‘Who says that’s me?’ she demanded petulantly, copying as nearly as she could the London tones overlain with gentility that Dorinda, one of the girls at The Blue Door, used.
‘Information laid locally as a result of the notice in the Morning Chronicle,’ Inchbold said, continuing to look at the drawing and then back up at Lina. Mrs Willets, she thought. Mrs Willets and not my letter to Mrs Golding after all. ‘We knew you—’ Quinn cleared his throat ominously ‘—this Shelley female was seen at the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, so it seemed likely she caught the Norwich coach—’
‘Or Bath or Bristol or Cambridge or…’
‘Yes, miss. Quite.’ The Runner glowered at her. ‘It was possible she caught the Norwich coach, so a respectable source local to here saying that a mysterious female had turned up aroused our interest.’
‘Who are you calling a mysterious female?’ Lina demanded.
‘You, my dear, are as mysterious as Woman always is,’ Quinn said, reaching out
a hand and running one finger possessively down her cheek.
Lina nuzzled against his hand like a cat seeking caresses and Inchbold’s scowl deepened. ‘You know London, do you, miss?’
‘Course I do.’ She tipped up her chin and gave him a saucy look. Goodness, but this was scary—and exhilarating. She would not think about Quinn, not yet.
‘Know the house of The Blue Door do you?’
‘All the girls know that one. Class place, that is. Not that I need a house, I like to be independent. You know, have my own gentleman, exclusive.’
‘And what were you doing in France?’
‘My last gentleman fancied seeing Paris, now we’re at peace with them again. Lost all his money in the Palais Royale at vingt-et-un, didn’t he? So he dumped me.’
‘And I picked her up,’ Quinn said. ‘I don’t believe in leaving a gaming house except with money in my pocket and a pretty girl on my arm.’ He reached out and picked up the sketch, looking from it to Lina and back again. ‘Inchbold, she’s blonde, she’s blue-eyed—as so many blondes are—and she’s a young lady of an accommodating disposition. But otherwise, where’s the resemblance? And delightful as it is to share a glass of port with you, I have to confess there are things I would rather be doing with my evening.’
The Runner frowned. ‘Looks like I’ve been led on a wild goose chase.’
Don’t show relief, don’t faint, don’t laugh… ‘Looks like you have,’ Lina said with a sniff. ‘And I know who sent you on it, too. That sour-faced old bat, Squire Willets’s wife.’
‘Taken against you, has she?’
‘Thinks I’m not respectable,’ Lina said.
‘Actually, she’s taken against me,’ Quinn interjected. ‘I have a certain reputation and Miss Haddon here does not take kindly to being given the cold shoulder. The ladies have had a set-to and one of them appears to be of a vindictive disposition.’
The Runner eyed Quinn’s exotic evening attire and cleared his throat, then tossed back his port and got to his feet. ‘Aye, well, I’m sorry to have troubled you, my lord. Miss. And I thank you for your co-operation. There are those who would have taken umbrage.’
‘You’re just doing your job,’ Quinn said, his eyes cold and steady on the other man. ‘I have no quarrel with that. Just so long as you don’t exceed your authority and you know when a trail’s gone dead.’
Inchbold nodded, clearly understanding the message he was being sent. ‘I’ll be off back to London tomorrow, my lord. You’ll not be troubled by us again.’
Quinn waited until the front door shut, then rang for Trimble. ‘Trimble, send Jenks to me, would you? And, if you could intimate to the staff that Miss Haddon’s state of dress and behaviour is in the nature of a masque? The Runner was on a false trail, but it was hard to prove it without some subterfuge. There will be gossip.’
‘We do not listen to gossip, my lord,’ Trimble said loftily. ‘I’ll send for Jenks.’
‘Thank you—’ Lina began, but Quinn held up one hand for silence. ‘Not here.’ He began to walk around closing windows until the groom knocked and came in.
‘There’s two of them, my lord. The other’s been in the village and up along as far as Cromer. Interested in comings and goings here, by all accounts. I’ll have a word with Tomkin and get him and the underkeepers to keep an eye out round the house, shall I, my lord?’
‘Yes, do that. If anyone asks, it is a case of mistaken identity, but there is no need to go out of your way to volunteer anything. Thank you, Jenks, goodnight.’
Quinn was looking at her, Lina realised, pulling herself together. Inchbold had gone, her letter to Aunt Clara had not been intercepted, she could breathe again.
But not, it seemed, for very long. ‘Upstairs, I think,’ Quinn said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘I do not want to be overheard.’
He held the door for her, allowed her to precede him up the stairs with perfect courtesy and then took her firmly by the elbow, steered her into his bedchamber and turned the key in the look.