Page 6 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Helena sighed. Farah hadn’t seen Mr. Jennings since she’d arrived in London two days ago, but she’d heard plenty about him—and none of it good. If they lived in a world that gave women even an inkling of power and independence, Helena would have broken loose months ago.

As of now, however, she was stuck.

“It’s a good thing you aren’t fooling yourself into thinking that Mr. Beaumont is something he’s not,” Helena said. “It will save you more disappointment than you can imagine.”

“I’m sorry, Helena,” Farah murmured. “I wish I could do something to help.”

Helena’s blue eyes flickered to Farah. “I know. Don’t mind me, and don’t let me turn you into a cynic. For all we know, everything will happen just as you want it to.” She took a steadying breath. “Now, what do you plan on saying to Mr. Montgomery?”

“He’s the only thing standing between me and the rest of my life, and I intend to make him aware of that,” Farah said. “A little guilt won’t hurt him.”

Before she could utter another word, the carriage rolled to a stop. Popping open the window with a single gloved finger, Farah stuck her head out to call to the coachman.

“Is this Hawkins & Montgomery?” she asked over the din that seemed to dominate Fleet Street.

“The very one, miss,” the coachman replied.

Farah gave Helena an excited grin as she pulled her head back into the carriage. “Shall we?”

Helena’s mouth fell open in horror. “You want me to come with you?”

“And why not?”

“First, because I have no part in this,” Helena said. “And second, because any sudden movement on my end could cause me to lose my breakfast in its entirety.”

“Then I won’t be long,” Farah told her. “I promise.”

Before her friend could respond, Farah had darted out of the carriage and was marching to the building the coachman had brought them to. A plaque to her left indicated that she was, in fact, at Hawkins & Montgomery.

“Established 1835,” Farah read. “Interesting.”

Then, straightening her navy-blue skirts and adjusting her hat, she knocked.

A moment passed, and she knocked again.

And again.

Letting out a frustrated huff, she rapped the door hard enough to hurt.

Still, the heavy slab of wood separating her from her goal remained shut. Farah wrapped her hand around the brass doorknob, hesitating.

Entering would be acceptable, wouldn’t it? This was a place of business, after all.

Unless it’s locked, in which case—

A quick twist of the doorknob proved that it was unlocked, and Farah heard a creak as a dark hallway was revealed to her. Steeling herself, she entered, shutting the door behind her. The sudden silence was rattling.

Farah cleared her throat. “Hello?”

No response.

What kind of solicitor’s office was this, anyway? What if she’d been in real need of legal advice? Shaking her head, she began to walk down the cramped hall, wishing it weren’t so poorly lit. The passageway soon opened into a small waiting room, complete with a secretary’s desk. Unsurprisingly, no secretary sat behind it. Instead, it looked to be covered in a thin layer of dust and was piled high with sheaves of paper.

She peered behind the desk, spotting three additional doors. All she needed was one person to help her, even if they didn’t end up being the person she was looking for.

Nudging the first door open, she saw what appeared to be a very cluttered study.

“No sign of human life,” she muttered. “Drat.”