by Amanda Quick
Phoebe shook her head slowly. “My father used to take me boating on the river. He taught me to swim in case I ever fell into the water. But I haven’t been in a boat since shortly before he took ill and died.”
Ambrose folded his hands on top of the desk and looked at the girls. “I know this will be painful for all of you. But I want each of you to think back to the time when you were taken to Winslow. I want the names and addresses of the relatives who delivered you to Edith Pratt.”
The request seemed to confuse the girls.
“But my uncle did not take me to the school,” Phoebe said, brow crinkling a little.
Concordia frowned. “Do you mean to say that he sent you off alone on the train?”
“No,” Phoebe said. “Uncle Wilbert took me to an inn. There was a gentleman waiting in a private carriage. I was told to get into the carriage and that the man inside would escort me to my new home. It was a very long journey.”
Hannah’s eyes welled. “That is how it was with me, too. My aunt gave me over to a stranger who took me away in a private carriage. I have not seen her since.”
“That is how we came to leave our home, too,” Edwina said. “Isn’t that right, Theodora?”
Theodora nodded mutely and seized a handkerchief.
“Dear God.” Concordia sank to her knees in front of the girls and grabbed their hands in her own. “You never mentioned that each of you was sent off alone with a man. You must have been terrified. Did he . . . hurt you in any way?”
“No.” Edwina shrugged. “He was not rude or unkind. As I recall, he barely spoke a word to us during the entire journey. Isn’t that right, Theodora?”
“He spent most of the time reading some newspapers,” Theodora agreed.
“The gentleman who took me to Winslow ignored me for the most part,” Hannah said. “I was not afraid of him, just of where we were going.”
Phoebe nodded in agreement. “He did not hurt me, Miss Glade, truly.”
Concordia gave them a watery smile. “You relieve my mind.”
Ambrose looked at them. “Did this gentleman who escorted you to the school give you his name?”
All four girls solemnly shook their heads.
“Can you describe him for me?” Ambrose asked.
Edwina glanced at Theodora. “He reminded me of Mr. Phillips.”
Theodora nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s true.”
Ambrose picked up a pen and reached for a sheet of paper. “Who is Mr. Phillips?”
“Father’s man of affairs,” Edwina explained. “He retired shortly before our parents died.”
“The gentleman who took me to the school acted just like a man of affairs also,” Hannah said.
She hunched her shoulders, lowered her chin and squinted while she pretended to read something in her hand.
“Yes, that is exactly how he sat in the carriage for the entire journey,” Phoebe exclaimed.
Ambrose met Concordia’s questioning eyes and shook his head.
“Not Larkin,” he said quietly. “The gentleman partner, perhaps.”
Concordia turned back to Theodora. “You are a very fine artist, dear. Can you draw this man?”
Everyone looked first at her and then at Theodora. Ambrose realized that he had gone very tense with anticipation.
“I could try,” Theodora said slowly. “But it has been several months since I saw him. I will not be able to recall his features precisely.”
“We all saw him,” Phoebe reminded her. “Perhaps if you start to draw him, Theodora, we could each add bits and pieces and come up with a useful picture.”
“A brilliant suggestion, Phoebe.” Ambrose rose. “Come and sit here at my desk, Theodora. I’ll find some more paper.”
“It would help if Hannah assumed his posture in the carriage seat again,” Theodora said, sitting down in Ambrose’s chair.
Hannah immediately elevated her shoulders. Ambrose was impressed with the transformation that came over her. She went from being a lively young lady to a stooped, middle-aged gentleman with poor eyes in an instant.
“He was partially bald,” Theodora said, picking up a pencil. “I recall that quite clearly.”
“And what hair he did have was a very pale gray,” Edwina added. She wrinkled her nose. “His suit and shoes appeared to be quite cheap.”
The girls crowded around Theodora, offering suggestions.
“A mustache and whiskers,” Phoebe said. “And don’t forget the spectacles.”
Theodora was suddenly very busy with her pencil and paper.
AN HOUR LATER, Ambrose was once again alone with Concordia in the library. They stood together in front of the desk and looked at the portrait that Theodora had produced.
“He does have the appearance of a somewhat less than prosperous man of affairs, doesn’t he?” Ambrose said, studying the picture. “The girls were right.”
“I told you, they are very observant.” She studied the image. “Do you think that is Larkin’s mysterious gentleman partner?”
“No. I believe it is far more likely that he is precisely what the girls believed him to be, a man of affairs.”
“Why do you say that?”
He lounged on a corner of the desk. “From start to finish this situation has the appearance of being a rather complicated piece of business. A great many financial arrangements were made. Teachers were hired. Relatives were paid to hand over unwanted young relations. Carriages were procured in order to avoid traveling by train. The list of details must have been quite extensive.”
“I see what you mean. A man like Larkin or his partner could not have been bothered to make all those arrangements. He would have employed someone else to handle the details.”
Ambrose spread his hands. “Who better to perform such tasks than a genuine man of affairs?”
She brightened. “You are thinking about the H. Cuthbert in Pratt’s appointment schedule, aren’t you? The one to whom she sent a bill for four pairs of gloves and four bonnets.”
