“Do we have a plan?” Mr Drake asked as they navigated the busy street, dodging wild dogs and filthy children eager to earn a penny.
They had left Valentine’s carriage in Basinghall Street for they did not wish to alert Mr Cassiel of their arrival.
“I thought we would knock on the door and wait for a reply,” Valentine mocked.
“What, before beating him to within an inch of his life?” Mr Drake looked rather pleased at the prospect.
“Something l
ike that.”
They came to a halt outside Burton’s barber and wig-making shop.
“This is number five.” Valentine glanced up at the three-storey building. “Cassiel must lodge in a room above the shop.”
“It might make it more difficult to gain entrance,” Ava said as a cold shiver ran the length of her spine. Mr Cassiel had a strange command over her senses. The thought of seeing him again left a lump in her throat.
Valentine and Mr Drake looked at her and smiled.
“Trust me, we will gain access to Cassiel’s room,” Valentine said before pushing open Burton’s door.
They all entered the shop.
One of the gentlemen seated on a wooden bench—there were five men in total—looked up from his newspaper and scanned Valentine’s pristine attire before sighing.
The fellow shook his head and turned to the man seated beside him. “Looks like we have a longer wait than expected. The quality always move to the front of the queue.”
The barber loomed over a man reclining in a chair near the window. He swept a lethal-looking razor the length of the poor fellow’s neck. Razor in hand, he glanced at the door, his eyes growing wide as he, too, perused their clothes.
“May I help you?” The barber wiped the blade on the white sheet draped over his customer’s clothes before approaching them.
Ava grimaced upon seeing the spots of blood splattered over the sheet. Thank the Lord she had no need to feel the scrape of a blade at her throat.
Valentine whipped a card from his pocket and flashed it to the barber. “I seek access to the apartments above. I seek a gentleman by the name of Cassiel.”
Having glanced at the only piece of information on the card he deemed important—Valentine’s title—the barber bowed awkwardly. They all leant back to dodge the man’s sweeping arm for he seemed to forget he brandished what those in the rookeries called a weapon.
“There’s no one lodging here by that name, milord.”
All eyes in the room were upon them as silence descended.
“You’re certain?” Valentine withdrew a few sovereigns from his pocket and thrust them into the barber’s open hand. “The gentleman has ebony hair, thick eyebrows. He favours black clothes and a red cravat.”
The barber pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze in thoughtful contemplation. After a time worthy of a few sovereigns, he had a sudden epiphany. “Yes, I think I know the fellow. He lodges with Lilly on the top floor.” The barber gestured to a door on the far wall. “Though she’ll still be abed.”
“Then I had best wake her,” Valentine said. He placed a guiding hand on Ava’s back as they crossed the room and exited the shop via the door. They climbed the wooden staircase, found only one door at the top and so knocked.
Beyond, the room was silent.
Giving a huff of impatience, Drake hammered his fist until they heard a woman’s shrill voice calling for them to wait.
The door flew open.
“Do you have to knock so loudly?” The blonde-haired woman rubbed the back of her hand across heavy-lidded eyes. “Anyone would think the house was ablaze.”
They had definitely dragged her from her bed. Why else would she answer the door wearing nothing but a thin chemise?
“You are Lilly I presume?” Ava said, ignoring the sight of the young woman’s nipples protruding through the flimsy shift. “We are looking for Mr Cassiel. It regards a matter of great importance.”