Another turn down an alleyway brought them to a small, crooked building with dirty plate glass windows patched with soiled rags. The premises appeared quiet enough. The sun was shining, and the worst of the slum’s residents hadn’t yet emerged from the shadows. That didn’t make it any safer of an establishment for a young lady.

Gabriel entered the dank interior of the shop, letting the door slam loudly behind him. The shop’s customers looked up as one. There weren’t many of them at this time of day, only a scattering of hard-faced, gin-soaked ruffians, hunched around small wooden tables, nursing their drinks amid a cloud of pipe and cigarette smoke.

Miss Flite stood at the shop’s filthy counter. A pair of large, unshaven men in threadbare coats and sweat-stained breeches loomed on either side of her, watching her from beneath the brims of their low cloth caps the way hungry sharks might watch an oblivious seal frolicking to its doom.

She was dressed all in black, just as Ollie had described. An ebony parasol was tucked under her arm, and a tiny black dog danced at her feet, constrained by the slim velvet lead she held in her black-gloved hand. The fine veil of her bonnet had been drawn back to reveal her face as she spoke to the barman, old Ned Scrimple.

Ned was staring at her with an expression that—when coupled with the lascivious stares of the other men—had Gabriel reflexively clenching his fist. He forced his fingers to loosen. Things could easily escalate. There was drink involved, and there was an uncommonly attractive woman. A few more swallows of liquid courage and one of these louts would willingly start a brawl over her.

“What’s this, Ned?” Gabriel asked with deceptive casualness. “A party?”

Miss Flite turned. Her dark blue gaze flicked from Gabriel to Ollie and back again. If she was surprised to see them, she didn’t show it. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

A glass of spirits sat on the counter beside her, so far untouched.

“A bit early in the day for a drink, is it not, my lady?” Gabriel inquired, coming to join her.

“Oh, that isn’t for me,” Miss Flite said. “It’s for him.” She smiled in Ollie’s direction. “I thought you might be thirsty, young man. You’ve kept such a brisk pace these past two days.”

Ollie paled. He was usually more effective when following people, blending in easily with his surroundings and remaining invisible. If Miss Flite had spotted him, it could only be because he’d been careless.

Gabriel stepped up to the counter, putting himself squarely between Miss Flite and the larger villain on her right. He stared down at her, as close to her as he’d been in Compton’s library. This time, his pulse was unaffected. His blood pumped cold and steady, fully aware of the danger, even if she wasn’t.