Malcolm held out his arms and she walked into his embrace, just holding onto him tightly for a long moment. He kissed her with such hunger, it left her head swimming. Then he broke the contact and leaned his brow against hers and sighed. “I would give anything . . . But I must get on with the search for Benny Catlin.”
“I know.”
He kissed her one last time, then went in search of the Spaldergate House gatekeepers. Margo found her way upstairs and helped the new arrivals pick out costumes ragged enough for the East End, then showed Dominica Nosette how to get into the costume. Shahdi Feroz had, at least, been down the Britannia before.
“In the West End, mostly” she said with a slight smile, glancing at the garments Margo had authorized. “But I do know how the underthings, at least, go on.”
Dominica Nosette expected Margo to assist her as lady’s maid, a task she did not relish. Three months of this? Margo groused silently, yanking at the strings on Miss Nosette’s stays. I’ll lop off her pretty blond hair and put her in a boy’s tog’s, first!
By the time the mantle clocks throughout Spaldergate chimed two A.M. and they were ready to leave in one of the Time Tours carriages, which would take them as far as the Tower of London, Malcolm had been gone for hours, out combing the hospitals and workhouse infirmaries for some trace of their missing tourist. Douglas Tanglewood ushered them all into a stylish Calash Coach, which possessed a hard, covered roof and curtains to screen them from outside scrutiny, since they were dressed as roughly as any dockhand out of Stepney. They rode in a silence electric with anticipation. Even Margo, who fretted over Malcolm’s safety, searching for a man who had already been involved in two fatal shootings, found herself caught up in the air of excitement.