Aubrey and Sir Prescott entered a bare lobby facing a steep staircase. The lay-out was not that different from the station house in Shops although this building was much taller. But its office was also to the right, a square room filled with charts on easels, tables loaded with papers, and chairs of various sizes and shapes. A burly man with a beard sat at a long desk near the door.
“Miss St. Clair,” he said, rising to his feet.
Sir Prescott said, “And you are?”
“Jonas Perry.”
“You encountered Miss St. Clair during her tribulations earlier this year?”
“I met her.”
“Is Mr. Stowe available to see us?”
“He's upstairs. Resting. Just got off late-shift.” To Aubrey, “You wanna see him?”
“Yes.”
“Col!” Mr. Perry bellowed, and a young man with sandy hair slid into the room. “Get Charles, will you?” Tell him his gir—tell him Miss St. Clair is here.”
Aubrey tried not to redden. His girl. Sir Prescott didn’t appear to notice. He was looking about the office with bright interest.
“Always enlightening to see civil institutions at work,” he said as he ushered Aubrey to a chair.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Perry said to her.
“Supposedly.”
Sir Prescott smiled genially. “Miss St. Clair has great spirit,” he said.
Mr. Perry, Aubrey noted, didn’t roll his eyes—not where Sir Prescott could see him. She waited, hands folded, feeling claw tips against her palms. She shouldn’t be so nervous. She hadn’t been before. But Charles was more than a source now, a mere answerer of questions. Aubrey didn’t have much experience with beaus—watching other people’s beaus, yes, just not many of her own. How did one behave?
Not that differently, if Charles’s behavior was any indication. He entered the room quietly without fanfare, shook Sir Prescott’s hand, and settled in the chair beside Aubrey’s.
“We are here in regards to Miss St. Clair’s trials earlier this year.” Sir Prescott said. “She is on the road to letting go the anguish of those days.”
Charles arched a single eyebrow in Aubrey’s direction. She smiled demurely.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “How can I help?” he said.
“You had contact with Miss St. Clair on two occasions—immediately following her reversion and after her second transformation?”
“Yes.”
Sir Prescott fished in his inner coat and pulled out a slim notepad and pencil. “She was with you how long?”
“A few hours. Both times.”
“I see. The first time, you escorted her to the Academy.”
“Sir James fetched her.”
There was a slight barb in Charles's voice, and Sir Prescott sighed. “A heavy-handed man,” he agreed. “The second time—”
Mr. Perry said, “You were present at the Academy, weren’t you? Did you know Sir James planned to take Miss St. Clair to see Lord Simon?”
“Unfortunately, I had already left. I learned of her, ah, flight much later. Had I been there, I would have tried to calm Miss St. Clair. A quiet colloquy, a tranquil setting can do wonders for the nerves.”
