The Conundrum of a Clerk

by Sande, Linda Rae

  But then that tiny life had been taken from her womb before it was even four months along.

  Alex sighed. “I really wish you hadn’t taken that assignment,” he whispered. “I’ve always felt ever so guilty—”

  “Alex!” she scolded, her voice gentle. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate what you did to prepare me for that mission.”

  “By taking your virtue?” he countered in a hoarse whisper. “And then finding out you were Ariley’s daughter? I thought for certain I would be drawn and quart—”

  “You weren’t supposed to ever learn that about me,” she argued. Alex hadn’t asked as to her background, trusting she had been hired much like any operative—for a specific set of skills. Disguises and dialects had been Daisy’s specialty. “How did you find out?”

  His eyes darting to one side, he gave a shrug. “I asked to see your file.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “It was in my file?” she asked in disbelief. No wonder her father eventually found out she worked as an operative.

  Alex nodded. “Probably put there by Chamberlain. The man knows far too much about everyone,” he murmured. He allowed a sigh. “Still, had I known then—”

  “You did nothing I didn’t want you to do,” she argued. “As I recall, I begged you to share your bed so you could teach me what I needed to know.” She didn’t add that curiosity had more to do with it than an impending mission. From the moment she met Alex, she had been intrigued by him. Attracted to him. Do not fear it, her mother had said on one occasion. That desire for a man, for the power you have over him, for that is all the power you will ever possess.

  “Besides...” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if I would ever need those skills for a husband.” An odd twinge had her wondering where those words had come from. Should she ever end up married, those skills would likely keep a husband in her bed and less likely to employ a mistress.

  Finally allowing a nod, Alex frowned. “So, you’re still not married?”

  Daisy grinned. “No. In fact, I am headmistress of Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School,” she stated, and then watched carefully as Alex’s face screwed up into a most comical look of disbelief.

  “You?” he countered in disbelief. “Undercover?”

  “No,” she said with a grimace. “My limp got me fired, so I sought employment elsewhere.”

  “But, Warwick’s?” he countered, allowing a chuckle.

  “Indeed. I’m teaching, too. Grammar, of course. And my sister’s classes, at least until I can find a suitable replacement. She’s married now, you must know.”

  “She managed to snag Breckinridge, although no one is actually sure just how,” Alex said then, referring to Viscount Breckinridge. “There are witnesses who claim he kissed her on the corner of Jermyn and St. James in broad daylight—”

  “Diana wrote of the details,” Daisy said by way of confirmation. “It was all his doing, of course. In the meantime, I’ve taken her place at Warwick’s.” She paused a moment. “Any chance you know of someone who can teach dance and arithmetic?” she asked rhetorically.

  Alex shook his head. “I’d heard about Mrs. Streater, of course, but I wasn’t aware arrangements for her replacement had already been made,” he admitted.

  “Do you know her son? Mr. Streater?” Daisy asked.

  Alex shook his head. “Only that his brother is a baron and that he’s a bank clerk.” He paused a moment. “And didn’t he lose an arm in the war?”

  Daisy nodded, realizing she had the perfect opportunity to ask about Miss Crofter’s betrothed. “Would you know how I might determine the fate of another soldier?” she asked then, thinking perhaps Alex would know which office she should visit next. “It’s why I’ve come today. One of my instructors was betrothed, but the groom disappeared just before the wedding, and I think it was because he left for the Continent. He had been a soldier, before, you see, but was a clerk when he proposed marriage.”

  Allowing a shrug, Alex said. “Do you have a name?”

  “Barnaby. Nicholas Barnaby. He would have been in the army—”

  “Mr. Barnaby?” Alex repeated, straightening in his chair. “Why, if it’s the same Nicholas Barnaby, then of course I know of him,” he replied. “He’s off helping old fogeys find employment from that charity in Oxford Street. Doing a damn fine job of it, too.”

