“The worst twenty minutes of my life, if you must know. The woman tried to persuade me to pay another call on her at a later time. Alone, mind you.” Anthony gave a visible shudder. “She suggested an evening visit.”

“It must have been a somewhat harrowing experience. I vow, I have never seen you quite so shaken, sir.”

“When I asked Tobias to take me on as his assistant, he neglected to mention that there were clients such as Mrs. Rushton.”

“You must admit, we have embarked upon interesting careers.”

He cheered a little at that observation. “Yes, very interesting, indeed. Tobias is still not altogether pleased with my decision to follow in his footsteps, but I believe he has accepted it.”

“Aunt Lavinia shares similar reservations about me. But I think she understands.”

Anthony frowned slightly. “Speaking of Tobias and your aunt, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“You are concerned about their personal relationship, are you not?”

“I collect that you have similar concerns?”

“I have become a trifle worried of late,” she admitted.

“It is obvious that they have become quite, uh, close. And not just in the business sense, if you take my meaning.”

She fixed her attention on the far end of the street. “What you are trying to say is that you believe that they have become intimate.”

“Yes. Forgive me, I realize that this is certainly not the sort of topic one generally discusses with a lady of your years and station, but I feel I must talk to you about the situation.”

“Do not concern yourself with the proprieties,” she said gently. “You and I, Anthony, have not had traditional, sheltered upbringings. We have certainly had far more experience of the world than most people our age. You may speak freely with me.”

“If you must know, I am troubled by the fact that Tobias and Mrs. Lake seem to be growing more quarrelsome of late.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. The nature of their association appears to be quite nettlesome, to say the least.”

“I thought, following the success of their investigation into the affair of the waxwork murders, that they had both sailed into more harmonious waters. Indeed, I would have said that they were falling in love. If nothing else, it was clear that they had conceived a passion for each other.”

Emeline thought of Lavinia’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes on those occasions when she returned from one of her long walks in the park with Tobias. “Quite clear.”

“I have no doubt but that the problem stems from Tobias’s singular lack of interest in romantical matters. He simply does not know how to woo a lady. I have tried to give him some advice, but I fear the lessons are not taking.”

“I really don’t think that is the difficulty,” Emeline said thoughtfully. “It is true that my aunt loves romantical poetry, but I don’t believe that she expects Mr. March to conform to the standards of one of Byron’s heroes.”

“I am relieved to hear that, because I fear he lacks that sort of polish and has no intention of acquiring it. But if that is not the problem, what the devil is going on between those two?”

“Something Aunt Lavinia said recently leads me to believe that she thinks Mr. March is attempting to, uh, limit the competition, as it were.”

Anthony’s brows knotted. “Bloody hell. Why would she think that?”

“In part because Mr. March refuses to introduce her to some of his connections.”

“Yes, I know, but he has what he feels is a perfectly sound reason for refusing. Some of his connections have links to the criminal class. He does not think that it would be proper to introduce Mrs. Lake to that sort, and I must admit, I can see his point of view.”

“It is not just that Mr. March will not introduce her to some of his more useful associates,” Emeline continued. “I fear that lately he has begun issuing instructions almost daily and giving unwanted advice at every turn. She finds him quite overbearing. My aunt is not accustomed to taking orders from anyone, you know.”

Anthony contemplated that for a moment. “It is clear that we are dealing with two exceptionally independent, strong-minded people. What is more, they are both quite set in their ways, are they not? I wonder what-”

A child’s voice broke into his musings. It came from behind them.

“Sir. Ma’am. Please wait. My pa wants me to give ye a message.”

“What’s this?” Anthony halted and swung around.

Emeline stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. She saw a young boy of eight or nine years, clad in rumpled clothes and a cap, waving to them from the entrance to the narrow street. Excitement swept through her.

“That is the gardener’s son,” she said to Anthony. “I met him in the course of my tour. He assists his father at the Banks mansion.”

“What can he want with us?”

“I’ll wager his papa sent him after us with some news. He probably hopes to collect the fee I promised. I knew my scheme would work.”

The boy saw that he had their attention. He hurried toward them.

