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  She pulled her hood over Eleanor’s dun-coloured wig and clutched her reticule and shopping basket close, glad to be off on her rounds. The winter had been especially cruel so far and many people would be happy to receive the relief The Cat offered through the conduit of Eleanor Habersham.

  The Cat could not afford the risk of making deliveries in person often for fear of increasing her chance of exposure. If she was too liberal in flaunting her identity, it wouldn’t be long before someone turned her over to authorities.

  Early on, she had taken great pains to set up her network by identifying reliable and trustworthy merchants who would convey The Cat’s offerings to those in need. They’d learned to recognise Eleanor Habersham as The Cat’s messenger.

  Nora hadn’t gone far when the strange sensation of being watched caused her to pause and reassess her surroundings, which until that point had been filled only with other people going about their daily business at the shops. Someone was not what they seemed.

  Cautiously, so as not to give away her awareness of being followed, Nora glanced around, quartering the area with her gaze. A woman with her young children entered the greengrocer’s. A street-sweep cried out his business on the corner. A hackney waited for his next fare. Then she saw him. It was no more than a glimpse before he fell back into the crowd of people moving through the streets, but it was unmistakably him. Stockport was following her.

  Nora cautioned herself not to jump to conclusions. He was a busy man. He might very well have his own reasons to be in Manchester. It was, after all, a thriving city and Stockport was a man interested in enterprise and industry. She had no proof yet that he was here simply to follow Eleanor Habersham, a spinster of meagre means, on her errands. He had given no indication of having seen her beyond her intuition sensing his presence.

  Yet, his presence sounded an alarm. Nora looked up and down the street. While it was possible that he would be in Manchester for his own purposes, it seemed unlikely that a man of his calibre would be on this particular street, which was devoted to grocers and food shops of various sorts. An Earl didn’t procure his own foodstuffs. This was a section of town frequented by the servants of the wealthy and those who couldn’t afford servants of their own.

  There was only one way to find out if his being in town was coincidence or something more. Nora smiled to herself. Forewarned was forearmed. She would put him to the test and still get most of her duties accomplished right under his nose.

  Nora deliberately walked down the street, giving him a chance to spot her if that was his intention, and entered her first stop, the bakery.

  ‘Good day, Mr Harlow. I’ve come to get some of your excellent sticky buns. Hattie would have my head if I returned home without them.’ Nora exchanged pleasantries with Mr Harlow and wandered to the front window while he wrapped up her order. Her initial concern had been warranted. Stockport was occupying himself with a newspaper vendor across the street while keeping the bakery in perfect view.

  If he was waiting for her to exit the warm shop, he was going to get extremely cold. There was nothing worse than standing still in the cold unless it was knowing the person you waited for was keeping warm inside. Confident in her strategy, Nora launched into an animated discussion with Mr Harlow regarding the merits of white bread crumbs versus brown in Manchester pudding.

  Good God, what could she possibly be talking about that would take so long and demand so much gesticulation? Brandon stamped his booted feet in a feeble attempt to generate some warmth and movement in his legs. Despite his caped greatcoat, muffler, gloves and fur beaver, he was not impervious to the cold.

  He fought the urge to check his pocket watch one more time. He had already made the mistake of dragging it out of his waistcoat pocket once. Getting the timepiece out required removing his shearling-lined gloves and parting his greatcoat to reach inside. The newspaper tucked beneath his arm was warmer than he was. Short of going into the bakery and declaring his presence to the spinster, he had no choice but to wait, since the alternative would be to abandon his plan altogether.

  Admittedly, the plan was hastily concocted. He had ridden over to Squire Bradley’s to discuss some brief district business regarding the assizes and learned Eleanor Habersham was riding into Manchester with Alice Bradley. The opportunity was too good to pass up after his ‘visit’ with The Cat the prior evening. What better way to determine if there was a link between Eleanor and The Cat than to follow Eleanor about town? It had seemed a plausible idea at the time. Now, he had his doubts. If he had to wait any longer, he’d have frostbite to add to his growing list of regrets.

