”We’re far enough from the heart of Mayfair,” Malcolm told her once they had settled into the six room flat, “to go unnoticed in our seedier disguises, but close enough to avoid the filth and crime of the East End and allow me to continue my persona as independent gentleman.”
”Have you been here before?”
”Not this particular flat, no; but this general area, yes. I bring my tourists here rather than to a hotel, unless they insist otherwise. Living in a flat and buying vegetables and fish from the markets gives one rather a better feel for life here. Unpack your things, Miss Smythe, and we’ll begin our work.”
He had John hire a carriage and horses for the week while they unpacked. Malcolm arranged with the landlady for deliveries to be made from a reputable chandler to victual them with staples. Once the food arrived, he showed Margo how to prepare a British style luncheon for a country outing.
”A country outing?” Margo asked excitedly. “Really?”
Malcolm smiled. “I doubt it’s what you have in mind. Pack that set of tweeds for me, would you? That’s a dear. And bring along that loose shirt, those trousers, and that pair of boots for yourself. Yes, those. As a scout, one of the most important things you’ll need to know is how to handle horses. I’m going to teach you to ride.”
The closest thing to a horse Margo had ever ridden was a carousel at the state fair. And only then because her neighbors had taken her with their kids, pitying a child whose father spent most of what he had on liquor and, eventually, worse.