Entering his room, he closed the door, looked at the bed. Considered its neat, pristine state. Inwardly shrugged. Cobby had been with him too long to cozen; he would guess regardless.
Going to the bellpull, he tugged it, then continued to the dresser to set down the gold pin he hadn’t bothered replacing in his cravat.
Hand poised over the top of the dresser, he froze. Frowned.
Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t pinpoint what was triggering the thought, the gut feeling. Lifting his head, he scanned the room.
When Cobby arrived, he was still prowling, frowning.
Closing the door, Cobby paused, brows rising. “Don’t rightly know which question I should ask first.”
“Don’t bother with the obvious. What’s bothering me is that…” Del looked around again. “I think someone’s been in here-that someone’s searched.” He waved a hand around the room. “See what you think.”
Cobby came deeper into the room, looked. Gradually, he, too, frowned. “Things are not quite the way we leave them-either you or me. Take the brushes on the dresser. They aren’t in any sort of order. Neither of us leave our weapons like that-even if they aren’t exactly weapons.”
Del ran a hand through his hair. “So I’m right. Someone has been searching. Who?”
Cobby pursed his lips. “Haven’t been many hotel staff about up here-just the maids cleaning, and me and Janay usually hang about then.” He darted a glance at Del. “Could it be one of Miss Duncannon’s people?”
“I can’t see how. She’s known them for years, and there’s no way the Black Cobra could have known she and I were going to travel together, that her staff would ever have any chance at the scroll-holder. He wouldn’t have had time to put his usual persuasions in place.”
The Black Cobra’s usual persuasive tactic was to get a family member into his clutches and use their safety to ensure their relative did as he bid them.
“You’re right.” Cobby nodded. “And I have to say they’re a straightforward lot. I haven’t had any qualms.”
“So it has to have been a member of the hotel’s staff. Spread the word to the others-we’ll need to stay alert while we prepare to leave.”
A tap on the door heralded a lad with a jug of steaming water. Cobby received it, then shut the door. He poured a basinful for Del as he stripped. “So what time are we leaving? You didn’t exactly say last night.”
Del considered as he washed. “Let’s say ten on the steps, ten-thirty away.” He towelled his face, then mopped his chest. “Pass the word to Janay. I don’t know how long it’ll take for Miss Duncannon’s household to get ready.”
“Oh, we heard we’d be leaving last night, so we’re ready. All of us. Just finishing up breakfast, the rest are, so as soon as you and Miss Duncannon give the word, we can go.”
“Excellent.” It was early, but Del had a definite appetite. “You can leave my clothes out, then go and rustle up breakfast. We’ll have it in the suite as usual. I’m starved.”
And so, he suspected, would be his charge.
As Cobby rummaged in the wardrobe, Del added to himself, “And then we can start out, and see what the day brings.”
December 15
Grillon’s Hotel
Sangay felt torn on the one hand, and desperate on the other. From the back of Grillon’s foyer, half concealed behind a palm in a big pot, he watched the flurry of activity as the colonel-sahib’s and the memsahib’s households prepared to depart.
He wished he could go with them. They’d been kind to him, all of them, even though they didn’t know him-not really. They’d all accepted him as one of their party. He’d been careful to avoid gatherings where they’d all been together, where one household might have said something to alert the other that he wasn’t theirs. That he didn’t really belong.
So far, the gods had smiled on him, something he didn’t understand. He was not acting honorably-he was being the hand, the tool, of an evil man-yet thus far the gods hadn’t struck him down.
Thus far the gods had left him to carry out the evil man’s instructions.
He’d searched, he’d done all he was supposed to, but he hadn’t laid eyes on any scroll-holder. He could guess what it would look like-his old captain had had similar holders for his maps and orders-but he hadn’t seen anything that might be it. And now they were all leaving.
He’d failed.
Despair dragging his heart into his thin slippers, he sucked in a breath and, with one last look at the almost gay commotion surrounding the three carriages lined up outside the hotel, slunk down the side corridor to the alley door.
He slipped out of the door, then cautiously made his way to the corner where he’d met the man before, praying with every step that the man wouldn’t simply kill him when he reported his failure. More, that he wouldn’t feel moved to have his maataa killed, too.
Nerves at full stretch, he rounded the corner. Nearly lost his brave face when, once again, he all but ran into the man.
“Well? Do you have it?”
Sangay fought not to squirm. He lifted his chin, forced himself to look in the direction of the man’s face. “I have searched all the bags, all the rooms, sahib. The scroll-holder isn’t there.”
The man swore, strings of bad words Sangay had heard often enough on the docks. Stoically, he waited for his punishment, for a blow, or worse. There was no point trying to run.
He felt the man’s irate gaze boring into him. Steeled himself. The man’s fists were clenched, hanging heavy at his sides.
“What’s all the activity?” The man tipped his head toward the front of the hotel. “Where are they going?”
Sangay pulled the answer from his skittering thoughts. “I heard they are going to some big fine house-a Somersham Place-in a country called Cambridgeshire. They hope to reach there by this evening, but they are worried about the weather-they say it is coming on to snow, and fear that that might hold them up, or at least slow them down.”
The man’s scowl grew blacker. After a moment he asked, “Are the other two men traveling with them?”
“Yes, sahib, but as I understand it, they won’t be in the carriages. They’ll be riding ahorse.”
“I see.”
The snarl wasn’t encouraging, but the man had made no move to lay a hand on him. Sangay started to wonder if the gods truly were watching over him still, despite all.
“So they’re leaving, and you’ve sighted no scroll-holder, no letter of any kind, and you’ve searched everywhere?”
“Oh, yes, sahib! I looked everywhere in every room, even the servants’ rooms. There was no scroll-holder or letter anywhere.”
“So one of them is carrying it with them. Fine.” The word was a rough snarl. “Either the Colonel or one of his two men would be my guess. So you stick with them, and you keep a close-a really close-eye on those three. They’ll put it down sometime, somewhere. When they do, you snatch it and scarper-got it?”
Sangay risked a frown. “Scarper, sahib?”
“Run like the dickens. Like the devil himself was after you-and remember that your precious mother’s continuing health depends on you getting away. Wherever you are, you lay your hands on that scroll-holder and you run-I’ll be close, watching, waiting. I’ll see you, and I’ll come and meet you.” The man’s lips curled. “Just like this.” He leaned close, putting his face close to Sangay’s. “Understand?”
Eyes like saucers, Sangay couldn’t even swallow. “Yes, sahib. I understand.” He would rather have faced a real cobra eye to eye.
The man seemed satisfied with what he saw in Sangay’s face. He slowly eased back, straightened.
Sangay inwardly trembled, but felt forced to say, “They might not put the holder down this day, sahib, not while they are traveling.”