She had known about the congestion problem on the Thames, a very big problem because ships came in seasonally, all being subject to the same unpredictable winds and weather. She shouldn’t have been surprised, however. But they’d still had to wait several days before this was accomplished. Passengers were more fortunate in that they could be rowed ashore. No, it started when they reached England last week and found out their ship couldn’t dock, that it might take anywhere up to three months before it was given quay space to unload its cargo. Talk about your lousy luck, and it hadn’t even started there. It was most likely accomplished while the trunks were together on that long ride from the docks on the East End to Piccadilly on the West End, where the prestigious Albany was located, when the trunks were strapped on top of the hack they had rented, with the driver and his helper up top with them, while she and Mac blithely ogled their first sight of London Town.

Georgie, as she was affectionately known to friends and family, couldn’t even in good conscience hold the hotel accountable, not when she and Mac had both been robbed, but from different rooms, even different floors. But there was nothing else they could do after they returned to the hotel to find all their money missing from their trunks. They’d had to leave the Albany the very next day for much, much cheaper accommodations. She’d gotten only one good meal since she’d arrived in England five days ago, and that was the very night they docked, when Mac had taken her out to a fine restaurant just after they had checked into the Albany Hotel. After twelve years as the Andersons’ cook, Hannah knew just what pleased each member of the family, and Georgina had been dreaming about her cooking for weeks, not surprising after a month of shipboard fare. What she wouldn’t give for one of Hannah’s rich, seven-course meals right about now. She turned back to her half-eaten dinner, stared at the boiled food for a moment, then pushed the plate away with a grimace. As long as she couldn’t see the little beasts, she could pretend she wasn’t sharing accommodations with them. The radish splattered on the wall only inches from her target, sending said target scampering for the nearest crack in the wall. She didn’t hit the fat cockroach she was aiming for, but she was close enough. Georgina Anderson held her spoon up backward, placed one of the pared-down radishes from her plate in the bowl of the spoon, pulled the tip back, and shot the radish across the room.

Gentle rogue