Alice gave a startled jolt when he grabbed her wrist, but it only fueled the green fire in her eyes all the more. Be that fire rage, indignation, or a variation of fear and panic. It was doubtful even she knew fully. She flung herself back straining against his grip as she hurled daggers with her eyes. Quite literally her last defense. But a cool collective part of her mind. The business part noted his words.

He knew her name for one, that was not uncommon. It was on the cards up front and if he didn't get it from there it could have been by word of mouth. But that the coat was a ruse? That he needed her? Her face paled slightly as her mind whirled with details, notes, and exactly every detail of the horror stories she had been told by various friends. Her eyes darted towards the busted door. Why did he need to know if her father was Irish?

"He is." The tiny tailor answered in a shaky voice. If this was some ransom ploy, he had the wrong Lynch. It would be her sibling they would want. The 'pride' of the family. Their perfect child. Someone to live up to the professional Lynch name. It was a rather sore spot, but she banished the pain deep inside. "Alistair Lynch the Third." Even with that bitterness buried she couldn't keep it from her voice. "And he won't give you a pound if you demand ransom." She sniffed coldly sliding into that coolness her father wore so easily. "But you will have every constable on you from Scotland Yard itself." Alice was a cheery and nice person, if a tad forgetful and absent minded. Being so cold just felt wrong to her, but if it was the mask she needed to wear to get out of this alive...