Noah reminded D’Angelo that he was to send a note to Mr Lydford, then he took his hat and gloves from the console table and escorted Miss Dunn out onto Hart Street.
They walked towards Long Acre in companionable silence, Mrs Gunning ambling behind playing chaperone. A list of unanswered questions bombarded his thoughts, and so he took the opportunity to gather answers.
“May I ask why you came to Hart Street without your maid?” he said, keen to delve deeper into the workings of the lady’s mind.
It took her a few seconds to reply. “I no longer know who to trust, Mr Ashwood. Indeed, I find myself growing more suspicious by the day.”
“You’re right to be cautious.” Now was a good time to prepare her for the inevitable outcome of their morning visit. “I imagine we will solve the problem of your missing undergarments within the hour. Once your maid has confessed, we will have a better understanding of whether she’s involved in the theft of your boots.”
“My maid!” Miss Dunn sucked in a sharp breath although her gait did not falter. “You’re convinced she is to blame?”
“It seems likely.”
“Kathleen is not a bad person, I can assure you.”
He admired her sense of loyalty. “Good people commit crimes. More often than not, the motive is money. What’s the price of silk stockings? Eight shillings?”
“Twelve, sir, though I suspect three shillings is the going rate for second-hand hosiery.”
He thought it best not to mention that wealthy men with strange obsessions paid more than five pounds for a soiled pair.
“Might a friend not have acted as your companion today? Or do your misgivings stretch to all those of your acquaintance?”
This time, her brief silence was fraught with tension.
“To be blunt, sir, I have no friends. My brother is a lying scoundrel. Decent ladies avoid me like the plague. The only person foolish enough to value our friendship is now paying a hefty price. Indeed, she was sent to live in Northumberland and is not permitted to write.”
The dissolute usually amassed enemies. There would be plenty of people who wished Howard Dunn dead. The innocent were always caught in the crossfire. Indeed, Noah’s father had not thought of his poor wife and child when fighting a duel over his mistress.
“I know what it’s like to suffer because of a selfish man’s deeds,” he said, his body stiffening in anger. It took effort to keep his rage at bay as he told her briefly how his father had died. It might help her to know she was not the only person tainted by the behaviour of another. “I’m sorry life dealt you a similar hand.”
She came to an abrupt halt and turned to face him. Mrs Gunning almost bumped into them, for she was busy looking at the summer bonnets in Farthings’ window.
“Thank you, Mr Ashwood.” Miss Dunn’s blue eyes brimmed with appreciation. “Few people would reveal something so distressing, so personal, merely to put another at ease.”
Heat filled his chest for the umpteenth time this morning. Perhaps he was coming down with an ague. “The actions of family members do not define us, Miss Dunn. I thought it important to remind you of that fact.”
The lady moved to touch his arm but snatched her hand back. “I appreciate your wisdom, sir. More than you know.”
Devil be damned. The tender words penetrated his rapidly failing reserve. Did she have to look upon him with doe-eyed admiration? Could she not say something distasteful to dampen his ardour?
“Let us be on our way before people accuse us of blocking the pavement,” he said lest he spout fanciful sentiments, too.
They arrived in Castle Street moments later, at the clothes shop owned by Bernard Peters. At Noah’s request, Miss Dunn entered first while Mrs Gunning remained outside. The tinkling of the bell brought the beaming proprietor hurrying to the door until he caught sight of her companion and came to a crashing halt.
“Mr Ashwood, sir.” Peters gulped a breath and fiddled with his fat fingers. He shuffled back and reluctantly bid them welcome.
“You know why I’m here, Peters.”
Noah glanced at the array of garments hanging from hooks on the walls—men’s coats and shirts in all shapes and sizes, some new, some carrying the stale, musty stench of old clothes. Gloves and reticules, cravats and stockings, filled the drawers in the glass-fronted counter. An array of dusty hats and bonnets, scuffed shoes and boots, littered the space.
Peters shook his head repeatedly before blurting, “I’ve not bought a thing off Jack Higgins, sir. I swear it on my dear mother’s grave. God rest her soul.”
“Your mother is alive, Peters.”
“Yes, sir, but I’d swear it all the same.”
Noah glanced at Miss Dunn. “Although Peters sells new clothes, he also pays people for their old linens.”
Miss Dunn pressed her fingers to her nostrils. “Yes, I soon discerned that most of his stock is second-hand.”
“Second-hand but all above board, miss. Those thieving rascals won’t get a penny for their booty here.” Peters gestured to the oak barrel full of walking canes and swordsticks. One did not need a vivid imagination to picture how he might use them. “And I check the pockets of any coat what comes in, for soil and the like.”
“Soil?” Miss Dunn’s curiosity was piqued.
“I caught Peters selling a dead man’s clothes. A man last seen wearing them in an open coffin.”
Miss Dunn frowned and glared at Peters. “You bought clothes from a grave robber? Had you no thought for the deceased man’s family?”
Peters pressed his chubby hands together in prayer. “If I’d have known that canny devil and his crew were digging up the dead, I’d have told him to sling his hook.”
Once again, they were straying from the point.
“We’re not here to discuss your previous misdeeds,” Noah said curtly, “but rather to determine if you purchased a petticoat and
