turning to Nye with interest. “Who were those two gentlemen who passed me in the passage just now? My man Colfax said they resembled nothing so much as a pair of Bow Street Runners.”
“Well, he was wrong,” said Nye, flinging down his napkin. “Pair of Excisemen come down from St Ives.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Jeremy tutted. “Colfax must be losing his touch.” He turned to gaze out of the window at a well-built man as blonde as himself, though of much heavier build, who was idling outside in the yard. He was dressed as a footman in a blue coat with gold buttons and did not to seem remotely self-conscious in his uniform, even though out of its native setting. Mina watched Colfax saunter over from the carriage toward the ostler with supreme confidence, though Reuben did not look particularly pleased to speak with him.
Nye cleared his throat and it occurred to Mina that she could more readily believe this Colfax was Jeremy’s illegitimate brother than Nye, who was so much darker and heavy-set than he. She wondered also, why a footman would consider himself an expert on law enforcement agents, but before she could give this much thought, Jeremy was gently tapping his cane gently on the table to catch her attention.
“I was wondering, sister dear,” he said languidly. “If you might care to join
