“Lady Hamilton,” Phineas greeted the angry woman with a surprisingly calm smile, given the circumstances. “How lovely to see you this morning.”
“Don’t you lovely me, Mr. Mercer.” Lady Hamilton narrowed her eyes at him. “You thought I would give up my pursuit after the musicale the other evening, didn’t you?”
“And what pursuit is that?” Phin asked.
Lenore winced, both because she didn’t think it was a particularly savvy move for Phin to deny what everyone in London now knew she was after and because Lady Hamilton was loud enough to alert everyone in the square of her presence.
“I will have justice for my daughter and her sullied name,” Lady Hamilton declared. “I will see the author of the scandal that has ruined her pilloried if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“I hope you do just that,” Lenore said, alarmed by how strangled her voice was. She glanced over her shoulder, searching out Bart. He had moved closer to the steps to the National Gallery and farther away from them, but it wasn’t much of a relief. “If you will excuse us, Lady Hamilton. We have a pressing engagement elsewhere.”
“Not so fast.” Lady Hamilton stopped her as she tried to move on. “I want you to meet Det. Gleason.” She grinned as though she’d accomplished some sort of coup.
Lenore swallowed and turned her attention to the man by Lady Hamilton’s side. He had been shadowing her from the moment Lenore spotted him. She hadn’t thought much of it when Lady Hamilton had announced to the crowd that the man would be investigating the matter of Nocturne’s author. Now that she saw the man up close, however, dread pooled in her stomach. And there was already enough dread there to sink a ship. Det. Gleason was slightly shorter than average, but the sharpness of his blue eyes made up for any lack of stature. He sported a fashionable moustache, which gave him a serious air, but Lenore could see more than a little thick, brown hair poking out from under his hat, as though he had a hard time keeping it tamed, which gave him the air of being a rogue who might do anything to solve whatever mystery he was tracking.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Garrett,” Det. Gleason said, extending a hand.
Lenore gulped. The man already knew her name. That was most certainly not a good thing. She put on a smile and shook his hand all the same. “The pleasure is all mine, Det. Gleason. Might I introduce Mr. Mercer?” She turned to Phineas.
“Yes, I know Mr. Mercer,” Det. Gleason said, his wide mouth pulling into a slight grin. Phineas looked baffled and more than a little alarmed, until Det. Gleason added, “By reputation if by nothing else.”
That admission did nothing to ease the tension that was painted all over Phineas’s face, even though he attempted to appear casual as he shook the detective’s hand. “I’m afraid I don’t have the honor of knowing your reputation, sir,” he said with an affable smile.
“Which only goes to show I am very good at my job indeed,” Det. Gleason replied.
He held Phineas’s hand for longer than was necessary, and judging by the way their hands were joined, both men were attempting to squeeze the life out of the other in some sort of show of masculine superiority. On any other day, Lenore would have rolled her eyes, but Bart had taken up a position halfway up the steps of the National Gallery and was scanning the crowd closer to the fountain.
“I understand that you were an editor of your class newspaper at Durham University,” Det. Gleason went on to say, smiling at Phineas as though he knew something.
“I played a minor role,” Phineas said with a casual shrug. Lenore had the feeling the shrug was to distract from the flush that formed on his face.
“I did a bit of scribbling myself, back in the day,” Det. Gleason went on. “We should have a pint sometime and talk about literature.”
“That sounds delightful,” Phin answered, then cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, sir. Miss Garrett truly does have a pressing engagement that we are already late for.”
“Understood,” Det. Gleason said with a nod. “Have a good day, sir. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
“Aren’t you going to examine him?” Lady Hamilton asked Det. Gleason as Lenore and Phineas hurried away. “I’m certain both of them have something to do with this whole, horrid affair.”
“Shit,” Phineas growled once he and Lenore had reached the edge of the square and were able to move faster. He didn’t say anything more.
“I quite agree,” Lenore said in a hollow voice.
Neither of them spoke as they moved far enough from the bustling square to hail a cab. Even once they were inside, Lenore couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief. Bart was in London. London was huge, but it wasn’t big enough to keep her hidden forever. She had to assume that Bart was searching for her and that he would ask around. All it would take was for him to find someone who knew her or had even heard of her, and he would know where to find her. The clock that had been ticking over her head for more than a year suddenly seemed louder than ever before.
“You’re going to have to explain what’s going on,” Phineas told her with a pointed look as the cab let them out in front of Howsden House. Phin paid the driver, and the two of them continued to the house.
Lenore didn’t wait for Mr. Tilney, the butler, to let them in. Reese had taken to leaving the front door unlocked during the day, since all three of them had a tendency to come and go, though she hoped and prayed both Reese and Freddy were home.
“I’ll explain,” Lenore said, pressing a hand to her stomach as she and Phineas headed down the hall in search of Freddy and Reese. “But I’d rather only explain once.”
She