Ambrose contemplated the picture again. “I believe I will pay a visit to Dorchester Street this afternoon.”
“Excellent notion. I will go with you.”
“Concordia—”
“Whoever this Cuthbert is, it appears he was involved in stealing my four girls. I am going with you, Ambrose.”
22
Thank you for seeing us without an appointment, Mr. Cuthbert.” Ambrose held a chair for Concordia and then took his own seat. He adjusted the crease in his trousers, placed the point of his walking stick on the carpet between his knees and stacked his gloved hands on the hilt.
Concordia murmured something vague and coolly polite. Herbert Cuthbert did not appear to hear the thinly disguised loathing in her voice, but Ambrose was very aware of it. Fortunately the black net veil of her hat concealed her expression.
“Not at all, sir,” Cuthbert said. An eagerness bordering on desperation glistened in his pale eyes. “As it happens I had some time free this afternoon.”
Ambrose suspected that the roles he and Concordia had chosen to play today, that of an upper-class couple of obvious means, was the real reason Cuthbert had discovered some free time in his appointment book.
Theodora had captured the essence of H. Cuthbert, he thought. He was, indeed, a less than prosperous man of affairs. Judging by the faded curtains and the shabby furnishings of his office, he could not afford to turn down potential new clients.
“Very kind of you,” Ambrose murmured into his beard.
The false hair, which included wig, mustache and whiskers, was laced with a great deal of silver and gray. It was not his favorite costume because it tended to become uncomfortably warm after a time. But it was an effective disguise. The impression of advancing years was further enhanced by his conservatively cut coat and the heavy scarf around his neck.
Hannah, Phoebe, Edwina and Theodora had examined him with great interest before he and Concordia left the house an hour ago. They had been delighted by t
he change in his appearance.
“You look even older than you really are,” Phoebe declared. “Rather like someone’s elderly grandfather.”
“But still quite fit for a gentleman of such advanced years,” Concordia had assured him in a suspiciously serious manner.
Cuthbert fixed him with an expression of attentive inquiry. “How can I be of assistance, Mr. Dalrymple?”
“I will come straight to the point. Mrs. Dalrymple and I are searching for a young lady. She is a distant relative who lost her parents some months ago and was sent to an orphanage. We wish to employ you to locate her.”
Cuthbert’s expression congealed. Something that might have been panic flared in his eyes. “Beg your pardon, sir. I’m a man of affairs. I handle financial matters. Wills, investments, that sort of thing. I do not search for lost relatives.”
“Not even when there is a fortune involved?” Concordia asked coldly.
Cuthbert was having some trouble breathing. His cheeks flushed an unhealthy shade of red. He fiddled nervously with the knot of his tie, evidently trying to loosen it.
“A fortune, you say, Mrs. Dalrymple?” Acute interest was rapidly replacing the startled fear in his expression.
“Indeed.”
She was taunting him, Ambrose thought. As he had feared, her animosity toward Cuthbert was threatening his plan. It was time to take control of the situation.
“We will not bore you with all of the unfortunate details,” he said smoothly. “Suffice it to say that an elderly relative on my wife’s side of the family died recently. She had been bedridden and decidedly senile for some time. It was assumed that her money would go to my wife. It was not discovered until after the aunt expired that she had changed her will, leaving everything to the girl I mentioned.”
Cuthbert cleared his throat. “I understand how upsetting this sort of thing can be, but I really don’t see how I can help.”
“You can find her for us, that is how you can help,” Ambrose said, letting impatience edge his words. “The damn will stipulates that if the young lady is not available to receive the money, the entire inheritance goes to an even more distant cousin. We cannot allow that to happen. My wife was supposed to receive the inheritance.”
Cuthbert contrived to appear sympathetic. “An unhappy state of affairs, I grant you. But locating the girl would not be a simple task. There are, as it happens, a vast number of orphanages and charity homes in London.” He paused, frowning. “How old is this young lady?”
“By my calculations, she turned fifteen within the past few months,” Concordia said.
Cuthbert sighed. “That makes the situation even more complicated. By the age of fifteen many orphans have been sent out into the world to make their livings. Can’t have a lot of lazy, shiftless young people hanging about, frittering away their time and taking advantage of the kindness of their benefactors, you know.”
“If that is what occurred in this instance, surely there will be a record of where the young lady is currently employed,” Ambrose said.
“That may be true,” Cuthbert agreed slowly. “Nevertheless—”
Ambrose rapped the point of his cane once, very sharply on the floor. Cuthbert twitched violently in reaction.
“Let me make myself quite clear,” Ambrose said. “I consider finding the girl a matter of considerable importance.”
“I understand. Nevertheless—”
“The chit is worth a great deal to us,” Ambrose continued meaningfully. “I am willing to reward the person who helps me locate her very handsomely. Do I make myself clear?”
Cuthbert grunted. “How handsomely?”
“Shall we say a thousand pounds?”
Cuthbert’s mouth opened and closed twice before he found his voice. “That is a very generous reward, indeed.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I could make a few inquiries. Ah, what is the name of the young lady?”