  He did not usually tolerate being relegated to a watch-and-wait role. There was no reason he was tolerating it now. Brandon decided he’d had enough. If he was going to have regrets over the Spinster Habersham, they would be of his making and not hers.

  Miss Habersham tucked a package into her shopping basket and reached in her reticule. Brandon came alert, straightening his posture from the slouch he’d adopted against a lamp post. At last! He watched eagerly as Miss Habersham handed over payment for whatever she had purchased. It was his cue to move in.

  ‘Miss Habersham? Is that you? I thought it might be.’ Brandon strode forward, touching his hand respectfully to the brim of his hat. ‘It’s a cold day to be out. Let me take those packages for you.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, which would have assuredly been ‘no’, and relieved her of the cumbersome shopping basket.

  ‘Lord Stockport, what a surprise,’ Miss Habersham responded, making a brilliant recovery from the initial look of surprise that had washed over her face. That look bore speculating on, though, Stockport thought.

  She’d been surprised, but not in the way someone is startled out of the blue. It was almost as if she’d known he was there. Her look upon his approach bordered on perplexed and annoyed. She had not expected him to announce his presence and she was annoyed that he had. Brandon mused that, if she had known such a welcome would increase his desire to stick close to her, she might have schooled her features better.

  ‘What brings you to town, my lord?’ she asked in her nasal-pitched voice.

  Brandon waved his gloved hand dismissively. ‘Some business that I quickly wrapped up. It was nothing all that important, just something that needed doing. And you? Do you have other stops to make?’ He peered into the basket, filled only with the wrapped buns, trapping her into completing the errands he believed still remained. She’d only just arrived in town and one did not travel five miles simply to visit the bakery. In essence, he knew what he was doing. He was coercing her into the spending the day with him.

  Gamely, Miss Habersham took the bait. ‘Why, yes, I do, Lord Stockport. It would be absolutely wonderful if you could accompany me.’

  Ah, the victory was too easily won, but Brandon took it anyway. Since he’d met The Cat, his victories had been more like draws, something he wasn’t used to. However, as expected, the easy victory was not without price. Brandon was hard pressed to distinguish whether Eleanor Habersham was being herself with her excessive chatter and tittering or deliberately trying to run him off.

  The second stop was the butcher’s, where Brandon was exposed to Eleanor’s protracted conversation with the butcher on the virtues of redcurrant jelly sauce as an accompaniment to an amazing array of game dishes. Brandon hadn’t thought there was that much to say about the subject. She tittered as she confessed to using a naughty dash of cognac brandy to sweeten the sauce. Brandon immediately felt guilty over his pique. Regardless of the woman’s potential connection to The Cat, the poor woman had little to look forward to in her drab life, supplemented as it was with the most modest of means.

  For a woman of her limited income, there were no new dresses to look forward to, no excitement of taking in the entertainments offered in London or other large cities, no luxury of permitting oneself a splurge here or there. Every penny in her possession was likely budgeted with the strictest of care. If discussing currant sauce gave her day
meaning, broke the mundane routine of her life, he could tolerate it. After all, he had invited himself on her errands.

  Still, Brandon was glad enough to move on once she finally reached in to her reticule and paid the butcher for the beef. His relief was short-lived. The roast she dropped into the basket he carried weighed down his arm considerably.

  ‘That’s not too heavy for you, is it?’ Miss Habersham inquired innocuously, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

  Brandon smiled easily, assuring her with a lie that the basket wasn’t too heavy. Whatever charity he had felt for her a few moments ago vanished. The woman must have bought the largest roast in Manchester. He was utterly persuaded by her overly innocent inquiry that she’d done it on purpose too. Eleanor was playing a secret game with him. Very well, he would play one with her. Spinster or not, all bets were off.

  Brandon redoubled his charm. He bought her a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and plied her with stories of London. As if in retaliation for his kindness, she stopped at the poulterer’s and added a chicken to the basket.

