It was late before the last of the customers finally staggered out of the alehouse, to make their various wobbly ways home. Judith cleared up the last of the mugs, and dumped them all into the large sink in the back room. Happily it wasn't her job to wash them all; that task fell to George, the young apprentice boy, currently curled up asleep under one of the tables. She nudged him with her foot, and he stumbled out looking very small and very confused.
"What?" He was sulky about having been woken, and she glared at him.
"None of your cheek, you. Get back there and get those mugs washed up. Make sure the kitchen is cleaned up as well. When you're finished, there's some bread and cheese on the shelf beside the door - but not until after you've done your work, right?"
"Right." He yawned so widely that he seemed in danger of falling into his own mouth, then stumbled off in the direction of the kitchen. She smiled when he had gone. He was no more than nine, and was probably even younger, but he more than pulled his weight - not that his weight was very much. She was just surprising herself with a moment of almost maternal fondness when the door leading to the street swung open, and a tall man wrapped in a travelling cloak came in from outside. She turned to face him, looking at the huge half-hunter that was fixed to her apron.
"Sorry, it's past closing time. I'm not supposed to let anybody in now."
"It's quite all right, madam." The man bowed low, and she almost giggled. It was an extravagant gesture, and she did not often see its like working in the alehouse. "I wasn't looking for refreshment, but merely for an answer or two." He fished around in a pocket, and produced a large purse, that he made a point of jangling loudly. "I always pay for information."
"Oh, well. That's different then, isn't it." She pulled out a chair for him, and dusted it off with a corner of her apron. "Sit down. Rum?"
"I thought it was past closing time?" he asked, beginning to unfold himself from within the voluminous cloak. She saw him properly for the first time, then. Youngish, with a good deal of dark hair, and clothes that had clearly cost him more money than she was likely to see in a year.
"Rum's different. I was about to have a tot myself." She went over to the bar, returning with two of the cleaner looking glasses, and a small bottle that she kept for her own use. He raised an eyebrow.
"Ah. Medicinal, is it?"
"No. Purely pleasure." She smiled, and filled both glasses with rather more than the recommended measure. He smiled as well.
"Always the best reason for drinking. Your health, then, madam."
"And yours." She knocked back the drink, then set the glass down again on the table. "So. You said that you wanted information?"
"Indeed." He sipped his own drink rather more slowly. "I'm looking for my cousin."
"Oh, it's that sort of information, is it?" Her eyes narrowed. "I know your type. Looking for your cousin, you say, but you're really working for the beak. Well I invited you in as a guest, so finish your drink and welcome. Then leave."
"You misunderstand me, madam." He was still smiling, and she couldn't help thinking that it was rather a nice smile. His eyes were rather nice as well. "I really am looking for my cousin. He had a big falling out with his father some years ago, and left home. I hear reports of him every so often, living in various parts of London, and frequently consorting with the types of people that would make his poor mother faint clean away." He lowered his eyes. "If she weren't dead already, that is. Anyway, recently his father died as well, and whatever their argument was, it appears that he'd been forgiven completely. There's a sizeable legacy, and it falls to me to find him, and see that he collects it. So you see, if you can help me to locate him, you'll be helping him come into a considerable fortune. He would be quite grateful, I assure you."
"Oh." She frowned, not entirely sure that she believed him. "You're not just spinning me a tale?"
"Not at all. I have letters from the family solicitor..." He held up a packet of papers, which she glanced at briefly. Her reading skills extended to little more than coping with the writings on the bottles and barrels of her profession, however, and the papers meant little enough to her.
"Hmm." Still, it sounded convincing. He jangled his purse again, and she relented slightly. Clearly he had money. The informers that she had seen scouting around in the past had never been dressed so finely, or shown off any great wealth. After a moment she nodded. "All right. Who is this cousin of yours?"
"His name is Stephen Westbrook, but I have heard that he prefers to use an alias these days. I suppose his family name has unfortunate associations for him. He's easily spotted, however. He has something of a slender build, and dark hair. Tall, or tallish, with a most distinguished nose. He's often in the company of a friend of his, some way smaller, and with a scar across his right eye. A scientist, I believe, although I admit that I'm not acquainted with the man myself. Does any of this mean anything to you? I was told that he was living near here, and I hoped that he might have been seen in this... charming establishment."
"And what if he has?" asked Judith, who was quite clear now about who her guest was looking for. He smiled, and counted out five gold sovereigns onto the table between them. She licked her lips, but did her best to appear aloof. "All that, just to tell you if I've seen him?"
"Not quite." His smile had still not wavered. "All that, if you can tell me where I can find him. I did tell you that it was a sizeable legacy. I'm sure that he'd not object to me using a little of it to reunite him with his family wealth."
"Fair enough." She nodded slowly, her misgivings dispelled by the gleam of the coins. "They live near here, in a warehouse right by the river. Just a few minutes walk, if you're not the type to dawdle. They need space for whatever work it is that they do. Lots of things get delivered to them. Machine parts, and that sort of thing. It's all something to do with engineering, as I understand it."
"A warehouse?" He slid two of the coins towards her. "Perhaps you could be a little more precise?"
"It's old. Older than most of the others in the area. Most of the windows facing the street are bricked up, and there's a sign painted on the wall. Bishop & Sons. I don't know who they were. Been gone longer than I've been around."
"I see." He pushed another of the coins towards her. "And they spend much of their time there, do they? I mean, if I should happen to miss them, is there somewhere else where I might be able to find them instead? I'm anxious to get this business finished with as soon as possible. For personal, sentimental reasons, you understand."
"Of course." Her eyes were fixed to the two remaining coins. "Well, when I've finished up here of a night, I sometimes go to buy myself a little supper, and I've often seen them doing the same thing. If they're not at their quarters now, I suppose it's likely that they're off getting some food. They do seem to keep quite late hours."
"And is there a particular place that they frequent?"
"A shop near the river. Belongs to a man called Henrikson. He sells meats and pies, and things like that. You can't miss it." She smiled brightly. "The smell alone will tell you where it is."
"A delightful aroma of fresh pastry, no doubt." He pushed the two final coins towards her, and stood up. "Many thanks, my good lady."
"Not at all." She stood up as well, watching him as he went to the door. "Good luck, then."
"Thank you. Thank you, indeed." He offered her another bow, then curled his cloak back around him, and disappeared into the night. She drank down the remainder of his rum, then collected up her sovereigns, and bit one of them thoughtfully. It struck her that she had taken rather a lot on trust, and that perhaps she had been somewhat too free with her tongue. On the other hand, business was business and money was money. It wasn't as though she had ever been paid for her silence. Pulling off her apron, she slung it over the back of a chair, and headed for the door. A faint sense of guilt lingered, for she was rather fond of Methos, and had no real desire for anything bad to befall him; but the feeling did not last long. Customers came and went. Money, however, was a lifetime's necessity. In the scheme of things, it was so very much more important than a friend.
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