The sudden loud clatter of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves rumbled behind the lad. Emeline looked past the boy and saw a black hackney rounding the corner. The two-horse team was moving at a swift trot. When the vehicle turned into the street, the coachman cracked his whip loudly over the rumps of the horses. The beasts lunged forward at full gallop.

The gardener’s son was directly in their path.

Emeline realized that the boy was in danger of being trampled beneath the hooves and wheels.

“Look out,” she shouted.

She did not know if the lad heard her warning, but in that instant he seemed to become aware of the din behind him. He stopped and turned. For an instant he seemed to be paralyzed by the sight of the onrushing carriage.

“Move, boy, move” Anthony shouted. He started forward at a run.

“Dear heaven.” Emeline seized fistfuls of her skirts and went after him.

The boy finally became aware of his dire situation. With a sudden, convulsive jerk, he made to dash for safety.

The breeze caught his cap and sent it skittering back into the path of the horses.

“Me cap.” The lad whirled and raced back out into the middle of the street, obviously determined to rescue the cap.

“No,” Emeline called. “No, don’t go back.”

But the boy paid no attention.

The carriage never slowed. Obviously the coachman did not see the lad dash back into his path. Anguished, helpless terror swept through Emeline. She could never reach him in time.

“Get into a doorway,” Anthony shouted to her over his shoulder. He was several paces ahead of her.

She flung herself toward the nearest entrance and watched, unable to breathe, as Anthony and the carriage bore down on the boy from opposite directions.

Incredibly, Anthony reached the lad seconds ahead of the flying hooves. He flung out an arm, scooped up the boy, and kept going toward the side of the street.

A moment later the carriage thundered past Emeline. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the coachman hurl an object at her. It thudded against the wall beside her and dropped to the pavement. She ignored it, too intent on reaching Anthony and the boy.

The vehicle rumbled on at breakneck speed, swaying dangerously. It rounded the corner at the end of the street and vanished.

Emeline ran toward the pair where they lay sprawled together on the stones at the foot of a short flight of steps. The boy had landed on top. His green cap lay on the ground next to Anthony’s shoulder. He stirred, raised his head, and started to lever himself to his feet. She saw that he was dazed but unhurt.

“Anthony.” She flung herself to the pavement beside him. “Anthony. For God’s sake, answer me.”

For an eternity of mindless, numbing terror, she feared the worst. The elegant knot in Anthony’s cravat had come undone, baring his throat. Ripping off one glove, she touched his skin with her fingertips, seeking a pulse.

He opened one eye and gave her a bemused grin. “I must be dead. I am obviously in the hands of an angel.”

She snatched her fingers back. “Are you injured, sir? Is anything broken?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He sat up and looked at the lad. “What about you, young man? Are you all right?”

“Aye, sir.” The lad held his cap in both hands, examining it with close attention. He looked up with a relieved grin. “Thank ye for saving me cap. My ma gave it to me for me birthday last week. She would have been right put out with me if I’d gone and ruined it.”

“It’s a very fine-looking cap.” Anthony got to his feet, absently brushing the dust from his trousers. He reached down for Emeline’s hand and hauled her lightly up from the pavement.

She turned to the boy. “Now, what was it that you wanted to tell us?”

The boy’s expression turned serious. He concentrated hard. “My pa said to tell ye that ye’ll want to speak with the valet.”

“Your master’s valet?” Anthony frowned. “He was not there today. I noticed the absence. Where is he?”

“Mrs. Rushton let him go a while back. Turned Mr. Fitch off without his wages or references, Pa said. Mr. Fitch was very, very angry.”

Emeline exchanged a glance with Anthony. “That is very interesting,” she said softly.

Anthony looked down at the boy. “Go on.”

“Pa said to tell ye that Nan, one of the chambermaids, says that she noticed Mr. Fitch acting very odd the day he got turned off. She was working in the linen closet that afternoon. Fitch never noticed her, but she saw him come out of the master’s dressing chamber with a small object all wrapped up in a neckcloth. He put it into his bags when he thought no one was looking, and left the house with it.”