  The afternoon turned into a polite, unspoken tug of war. The more she bought, the more he smiled when she piled the purchases into the full basket. The more inane her chatter became, the more he flirted shamelessly, subtly letting her know that it would take more than insipid conversation and a heavy basket to drive him off.

  She made two more stops, paying in cash at each one and tucking her wrapped purchase into the basket. Brandon was cold, his arm aching, when they turned down the avenue heading towards High Street and the clothes shops. Brandon breathed a sigh of relief. At least that section of town had arcades and he’d be a shade warmer.

  She chose a large haberdashery and Brandon thanked the fates. The shop was warm and roomy. The long counter at the back looked to be a likely place for him to put down the basket for a bit.

  ‘Feel free to browse, my lord,’ Eleanor said. ‘I have some private things to take care of.’ She blocked the way to the counter, making it clear that he was not to follow her.

  ‘Of course, Miss Habersham, take your time. Let me know when you’re done.’ Brandon said in his best gentleman’s tones. Although disappointed at being denied a resting spot for the onerous basket, Brandon was jubilant. He had been waiting for this all day. He was certain if Eleanor was going to make her move, it would be now. This was the only time all day they’d been in a shop large enough to lose oneself in and the only time she’d been eager to be out of his company.

  He selected an aisle and feigned interest in some plain muslin. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Eleanor making straight for the counter as he suspected. She said something to the bespectacled clerk behind the counter, sending him scuttling off and bringing back another employee, a woman, a few moments later.

  Gleeful triumph filled Brandon. His day was not spent in vain. Asking for a particular clerk must signify something of import. Brandon edged his way closer to the counter, putting himself in earshot of Eleanor’s conversation.

  Come a little closer said the spider to the fly. The old children’s rhyme paraded through her mind as Nora eyed her prey from her position at the counter. Stockport had walked right into the web she had spun. This little outing had been inordinately entertaining and enlightening in its own way. She’d been surprised Stockport had stuck with Eleanor Habersham so diligently. It wasn’t any man who could tolerate her insipid prattle and titters all day long.

  It was quite a testament to Stockport’s fortitude and something of a warning to herself as well in regards to the type of man she was dealing with. Had he stuck with Eleanor because he was a gentleman and, once pledged to a lady’s company, could not simply cry off? Nora couldn’t quite believe he’d endure the entire day at her side all for the sake of honour.

  It was more likely he’d stuck by her side because he suspected something. Perhaps he was following up on The Cat’s reference to Eleanor that night in the study. Perhaps he was trying to earn his way into Eleanor’s good graces after her not-so-covert rebuffing of him at the ladies’ tea. She would soon find out.

  If he was simply playing the unsuspecting gentleman doing a good deed for the local spinster, she would be able to give him the slip here. If not, the stakes in the escalating game they’d played this afternoon would be raised. The gambler in her almost wished for the latter. All the politics aside, matching wits with Stockport was proving to be far more enjoyable than she’d imagined.

  Raising her voice slightly to ensure Stockport could hear, but not so loud as to be obvious, Nora said in her annoying Eleanor Habersham voice, ‘Jane, I would like to look at some flannel for, er, um…’she paused to intone just the right amount of embarrassment in her request when in truth only Stockport would be embarrassed, as any rightful gentleman would be ‘…winter undergarments. I find my petticoats won’t last another season.’ She gave an old maid’s giggle.

  ‘Would you like me to bring out our flannel bolts?’ the clerk asked.

  Nora’s hand flew to her throat in shock. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly look at such goods in public.’

  ‘Of course not, Miss Habersham, come to the back with me. Kenneth can watch the counter.’

  Smugly, Nora walked behind the efficient clerk to the storeroom. No gentleman would dare consider following after overhearing such an exchange. There would be no plausible explanation to offer if he was found out and there would be no way Stockport could live the episode down if Eleanor Habersham caught him. It would only take Eleanor telling a tearful story to Alice Bradley on the way home and the news would be all over the village by the next day.

