A Lily Among Thorns(41)

“I haven’t traded a poke for a fistful of the ready in five years, but no one’s read that notice in the Gazette.”

He sighed. “I’m awfully sorry.”

“It’s hardly your fault.”

“I mean, I’m sorry about my uncle. I’ll explain to him that you’re not trifling with me—”

“Please don’t,” she said in heartfelt tones.

Solomon laughed. “Sorry, forgot about the horrors of being approved of. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, eh? I guess you’ll just have to do what you want.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “What if I don’t know what I want?”

“We’ll have to wait and see then, won’t we?” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at her as if that was nothing, as if he really was willing to wait as long as it took, as if he didn’t mind waiting. As if he thought they might still know each other in twenty years.

“I told him that when I tossed you out on your ear you were unlikely to go into a fatal decline.”

He smiled oddly. “Perhaps you give me too much credit.”

“I generally find I don’t give you enough,” she said gruffly.

He reached out and laced his fingers with hers. “Come on. You’ll feel better when you’re eating a hot steak-and-kidney pie.”

She had a thought. “How would you like it if we bought lunch and looked for your earrings at the same time?”

He tilted his head in a way that reminded her of his uncle. “How will we do that, pray?”

“You’ll see.”





Chapter 10


Solomon’s stomach was starting to growl. They had already strolled past several mouthwatering pie stalls set up along the Strand. Finally a pieman wheeling an enormous barrow caught Serena’s eye. “Hey there, Doyle!” she yelled.

He hurried over. “What’ll it be, madam? Steak-and-kidney, mutton, pork, eel, or apple?”

“Two of whichever are least likely to contain rat and pigeon, please.”

Doyle stared. “You want a pie?”

Serena snickered. “What, do they all contain rat?”

“Not on your life! My Bridget bakes these pies and they’re all fine and fresh.”

“In that case, I’ll have a steak-and-kidney. What will you have, Solomon?”

“Eel, please.”

Doyle bit his lip. “I shouldn’t try the eel, sir.”

Solomon laughed. “Steak-and-kidney for me, too, then.”

“Very well, sir, milady, and would you like hot gravy with your pies?”

Serena nodded. Pies were handed over and gravy poured through the hole in the crust; tuppence changed hands. Then Serena said, “Pat, I need your professional opinion. I’m looking for a pair of stolen earrings. Rubies and gold, taken by a gentleman on the high toby Wednesday before last.”

Solomon stared at her. “Serena—”

She smiled faintly at his puzzled expression. “Show him your wares, Pat.”

Doyle grinned and turned back the gaudy checkered cloth in which his pies nestled. Watches, billfolds, handkerchiefs, pocket knives, and dozens of other small items were revealed, crowding the bottom of the barrow.

He flicked back the cloth. “I haven’t seen anything of that description, Thorn. But then, I’m not a baubles man and everyone knows it. You ought to try Dina Levy. I doubt anybody’d bring her something that fine, but she keeps her ears open. If she hasn’t heard, you won’t find it in Whitechapel, St. Giles, or Holborn.”

“Dina’s usually at her Lawrence Street house at this time of day, isn’t she?”

“Not now, she’ll be at her daughter’s stall in the Fleet Market for elevenses. Make sure you try the apple fritters. My Bridget’s been trying to get the recipe off Abigail Levy for years now, but Abby’s a stubborn wench.”

“I shall be sure to do so. Well, you’ve been very helpful. Will half a crown suffice?”

Doyle gestured expansively. “Wouldn’t hear of it! You can be in my debt, if you like.”

Serena raised her eyebrows. “I shall owe you a very small favor then. Now, if your young associate will return my friend’s pocketbook, we’ll be on our way.”

Solomon started, feeling for his billfold. Sure enough, it was gone. He looked accusingly at Doyle, who sighed. “It’s a devil of a job training new workers. I’m sure you find it the same at the Arms. Moreen!” he called. “Come here!”