Page 69 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“I don’t know, miss. I didn’t see him. The fancy folk don’t come in the stables, just the drivers or post boys.”

They walked down the street to the tavern Cummings had mentioned, the Bull and Bear. A hedge grew just past the inn, and they followed it to a narrow break in the shrubbery. Verity walked through the break with Nathan behind her, and they looked over the ground behind it. There were scuff marks and footprints, but no way to tell whether the marks were old or new.

“Look.” Verity’s voice rose a little bit in excitement, and she bent to pick up a small crumpled bag caught in the tangled branches at the bottom of the hedge. Straightening out the bag, she showed it to Nathan.

“Fairborn’s Confectionary,” Nathan read, and he glanced up sharply at Verity. “Just like the bag of lemon drops that fell out of our friend Hill’s pocket during the fight.”

“Curious, isn’t it?”

“Very. Let’s check inside the tavern next door. Surely these two didn’t spend all their time out here in the bushes eating lemon drops.”

Inside the tavern, the barkeep raised his eyebrows. “Two men who were here a month ago? Nay, how could I remember that?”

“They were from London,” Verity said in an attempt to prod his memory. “Dark-haired. One short and square and one tall and thin.”

Nathan held up the small bag. “The tall one was fond of these sweets.”

The man still shook his head, but a customer sitting beside the bar spoke up. “I remember those two. He was fair devoted to those lemon drops.” He nodded toward the bag in Nathan’s hand. “Not sure when that was, though. At least a fortnight ago.”

The tavern owner gave his customer a skeptical glance. “And how do you remember that, Walt? You’re foxed by nine o’clock every night.”

“Because that short one bumped into me and spilled half my glass,” Walt answered, his voice filling with indignation at the memory. “I would’ve drawn his cork, I’ll tell you.” He pantomimed a punch, then added candidly, “Only he looked like a bruiser.” He turned to the barkeep. “Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, aye, I remember you whinging on about somebody spilling your ale. Didn’t know it was them.”

“Well, they were just here that once,” Walt said generously.

“Did you speak to them?” Verity asked the customer.

Walt snorted. “Are you daft? He gave me such a black look when I told him to watch where he was going—I wasn’t likely to chat with ’em.”

“Did you happen to hear anything they said to each other?”

“Nay.” Walt looked disappointed. “They were too far away. They sat in that corner by themselves all evening.” He pointed across the room. “And then they left. Haven’t seen them since.”

“So you’ve no idea where they went afterward? An inn, perhaps?”

The other man shook his head. “But that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

“Yes, you’ve been very helpful.” Nathan dug out some coins. “This should see you through this evening.”

“I think we can be certain now that Malcolm—the real Malcolm—was abducted by the same men who attacked us,” Verity said to Nathan as they walked out the door.

“Yes, I think it’s unlikely there are two sets of ruffians who fit the same description involved.”

“This means they must have been working for the false Malcolm,” Verity said.

“Yes, I have to admit I was wrong. It seems unlikely that Lord Arden would have hired the exact same ruffians that kidnapped Malcolm Douglas,” Nathan agreed.

“It makes our task easier. We at least know their names, which is more than we have for Imitation Malcolm. All we have to do now is track down Shoemaker and Hill.”

Nathan let out a groan. “Not another visit to the catacombs.”

Verity laughed. “This time we’ll take a ladder.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THEY ARRIVED IN London late that evening, tired from their journey. Verity’s house was a welcome sight, and Verity sank onto the couch with an enormous sigh.