  Nora shut the stockroom door behind her and turned to Jane. ‘We must act quickly.’

  ‘Why? Is something wrong? Usually you don’t ask to come to the back room.’

  ‘I’m being followed by Stockport himself.’

  Jane sucked in a worried breath. Nora dismissed her concern. ‘I’m not in danger, not yet anyway, but I need to make the delivery to Mary Malone. She needs the food desperately. I couldn’t get to the apothecary’s today, but I have money in small coins.’

  ‘Her oldest boy works at the William Plant hat factory. I’ll go myself, right away before it gets dark,’ Jane said resolutely, although Nora knew Jane hated venturing into the Anacoats neighborhood.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I know how you detest it. I’ll go. I just need you to cover for me while I slip out the back door. It will serve Stockport right for dogging my steps all day.’

  ‘What will I tell him?’ Jane looked more concerned over facing Stockport than venturing into Anacoats.

  ‘Tell him I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave immediately. Thank you, Jane.’

  Nora flipped up her hood and slipped out into the alley behind the shop. She headed for the street and rounded the corner, only to run straight into the brick-hard form of the Earl of Stockport.

  ‘My dear Miss Habersham, it seems you’ve left without your purchases.’ He dangled the heavy basket with one hand, which must have qualified as a feat of superhuman strength given all that was in it. He made it look easy.

  Nora righted herself, breathing slowly to regain the breath she’d lost in the impact. What did the dratted man know? He stood there, all gentlemanly assistance with her over-heavy basket, acting as if nothing was amiss. It was more than bold to stand there and pretend that the woman who’d dragged him all over Manchester hadn’t just been caught trying to dupe him.

  Nora studied the basket, searching for a retort that would cover these awkward circumstances. Nothing came. She’d not ever been caught so blatantly red-handed before. Her eyes fell on two packages in the basket she didn’t recalled purchasing. Perhaps they would provide a distraction.

  ‘Ah, those,’ he said before she could ask. ‘Since you were in such a hurry, I took the liberty of having the clerk wrap up some materials for your winter undergarments. I wasn’t sure what you had decided on, so I made some decisions of my ow
n. I had the clerk measure out a length of the white satin,’ he stated amiably as if he assisted spinsters with their intimate apparel on a regular basis.

  ‘Satin?’ Nora gulped. Stockport had picked out satin for Miss Habersham?

  ‘Absolutely. I have it on good authority from my lady friends that there is nothing like the feel of satin against one’s bare skin.’ He gave a roguish wink.

  Nora wanted to slap him. The bastard had no call to treat poor Miss Habersham to such a revealing discussion. Unfortunately, Miss Habersham would never slap an earl. She would merely blush and be embarrassed. That was proving easy enough to manage. All the embarrassment she’d anticipated for Stockport was now hers.

  Still, there was work yet to be done. Never mind that the stop at the haberdashery had backfired miserably. Mary Malone didn’t have the money for her medicines. Nora could not leave Manchester without seeing to that last chore.

  ‘My lord, you are too kind. I confess I am feeling better now. Perhaps the fresh air has helped,’ she improvised quickly.

  ‘And the quick walk too, no doubt,’ Stockport commented wryly.

  Nora chose to ignore the veiled jibe. She had to get back inside and leave the money with Jane. Jane would see that Mary got the funds. ‘In any case, I am feeling better and I would like to return inside for just a moment.’

  ‘Certainly, whatever you would like, Miss Habersham. I am completely at your disposal.’

  ‘Ohhhh, you’re such an agreeable man.’ She gave a giddy laugh. ‘Wait for me outside, I’ll just be a moment.’

  ‘Would you prefer me to wait at the back door or the front?’

  ‘The front would be fine, my lord.’ It was all Nora could do not to slap the insufferable man. He had caught her and they both knew it, although he didn’t really know what he had caught her at. It was small consolation.