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“But of course,” Freddie lied. “Mr. den Haan is an excellent fellow. His printed fabric cannot be equaled.”

“Upon my word.” Shaw appeared suitably impressed. “You are the second to offer a glowing endorsement of the Dutchman in almost as many minutes.”

Freddie raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Well, I daresay the praise is warranted.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Hadford said, looking pleased.

Freddie nodded. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, instantly contriving an expression of regret. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I fear time is my enemy today. I have some pressing business with my banker, so I must cut our discussion short.” He inclined his head politely. “Lord Bertrand and Mr. Shaw, always a pleasure. Mr. Hadford, I hope we shall have an opportunity to discuss Mr. den Haan’s fine textiles at a later date.”

The gentlemen accepted his pretext without question.

“Good day to you, Wilmott,” Bertrand said.

“And to you, my lord.” Freddie wove between the tables and chairs, heading toward the exit. A handful of the room’s occupants offered him acknowledging nods as he passed, but he successfully avoided entering into unnecessary conversations. Within seconds, he was stepping out of the door and onto the pavement outside. He pressed his hat firmly onto his head, and sparing a quick glance at the two gentlemen approaching the popular club from the left, he turned right.

Piccadilly Road was noisier than St. James Street. Hackney carriages drove by with a clatter of horse hooves and the rumble of wheels. Shoppers flowed in and out of the various establishments lining the busy road, occasionally greeting one another as they passed. Freddie waited for a large coach to pass, then darted across the street. Another glance at his pocket watch confirmed that it was five minutes past noon. All being well, Mr. Humes, the proprietor of the grocery shop he had frequented the last few days, would have left for his midday meal, leaving his young apprentice temporarily in charge.

A bell rang over the door of the grocery shop as Freddie entered. Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmed light, he searched the shop for customers. A young woman dressed in a maid’s attire was lifting a heavy basket off the counter, but otherwise, he and the shopkeeper’s assistant were the only occupants.

“Thank you, Tim,” the maid said. “I daresay I’ll be back again in the mornin’.” She shifted the basket into her other hand and turned to see Freddie for the first time. “Good day, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy and hurried to the door as fast as her substantial load would allow.

“Good day, Millie,” the young man behind the counter called after her. The doorbell clanged, and he turned his attention to Freddie. “Nice t’ see you again, sir. What can I ’elp you with today?”

“Good afternoon, Tim,” Freddie said, stepping up to the counter. “A pound of tea, if you please.”

He waited patiently as the young man scooped the powdery black leaves onto the scale and then poured them into a brown paper cone. Tim twisted the paper tightly and handed the small package to Freddie. “Anything else, sir?”

“No. That will do nicely, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Fourteen shillings, if you please, sir.”

Freddie slipped his hand into the pocket of his breeches and withdrew a handful of notes. He studied the paper currency and frowned.

“I am afraid I have nothing smaller than a fifty-pound note.”

Tim eyed the piece of paper in Freddie’s hand with concern. “Makin’ change may be a bit of a trick for a note like that, sir.”

“Of course.” Freddie tipped his hat up slightly and scratched his head. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to run it to the bank and exchange it for smaller notes, would you, lad?” He smiled. “I daresay there’d be a five-pound note in it for you.”

Tim swallowed hard. “Fer me, sir?”

“Absolutely. I would be honor bound to pay you for the service.” He gestured around the shop. “There is no one else here at the moment, but if anyone comes along, I shall tell them you will be back momentarily.”

Tim’s gaze moved from the fifty-pound note in Freddie’s hand to the door and back again. Freddie was well aware that he was offering the shopkeeper’s assistant more than he would make in six months working at the shop. He also knew that there was a bank conveniently located three doors farther down Piccadilly Road. It was the primary reason he had chosen this very grocery shop for his transaction.

“Mr. Hume left me in charge of the shop,” Tim said, indecision obvious in his eyes. “I don’t think he’d take kindly to me leavin’.”

“A good judge of character, Mr. Hume. He is fortunate to have such a trustworthy assistant.” Freddie went to slide the bank note back into his pocket. “I shall come back another time for the tea.”

The young man stepped around the counter. “I’d hate fer you t’ do that, sir. Especially seein’ as how I could be back right quick if there’s no queue at the bank.”

“You think so?”

Tim nodded and extended his hand for the note. “If any customers come in, tell ’em I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“I’m much obliged,” Freddie said, handing over the fifty-pound note.

Tim eyed it in wonder. “I’d best get crackin’.” He was already backing toward the door with the money clutched tightly in his hand.