Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(58)

“Has it been that bad?” Ross regarded him with a slight smile, standing with his hands thrust into his coat pockets. “Did anything out of the ordinary occur?”

“No, just the usual.” Morgan rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, looking weary. “We served ten warrants, arrested a deserter, and investigated a murder at the thieves’ kitchen on the east side of Covent Garden. And we looked into the matter of an escaping codfish from Lannigan’s.”

“A what?”

Despite Morgan’s obvious weariness, a smile tugged at his wide mouth. “It seems that a young lad named Dickie Sloper took a fancy to a particular codfish at the shop. Dickie fastened a hook to the gills, attached the other end of the line to the button of his inexpressibles, and walked away. The fishmonger was understandably alarmed when he saw the cod jump off the table and slide out the door, seemingly of its own accord. When young Dickie was caught, he swore that he was innocent and the fish was willfully following him.”

Ross snorted with laughter. “Will Lannigan press charges?”

“No. The fish was recovered in its entirety, and Lannigan was satisfied after Dickie spent the night in the Bow Street strong room.”

Ross regarded Grant with an irrepressible smile. “Well, it appears that Bow Street can manage without me after all.”

The assistant magistrate gave him a sardonic glance. “You wouldn’t say that if you could see the work that has accumulated on your desk. The pile is as high as my chest. I’ve done my damnedest, but I couldn’t keep up with it. And now that you’re here, I’m going home. I’m tired, hungry, and I haven’t bedded my wife in days. In other words, I’ve been living as you do, and I can’t stand another bloody minute of it.”

“Wait,” Ross said, turning serious. “I have come to ask a personal favor of you.”

Ross had never made such a request before. Morgan stared at him with a new alertness, settling back in his chair. “Of course,” he said without hesitation.

Approaching the desk, Ross withdrew the diamond and-emerald necklace from his pocket and laid it gently on the scuffed mahogany surface. Even in the uncertain lamplight, the jewels glittered with unearthly brilliance.

Morgan’s stunned gaze met his before returning to the necklace. His lips pursed in a quiet whistle. “Sweet Jesus. Where did that come from?”

“That is precisely what I want you to find out.”

“Why not assign one of the runners? Sayer could easily handle such a task.”

“Not as quickly as you,” Ross replied. “And I want answers soon.” Although Morgan had spent the better part of a year on the bench, he still had more experience and ability than any of the runners. No one knew his way around London as Grant Morgan did, and Ross trusted him to take care of the matter expediently.

“How did the necklace come into your possession?” Grant asked, and Ross explained the details. The assistant magistrate gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Miss Sydney is unharmed?”

“She is fine, other than being understandably anxious. I want this matter resolved immediately, to spare her needless worry.”

“Of course.” Picking up a penholder, Morgan tapped it repeatedly on the desk in a rapid staccato that belied his impassive facade. “Cannon,” he said quietly, “I suppose you’ve considered the possibility that Miss Sydney may be involved with someone. These gifts could likely have come from a paramour.”

Ross shook his head even before the other man had finished speaking. “No,” he said firmly. “She has no paramour.”

“How can you be certain?”

Annoyed by his friend’s persistence, Ross scowled. “Because I am in a position to know.”

“Ah.” Grant seemed to relax, setting down the penholder and lacing his fingers together across his midriff. He pinned Ross with a glance of mingled speculation and amusement. “You’ve finally bedded her, then.”

Ross wiped his face of all expression. “That has no relevance to the matter of the necklace.”

“No,” Morgan said easily, seeming to enjoy Ross’s discomfort. “But it has been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”

“I didn’t say that I had bedded her,” Ross said curtly. “I have the utmost respect for Miss Sydney. Moreover, it would be entirely inappropriate for me to take advantage of a woman who is in my employ.”

“Yes, sir.” Grant paused before asking with a straight face, “So… how was it?” He grinned as Ross sent him a warning look.

To Ross’s disgruntlement, Morgan’s comment about the pile on his desk was an understatement. Reports, files, correspondence, and assorted documents formed a precarious mountain. He sighed heavily as he entered his office. Not long ago he would have thought nothing of such a pile. Now it seemed ridiculous for one man to handle so much. A year earlier, he had accepted commissions to serve as the justice for Essex, Kent, Hertfordshire, and Surrey, in addition to the responsibilities he already had for Westminster and Middlesex. It had made him the most powerful magistrate in England, and he had taken satisfaction in the increasing reach of his authority. Until now. Now he wanted to ease back from the relentless flood of responsibility and have a private life. He wanted a wife, a home… even children someday.