*Freya*
“Stop here.”
The hired hack that River and I have engaged for our trip to Woodside’s townhouse ground to a halt a block away from our final destination. We don’t need the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves alerting any lightly sleeping servants that guests are arriving. River pays the driver, and I keep my mouth shut, not wanting my feminine voice to ruin my disguise.
We creep lightly down the street until we reach Woodside’s residence. He leases a modest townhouse, a fact for which I am exceedingly grateful. A large mansion would take far too long to search and would probably contain a fleet of ever-watchful servants. Woodside’s relatively small home is unlikely to be well-staffed.
"I think we should go around to the side," River whispers. "We'll see if he left any of the windows