  Daisy blinked. And blinked again. “Of course. That’s why I’ve heard his name before,” she murmured. Her head fell back as she silently berated herself. “Lady E’s ‘Finding Work for the Wounded’,” she whispered, before allowing a chuckle. When she noted how Alex stared at her, his expression betraying his puzzlement, she added, “It’s how I landed my position at Warwick’s.”

  Alex frowned. “You were a client of Lady Bostwick’s?” he asked in disbelief.

  Nodding, Daisy reminded him she had been shot in the past. “My employer, Mr. Streater, was her very first client,” she said in a quiet voice, wondering at how her insides seemed to do a little flip at the thought of the one-armed man. Reminded of the school, though, she inhaled sharply and looked about for a clock. “Pray tell, what time is it? I must be back to teach dance class at eleven o’clock.”

  Allowing a grin of amusement, Alex pulled a chronometer from his waistcoat pocket. “Half-past nine. May I... escort you back to Warwick’s?” he offered.

  Daisy shook her head. “I’ve taken up entirely too much of your time already,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” he argued.

  “I’ll take a hackney and have the driver go by way of Oxford Street,” she continued, ignoring his comment.

  Alex stood up. “I worry about you,” he whispered. “Please, Daisy, do keep in touch,” he begged. “At least I know where to find you now.”

  Daisy sighed. “You and my father,” she said quietly.

  “Now don’t be berating the men who love you,” Alex warned as he reached for her hand. He kissed the back of it.

  Rather touched by his words, Daisy curtsied. “I look forward to meeting Nike,” she said.

  Alex allowed a smirk, knowing he hadn’t mentioned his wife’s name during their conversation. “I think you’ll like her,” he said.

  “She took a bullet for you, so I expect I will.” With that, Daisy took her leave of his office, noted its location in the building, and made her way to Whitehall Street to hail a hackney.

  She intended to find a missing groom.

  Chapter 27

  Interview with a Runaway Groom

  Fifteen minutes later

  Stepping down from the hackney, Daisy regarded the shingle above the door at No. 30 Oxford Street and grinned. Lady Bostwick had already begun her latest venture, it seemed, for a second sign announcing ‘Finding Wives for the Wounded’ hung from short chains attached to the main sign, ‘Finding Work for the Wounded.’

  Daisy briefly wondered who might have secured the position of matchmaker, hoping she might spot the woman once she was inside.

  Augustus Overby rose from his chair and limped around his desk. “Good morning. Miss Albright, isn’t it?”

  Rather impressed the clerk remembered her name, Daisy gave a nod. “I am, Mr. Overby.” She suddenly paused, her brows furrowing when she remembered the list of students who had attended Warwick’s last year. “By any chance, do you have a relation by the name of Katie Overby?”

  “I’ve a niece by that name,” he acknowledged. “Nineteen, she is, with a half-dozen suitors.”

  Daisy grinned. “I only asked because I’m the new headmistress of Warwick’s now.”

  His eyes widened. “Congratulations,” he replied, a grin appearing. “So... if you’ve been hired, what brings you back here?”

  “I wondered if Mr. Barnaby might be in?” Daisy asked, just before her gaze settled on a rather tall gentleman who was reading a newspaper in one corner of the office. He seemed oblivious to her presence.

  Displaying his disappointment she wasn’t there to see him, Mr. Overby held up a
finger before he limped over and tapped his colleague on the arm. He whispered something, and Daisy found she was the object of scrutiny when Mr. Barnaby pinned her with a look of curiosity. Then he stood up and made his way in her direction.

  That’s when Daisy realized he was the tall man she had seen standing across the street from Warwick’s. He never stayed long, but a few of the students claimed they thought he might be planning something nefarious.

  “I am Mr. Barnaby,” the tall man said with some concern. “You asked for me, Miss Albright?”

  Daisy nodded. “It’s good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barnaby. I wondered if I might ask you a couple of questions?” When it was apparent he was nervous, she added, “It’s about Miss Crofter.”

