The crates rattled behind him before the top one tumbled to the pavement. “Have a care,” he said, righting the empty container.
“There’s a storage room next door to the tobacco shop.” Hob pulled a clay pipe out of his jacket and winked, proud of his mischief. “I took the liberty of topping off,” he said and put the pipe in his teeth, which were worn and brown as an old dog’s.
“You left it unlocked?”
Hob feigned offense. “Och aye.”
“Good lad. Tell Sir Elvanfoot we’re following a lead and may be late.”
Hob lit his pipe with the point of his finger and dropped out of sight in a cloud of cherry-scented smoke. That sorted, Ian crossed the road to break the news to Edwina about the truth of surveillance work.
“The boy kept watch on the street a few minutes, then went inside the pub,” she said, drawing her shawl up over her head. “I don’t understand. What is that boy doing here with Mary?”
“We’ll find out soon enough, if you’re still willing to see this through to whatever end it brings us to.”
She said she was, even as she shivered from the cold, so they walked a quick clip to the tobacconist. The door to the storage room proved a solid arched wooden thing left over from another age, with thick wrought-iron hinges holding it in place, if slightly askew in the frame. Ian pulled on the handle and it creaked open. “Hurry,” he said, slipping through the opening. Edwina pressed in behind him and shut the heavy oak door, which had the effect of blocking out half the light. The other half came from a small window situated four feet above the top of the door.
Ian cursed the damnable elf under his breath. Not only was the window out of reach, the space was little more than a long, narrow closet, as if an alley between buildings had been bricked up. It was cool and dark and smelled of tobacco.
“Can’t we stack some of these boxes and climb up to reach the window?” But even as Edwina suggested it, she saw the challenge. The boxes would block the door and a quick exit should the need arise.
“We’re going to need a modification,” Ian said. “Nothing too fancy. A wee spell should do.”
“Won’t that draw the wrong sort of attention on the street?”
“Nae, the Constabulary only responds if you make a right nuisance of yourself in public. We just need a window at eye level so we can keep a watch on the pub yonder.” He stood back and tilted his head to the right as he eyed the door. “I think the owner might agree a nice viewing slot would be an improvement.”
“You’re a regular outlaw, aren’t you?” Edwina said.
“Aye, sometimes it’s necessary to put one foot on each side of the law to walk a straight line.” He grinned, then marked the outline of a rectangle on the door with his finger as he recited his incantation. “Make a cut against the grain. Make no noise within the lane. Carve a window in the door. One the owner will ignore.” He continued tracing his finger over the wood in a rectangle shape until the scent of charred wood lifted from the door and a chunk of oak the size of a brick fell in his hand. “Might not be fancy like Sir Elvanfoot’s work, but it’ll do,” he said, peeking through the opening.
Once settled in the space among the crates and loose straw, they took turns standing in front of the small window overlooking the street. There was no new sign of the boy, but occasionally they saw a silhouetted figure that resembled Mary walk past the window.
“So this is what you do?” Edwina asked. “Wait and watch and hope your suspect will show himself?”
“More often than I like, though I’m well pleased not to be sitting in the rain this time.” Ian stepped aside to give her an opportunity to look through the slot. “And I’m not usually in such fair company.” He startled himself by saying that last part out loud. He’d thought it, certainly, but Edwina Blackwood wasn’t the sort of woman you dangled innocuous flattery in front of. He imagined her being more like a placid dark lake that one had to give their soul over to for the privilege of knowing how deep her waters ran. “I’m usually on my own,” he added.
She smiled, but then grew pensive, leaning her head against the door as she watched the people come and go in front of the darkened pub. “I don’t want it to be Mary,” she said. “But after what we discovered in her trunk . . . there was still blood on the spectacles.” Edwina closed her eyes, as if the thought of what they’d found sickened her.