Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(37)

“Then we look for other quarry.”

“Indeed.” Isabel made a slight moue as she scanned the crowd.

Winter had to tear his gaze away from the sight of her pursed lips.

“Oh, poor man!” Isabel exclaimed gently.

“Who?”

But she was already leading him to a man who stood by himself at the side of the room. He wore a gray wig and his eyes were aloof behind half-moon spectacles. He seemed entirely removed from the crowd. The gentleman was facing partly away from them and didn’t turn until they were nearly upon him.

“Mr. St. John,” Lady Beckinhall greeted him.

St. John’s brown eyes widened behind his spectacles, flicking between them and then shuttering so quickly that most would’ve missed the reaction. “Lady Beckinhall.” He took her fingers, bowing over them.

She waved her other hand gracefully at Winter. “May I present Mr. Winter Makepeace, the manager of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children? Mr. Makepeace, Mr. Godric St. John.”

Winter held out his hand to the other man. “Actually, we’ve already met.”

Lady Beckinhall raised her eyebrows. “You have?”

“I’m a friend of Lord Caire,” St. John said as he took Winter’s hand. He didn’t smile, but his manner was pleasant enough. “I was there when the old home burned last year. Good to see you again, Makepeace.”

“And you, sir,” Winter replied. “You were quite a help that night as I remember. I was surprised not to see you at my sister’s wedding.”

A muscle flexed in the other man’s jaw. “I regret not attending. It was soon after Clara—” St. John clamped his mouth shut and looked away.

“I was very sorry to hear of Mrs. St. John’s death,” Lady Beckinhall said quietly.

St. John nodded once, jerkily, and swallowed.

“But we must be moving on, as I have other gentlepersons to introduce Mr. Makepeace to,” Lady Beckinhall continued smoothly.

Godric St. John seemed not to notice as they moved away.

Lady Beckinhall leaned her head close to Winter’s jaw, making her delicate scent for a moment break through the stinking miasma of the room. “Mr. St. John lost his wife last year after a long illness. They were quite devoted to each other. I hadn’t known he had reentered society.”

“Ah,” Winter murmured. He glanced over his shoulder. St. John was standing alone again, staring into space. “He’s like the walking dead.”

“Poor, poor man.” Lady Beckinhall shivered. “Come. I see some gentlemen I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Lead the way.”

Lady Beckinhall smiled brilliantly as they came upon a small group. “Gentlemen, I wonder if you all have had the pleasure of meeting my companion, Mr. Winter Makepeace?”

At the general murmur in the negative Isabel introduced Winter to the three gentlemen.

“The Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children, eh?” Sir Beverly Williams said. “Quite the mouthful, ain’t it? In St. Giles, you say?”

“Indeed, sir,” Winter said.

“Best move it out of that cesspit, is my advice,” Sir Beverly snorted. “Ought to be farther west in the newer parts of the city. Hanover Square or such.”

“I doubt we could afford the rents in Hanover Square,” Winter said gently. “Besides, our customers don’t frequent the newer parts of London.”

“Eh? Customers?” Sir Beverly looked confused.

“He means the orphans, Williams,” said the Earl of Kershaw, a congenial man with a broad nose and twinkling eyes in a round face. “Isn’t that right, Makepeace?”

Winters bowed to the earl. “Quite correct, my lord. The orphans come from St. Giles; therefore the home is situated there.”

“Makes sense,” said the third man, Mr. Roger Fraser-Burnsby. “St. Giles is a dangerous spot, though. Isn’t there a madman who runs about the place?”

“The Ghost of St. Giles.” Kershaw shook his head with a wry smile. “Tell me you’re not afraid of bogeymen, Fraser-Burnsby? It’s a legend, no more.”

Winter felt Isabel glance at him, but he was careful to keep his face pleasantly interested.

“I’ve met the Ghost,” she said. “It was a fortnight ago. I found him insensible in the street and naturally stopped my carriage to help.” Her blue eyes met his in challenge.

Winter nodded calmly. “The Ghost must be very grateful to you indeed.”

“Good Lord, had you no care for your precious person, Lady Beckinhall?” Sir Beverly sounded quite scandalized.

“How brave of you.” Fraser-Burnsby grinned boyishly. “But I’m very glad you escaped unscathed, my lady.

She shrugged elegantly. “He was hardly in a position to attack me.”

“We must thank God, then,” Kershaw rumbled. “For keeping you safe, for he sounds a lunatic if even half the accounts are true. Have you seen this Ghost, Mr. Makepeace?”

“Only at a distance,” Winter replied casually. “He appears to be a shy fellow. Now, if you will excuse us, I’ve promised Lady Beckinhall a glass of punch.”

The three gentlemen bowed as he led Isabel away.

“Why did you do that?” she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.