“Hannah Radburn.”
Cuthbert stiffened. He looked as though he was being strangled by his tie.
“Radburn?” he whispered hoarsely. “Are you certain?”
“Quite certain,” Concordia said icily.
Ambrose reached into his coat and took out a piece of paper. “My wife wrote down a list of particulars concerning Hannah. Place and date of birth, the names of her parents and so forth. Please be thorough in your inquiries. Wouldn’t want to get the wrong girl, now would we?”
Cuthbert looked hunted. “Sir, I, uh—”
“If it transpires that she has, indeed, left the orphanage, as you suggested,” Ambrose continued without pause, “we would be extremely grateful if you could provide us with some clue to her present whereabouts.”
“Orphaned girls do not always end up in the most favorable positions when they go into service,” Cuthbert said weakly. “I regret to say that a few just seem to disappear.”
“I expect you mean that they end up on the streets or in brothels,” Concordia snapped. “And just who do you think is to blame for that state of affairs? As long as women lack the same opportunities to seek honest employment that are available to men—”
Ambrose got to his feet, put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed once, quite firmly.
Concordia lapsed into a simmering silence.
Ambrose looked at Cuthbert, who was staring at Concordia with an expression of utter astonishment.
“You must excuse my wife, sir,” Ambrose said. “She has not been herself since we discovered that her entire inheritance was left to Hannah Radburn.”
“Yes, of course.” Cuthbert collected himself. “Very upsetting state of affairs. More than enough to shatter a lady’s nerves.”
“Indeed,” Ambrose said. “To return to the matter at hand, the fact is we must locate Hannah, even if she has been ruined. The girl’s worth her weight in gold, literally. As I said, I’ll pay a thousand pounds if you produce the chit.”
Cuthbert sighed. “I may not be able to produce her, as it were. But I might be able to find out where she is currently residing. Would that be worth anything to you?”
“It would be worth five hundred pounds, no questions asked, if you can provide me with even the name of anyone who knows anything about Hannah,” Ambrose said softly.
Cuthbert’s eyes were stunned. “Five hundred pounds just for a name?”
“We are quite desperate to find her,” Ambrose said. “Any clues at all will be greatly appreciated. If she is, indeed, in a brothel or in some other unfortunate circumstance, I certainly do not expect you to retrieve her. I will take care of that end of things.”
Cuthbert flapped his hands. “Sir, this is a most unusual piece of business.”
Ambrose gripped the handle of the cane very tightly and narrowed his eyes. “Get me a name and you shall have at least five hundred pounds. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite clear,” Cuthbert rasped.
“Very well then, we will not take up any more of your time.” Ambrose removed a card from the pocket of his coat. “If you come across even the smallest shred of information concerning Hannah Radburn, send word to me at my club immediately. The management knows how to contact me. I will come around to see you as soon as I get your message.”
He dropped the card on the desk. Concordia got to her feet.
He could feel the angry tension in every inch of her body as they walked to the door. Neither of them looked back at Cuthbert.
23
Outside the afternoon haze and fog were thickening rapidly. A cab appeared out of the mist. Ambrose hailed it and opened the door for Concordia.
She got inside, sat down and arranged her skirts. She was still vibrating with anger. She wanted nothing more than to storm back into Cuthbert’s office and tell him that she intended to inform the police of what he had done. But that small satisfaction would have to wait.
“That dreadful Cuthbert most certainly recognized Hannah’s name,” she said.
“Yes.” Ambrose leaned forward and rested his forearms on hi
s thighs, fingers loosely clasped between his knees. He contemplated the busy street. “That much was obvious. He was alarmed, but I have dealt with his sort before. In the end, his greed will overcome his anxieties.”
“I agree. But what do you suppose he will do? He can hardly pretend to find Hannah for you. She has, for all intents and purposes, disappeared.”
“If I am right, Cuthbert knows a great deal about this matter. He will try to sell me some information.”
She cleared her throat very delicately. “You told Mr. Cuthbert that he could send word to you at your club.”
“Yes.”
“I was not aware that you belonged to a club, sir.”
“They are excellent sources of gossip and rumors,” he said somewhat absently. “In my business I depend upon both.”
“I see.” She kept her voice as casual as possible. “If you are a member of a club, I assume the other members know you?”
He continued to contemplate the street, but the corner of his mouth twitched a little. “They know an eccentric gentleman named Dalrymple.”
“Fascinating.” She smoothed her gloves. “I will admit that I am not particularly knowledgeable about such arcane matters, but I was under the impression that a gentleman was considered for admission to a club only upon the recommendation of a member in good standing who knew the candidate quite well.”
“I am very well known to the gentleman who recommended me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Stoner?”
“Stoner’s name opens many doors in this town.”
She sighed. “You are enjoying this game, are you not?”
He appeared politely surprised by the question. “What game is that?”
“You know very well what I mean. Asking you personal questions is like trying to examine moonlight. One can see it quite clearly but one cannot quite grasp it.”
He was silent for a moment. The corners of his mouth no longer kicked up.
“I am not in the habit of explaining myself to others,” he said eventually.