“Were you particularly interested in doing so?” Barnabus eyed him, trying to decide if he ought to warn Gemma off or not.
Parkington pulled him out of the bucket line and off to the side. He lowered his voice. “It ain’t every day a fellow crosses paths with the daughter of Pacey Kincaid.”
Panic set in. Parkington knew.
“People ain’t responsible for who their parents are, Doc.” Parkington set a soot-covered hand on his shoulder. “When I saw her on Welbeck Street, I only wanted to make certain she weren’t in any danger. But Stone can certainly hold his own. And Móirín could scare a cat into skinning itself just by looking at it. I figured Mrs. Milligan was as safe as a stone in a peach.”
“You know who she is, but you aren’t going to—”
“To what? Arrest her?” Parkington shook his head. “She cain’t help the life she was born into. But I don’t think that life is what she chooses to do now.”
Relief swept over Barnabus. “On her behalf, I’ll return your forbearance with a warning she asked me to tip into your ear. The home of the Russian Embassy priest was marked in ash with the calling card of the Kincaid family. That means the Kincaids did something there, something criminal. She thought that might help you piece together some puzzles.”
“The Kincaids would bash her good if they knew she’d given me this information.”
“I told her you could be trusted.” Barnabus held his gaze. “Don’t prove me wrong.”
“I won’t.” He hooked his thumb to where Gemma and Móirín stood at the edge of the gathering. “Go save your wife from that she-cat.”
“Móirín’s a fine person,” Barnabus said with a laugh.
Parkington held his hands up in a show of innocence before returning to the clean-up effort. The DPS trusted the man with a lot of information, though certainly not all of it.
The moment Barnabus moved toward Gemma, she moved toward him. They met in the middle.
“Móirín convinced me to come,” she said. “But she didn’t tell me Parkington would be here.”
“She likely didn’t know.” He reached for her hand but pulled back immediately. His hands were filthy. “I’m glad you came.”
She smiled a little. “So am I.”
“I had a gab with Parkington. I don’t think we need to worry that he’ll cause you any grief.”
After a glance in the policeman’s direction, she asked, “Did you tell him about the—” Concern tugged at her expression, and she didn’t finish the question. But Barnabus knew what she was asking.
“I did, and he was grateful. He’s also worried, though. If your family finds out ...”
“Crossing the Kincaids has consequences,” she whispered. “All the more reason to pike off and get myself away from London, i’n’it?”
Away from London.His heart dropped clear to his feet every time he thought about her leaving. “How long will you be gone this time, do you think?”
“So long as I’m here, I’m in danger, and so are the people I care about. I ain’t willing to risk other people’s lives.”
Did that mean she didn’t mean to ever come back? Surely not.
“You’ll think I’m dancing around our topic”—Gemma lowered her voice even further—“but there’s a man across the way who has been watching what’s happening here. He was doing that when I first arrived, and he don’t look the least pleased.”
“It isn’t someone you recognize?” He wanted to make certain it wasn’t anyone in her family.
She shook her head.
Slowly, with as casual a demeanor as he could manage, he looked in the general direction Gemma had indicated. There was, indeed, a man across the way, watching. Not Mr. Snelling, the newspaper-carrying man who’d watched him once before and then dropped in at his surgery. Nor was it any of the London macks or rough-and-toughs Barnabus had encountered from his years of rescue work.
Brogan was nearby, so Barnabus subtly motioned him over. “Take a peek at that man across the street just over your right shoulder and tell me if you know him.”
Brogan managed to look without appearing to be doing anything but chatting amicably with his friends.
“Manky huff,” Brogan muttered. “That’s him.”