  Nicholas Barnaby inhaled and glanced in the direction of the other clerk before he leaned in and whispered, “I only did what I thought was best.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Daisy thought it odd he didn’t pretend ignorance or at least claim she had the wrong man. “You thought leaving her at the altar was best?” Daisy countered, wondering if he would explain himself.

  “I didn’t know I was going to be forced to go back to fight the French until the night before the wedding,” he said in a quiet voice, his manner most defensive. “I was out with some mates having an ale—night before the wedding and all—and the next thing I knew, I was on a ship bound for Calais before daybreak and on a battlefield the following day. Did... did she send you?”

  Daisy furrowed a brow. She had heard similar stories, of course, but usually when a ship needed a crew. “Miss Crofter has no idea I’m here. As headmistress at Warwick’s, I hosted her for tea and wondered how it was she had such a poor opinion of men. She’s not said a word to anyone else, preferring instead to despise all men for what you did,” she accused. She gave a shake of her head. ”Or rather, what you didn’t do.”

  The tall man seemed to deflate before her eyes, his eyelids covering most of his eyes until they were almost closed. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to leave her like that,” he said as he shook his head. “I thought to write her a letter when I could—explain what happened—but we engaged the enemy the day after we hit landfall and...” He allowed the sentence to trail off, glancing over to be sure his colleague wasn’t eavesdropping on their conversation. “Then I was wounded—twice—by bayonets. Wondered what a pretty English miss like Miss Crofter would want with a man who was as cut up as I was, and so I never did send the letter.”

  Wincing at this last bit, Daisy allowed a sigh. “Perhaps you should have allowed her to make that choice, Mr. Barnaby,” she murmured.

  Nicholas regarded her for a moment before his gaze darted about the office again. “Are you... are you saying... Charity doesn’t hate me?” he whispered.

  Daisy sighed, not exactly sure how the sewing instructor would feel once she learned the truth about what had happened to her betrothed. “I am saying you should find out for yourself. And know this, Mr. Barnaby. Now that I am headmistress, some of the rules that used to apply to our teachers are no longer in place.”

  “Rules?” he repeated.

  “Should Miss Crofter agree to a marriage—to anyone—she will not lose her position if she needs to keep it.”

  Frowning, Nicholas said, “I wouldn’t want a wife of mine to have to... to have to work,” he claimed.

  Struggling to keep her impatience with the man at bay, Daisy said, “So you would prefer to live a life of quiet desperation—all alone—knowing there is a woman here in London who would be happy to be your wife? She could continue to teach sewing classes—in a safe classroom—when you are here at your work.”

  A flash of anger seemed to pass in Nicholas’ eyes as he regarded her. “But, she deserves better than me,” he stated.

  “Yes. Yes, she does,” Daisy agreed. “But she’s in love with you, Mr. Barnaby. And I rather imagine you still hold a candle for her since you’ve been spied watching her from across the street.”

  Nicholas’ eyes widened. “I only do that to be sure she’s... well,” he replied defensively. “To be sure she makes it to her classroom without being set upon by thieves.” He sighed then, realizing he’d been caught. “Does she know it’s me? Watching?”

  Daisy didn’t know one way or the other, but Charity had implied she hadn’t seen her betrothed since before the wedding. “I don’t think so, but there are students who have spotted you. They think you are plotting something dastardly. Such as a kidnapping. You could be arrested.”

  He gasped. “I wouldn’t do such a thing,” he countered, his voice rising so that Mr. Overby looked up from his desk. “You have to believe me. I’m only out there to see that Miss Crofter makes it to her classroom without some... without some bounder making off with her.”

  Nearly forced to take a step back at the forcefulness of his words, Daisy stared at Nicholas Barnaby for a full ten seconds before she said, “I believe you. I think she will, too. Now, I must take my leave, or I will be late to teach a class. Good day, Mr. Barnaby.”

  With that, Daisy gave a quick curtsy and turned to make her way out of the office.

  Before the door had shut behind her, she took a deep breath, murmured the words, “Stupid men,” and hurried off to find a hackney.

