Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(7)

Another careless shrug of the boy’s bony shoulders was the only answer.

“Too smitten with the blunt that lady gave you to pay attention to anything else, I reckon,” Tom said with sarcasm.

“I reckon you’re right,” Roger replied with a grin. “Can you blame me?”

“No, I suppose not,” Griffin said. “And you’re sure you never saw this woman before?”

“Aye.”

“And there’s nothing else you remember.”

Roger blinked rapidly several times, which seemed to aid the process of extracting a final bit of information from his brain.

“Aye. She said to make sure you read the note in the basket, and not to lose the ring, neither.”

Griffin hunkered down beside the basket and rummaged through the blankets. They were of white wool, soft and well made, finished with satin ribbon. Like the baby’s clothes, they were scrupulously clean and obviously expensive. It appeared that someone cared a great deal about this infant.


He fished out a folded note, sealed with red wax. He tucked it into the waistband of his breeches and continued his search, digging through the blankets until he got to the bottom of the basket. Finally, he extracted a small, black velvet bag cinched shut with a drawstring. He untied it and upended the contents into his palm.

A ring rolled out. A heavy signet ring, worked in thick gold and with an intricate design carved into its face. Griffin slowly straightened up as he examined it.

Tom let out a thoughtful whistle. “That cost more than a bob,” he said, leaning close to inspect it. “What do you figure the markings for?”

Griffin held it up, trying to catch the light coming in through the arch window over the front door. “It looks to be a family coat of arms, maybe Italian. I can’t be precisely sure until I get it under a magnifying glass.”

“How do you know it’s Italian?” asked Phelps in a hushed voice, as if someone might overhear them.

Griffin glanced around. The little group in the hall had inched closer, eagerly straining to see the ring and obviously caught up in the bizarre drama. Even Roger seemed enthralled, creeping close to gaze at the heavy piece of jewelry. Or so Griffin thought, until he felt a flutter of movement near the back of his coat.

“I don’t think so.” He grabbed Roger by the wrist and pulled the boy in front of him. “You’ve already picked enough pockets today.”

The boy let out a dramatic sigh. “Can’t blame me for trying, guv.”

“Oh, yes, we can,” barked Tom, seizing the boy’s shoulder and propelling him toward the front door. “To think you would try to fleece Griffin Steele, of all people. If you don’t have anything more to tell us, you little blighter, you can be on your way.”

Tom glanced at Griffin, silently asking permission.

“One more thing,” Griffin added. “Roger, if you ever see this veiled woman again, I want you to follow her until she arrives at her destination, and then come report to me.” Not much hope of that happening, but he might as well cover off every eventuality he could.

He nodded at Tom, who fished a shilling out of his pocket and gave it to the boy.

“There will be more of that if you come to me with useful information,” Griffin said.

Roger tipped his threadbare cap, gave them one, last gap-toothed grin, and slipped out the door.

“Open the note,” Madeline prompted as she gently bounced the baby up and down in her arms.

Griffin glanced at the expectant faces of his staff. “Everyone loves a mystery,” he murmured, shaking his head. He didn’t. He hated mysteries and all the drama that came with them.