Free A Spy in the House by Y. S. Lee Page B

uncomfortable sensation that they were talking at cross-purposes. “Er — my confidence in what respect, George?”
    “Why, for my marrying Miss Thorold and taking her to India with me!”
    Oh, no. Oh, no. “
That’s
what you meant?”
    But George had stopped listening. “She’s a healthy girl, not like her mother. The climate will pose no threat to her. And the romance of India — the beauty of it, as you said — will help me to win her!”
    James sighed inwardly. Worse and worse. He’d been quietly opposed to the Thorold connection from the start, having heard some unsavory rumors concerning Thorold’s business. However, he’d also been confident of ferreting out the truth before George got as far as a proposal — hence that search of Thorold’s study. But a whirlwind courtship was a different matter. Even if Angelica seemed lukewarm, her parents were enthusiastic. They could force her to accept George’s offer. James had very little time in which to act. And so far — thanks to Miss Quinn — he’d learned nothing.
    “Here, before you go, tell me what you think of this!” George scrabbled about in a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of lavender notepaper decorated with flowers.
    James took the page and scanned it. “Would you like my honest opinion?”
    George’s face dimmed. “That bad, eh? It’s bloody hard work rhyming the name Angelica, you know.”
    James took pity on him. “I’ll write you a better poem.”
But poem or no poem,
he added mentally,
you’re not marrying into a family of crooks.
    Tuesday, 11 May
    “Hoy!”
    James didn’t react to the first bellow. Adams, the foreman, tended to be excitable.
    “M’sr Eas’n!”
    That, however, he couldn’t really ignore. James mopped his forehead and the back of his neck and turned reluctantly to investigate the most recent catastrophe that had befallen the building site. This job — the construction of a new tunnel beneath the Thames — had been a headache from the day they’d begun. It should already have been completed. Now the blinding stench of the river threatened to prolong it even more, as many of his best workers were fearful of catching disease from the evil smell. James wasn’t convinced that the stink itself made one ill, but he’d still sent the workers home yesterday because they were retching too violently to work safely. If this weather continued, they’d have to work by night. It was either that or postpone the project until the autumn.
    “I dream of the day,” said James as he located the senior foreman, “that you address me as something other than ‘Hoy.’”
    Adams grinned and shoved his cap back on his head. “I b’lieve I called you ‘oi’ the other day, sir.”
    “And what is this?” He motioned to the scrawny little boy Adams held by the throat, muddy boots dangling in midair.
    “This here lad —”
    “Is strangling. Set him down.”
    Adams dropped the boy abruptly but kept a firm grip on his shoulder. “He’s trespassing. He won’t go away! I turned the little bugger out not ten minutes ago, and now it’s back. Shall I chuck it in the river, sir?”
    The boy drew breath to defend himself and immediately launched into a coughing fit that doubled him over. When he straightened, eyes watering, he turned to James. “Message for Mr. Easton, sir.”
    “That’s what he keeps saying, but he won’t give anyone the message! Says he has to speak with you, personal.” Adams sounded irritated.
    James sighed. “Go on, then.”
    The boy had regained some of his breath. “It’s about —” he hesitated and looked at Adams suspiciously — “about that job in
Chelsea,
sir.”
    There was no job in Chelsea. James narrowed his eyes. “Chelsea.”
    “The
house,
sir.”
    Oh, good God. This was what came of hiring off-duty coppers to watch the Thorold house: they farmed the work out to little boys for a pittance of the fee he’d paid them to do the job properly. He should have known.
    “Oh — that