  Chapter 28

  Dancing Can Be a Disaster—or Not

  Friday at eleven o’clock in the morning

  True to his word, the headmaster of St. Martin’s School for Boys appeared at the door to the ballroom at Warwick’s with four-and-twenty young men lined up behind him. None appeared as old as the girls who attended the finishing school, but Daisy knew appearances could be deceiving at their age.

  It was after Daisy completed a count of their guests when she realized the ballroom might not accommodate what she had in mind. “Oh, dear,” she murmured to Jane as the art instructor set her music on the piano-forté. “Do we have room for six sets of eight?” she asked.

  “Doubtful. At least they are dressed appropriately,” the art teacher said, giving the line of young men a quick glance as they filed into the room and lined up along one of the walls. They all wore the same clothes—black knee breeches, red stockings, red waistcoats, and navy blue topcoats.

  She dared a glance at the line of young ladies adjacent to where the piano-forté was located, noting how several simply ignored their visitors while others whispered behind raised hands.

  Daisy stepped to the middle of the room. “Welcome to Warwick’s,” she said. “My name is Miss Albright.”

  The entire line of boys bowed in unison, as did their instructor. Daisy curtsied, as did the line of young ladies behind her. “Today, we’ll be doing the waltz.” She wasn’t surprised at hearing gasps from both sides of the ballroom. She had told the girls they would start with the cotillion, but given the limited space and forty-eight students, she decided to start with a dance that wouldn’t take up as much of the floor space. “This is a bit different from other dances you might do at a district ball or at your parent’s rout as you count to three instead of four,” she explained. “How many of you know the steps?” she asked, her attention still on the young men.

  A few raised their hands, while the younger ones seemed as if they wanted to disappear into the wall behind them.

  “Pair up. Oh, and do try to find someone of a similar height,” she called out. “We’ll forgo formal introductions, but do greet one another with a bow or curtsy. First, you’ll learn how to do the steps in the shape of a square, and if you’re especially good, we’ll see how you do in a large circle.”

  Although she expected some hesitance, Daisy wasn’t expecting everyone to remain standing exactly where they were. Allowing a sigh, she waved the tallest girl, Ariel Grandby, forward and indicated she should be paired with the tallest boy.

  When the boy rolled his eyes, apparently in disgust, Daisy regarded him with an arched brow. “Do you have an objection to dancing with Miss Grandby?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, reining in the annoyance she felt on behalf of h
er second cousin.

  “She’s my sister, Miss Albright,” he replied in a similar whisper. He gave a bow. “I’m Roger Grandby. We’re always partners when we dance at home.”

  Daisy studied the boy—he was probably fourteen—and realized the two students shared similar features. Same eyes, same hair color, similar noses. Definitely Grandbys, the both of them. It was then Daisy noticed how Ariel could have been mistaken for her own sister. The heart-shaped face and dusting of freckles on her nose were the same as Diana’s. “Oh,” she said then. “Well, Mr. Grandby, we shall spare you from having to waltz with your sister just this once.” She glanced over at Ariel. “You shall dance with the next tallest,” she said before she turned her attention back to the line of boys. Her brows furrowed when she noted the next taller seemed an almost exact match for Roger. “I suppose he’s your brother, too?” she asked as she dared a glance back at Ariel.

  “Yes, he is, Miss Albright. That’s Thomas, and William is at the end.”

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  Ariel dipped her head. “Five, but only three are in school at St. Martin’s,” she whispered.

  Daisy blinked. How many second cousins do I have? she almost asked. “Do you have sisters, as well?”

  “Four of them. All younger, though,” Ariel replied with a nod.

  One of the young men stepped forward and gave a bow. “If I may be allowed, I should like to dance with Miss Grandby.”

  Aware the attention of the entire room was on the four of them, Daisy gave a nod when she noticed Ariel seemed pleased by the request. “And you are?”

  Before he could even respond, Daisy realized who he was. The family resemblance was remarkable. “Mr. Simpson, perhaps?” she ventured, daring a glance over at Hannah Simpson.

  “I am, Miss Albright. Henry Simpson, at your service.”