by Wendy Vella
“Gossip, most likely. Nuffin’ for sure.” He stood up. “That be the lot, then.”
From the stubborn set to the sergeant’s chin, William could see he would get nothing more from him. In fact, the man had given him so many trails of smoke to follow, that William was unsure how he would ever sort out the truth.
“Thank you for your time,” he said, flipping a sovereign onto the table before leaving.
The sergeant snorted and grumbled. But as William turned away, Sergeant Howard picked up the sovereign with his thick fingers and wedged it into his pocket.
Thinking about the sergeant’s gossip, William paused at the corner, watching the pedestrians thronging the streets. This part of town was not prosperous. The inhabitants pushed past him with rough words and sharp elbows, despair darkening their features.
Had the Duke of Rother really been in need of money thirteen years ago? He appeared prosperous. Perhaps the best way to find out would be to travel to Rother and ask the local shopkeepers. Perhaps even question the servants. Determine if the duke had paid his staff and other accounts on time.
Not that prompt payment was necessarily an indicator of healthy finances. Many of the wealthiest peers believed that paying shopkeepers when first dunned was simply foolish. William wished he could question the duke’s bank, but the chances of finding a helpful banker who would divulge anything of interest were slight.
During the remaining evening hours, William tracked down where the duke kept his investments and searched for the duke’s staff, concentrating on those who had been let go. Most of them were very interested in a few sovereigns and the chance to gossip. To his surprise, a number of clerks were also more than happy to talk.
A few hours later, William had to take Sergeant Howard’s gossip a little more seriously. The night was well advanced, however, and the complexities of the case were growing. Thus far, the random information formed no clear pattern. He needed time to consider what he had learned.
Toward midnight, he returned to Second Sons, his mind preoccupied. He leapt up the steps two at a time, thinking of Sarah. She’d undoubtedly probe and argue about how he’d proceeded. He grinned as he reached the stoop.
He was stopped at the door by Sotheby. The butler’s stern face was almost frightening as he peered into the gloom with a frown gouged deeply between his drooping jowls.
“Sir, I’m terribly sorry.”
“What?” William pushed past him, entering the dimly lit hallway. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Mr. Sanderson, sir.”
“He’s gone again, isn’t he?” His breathing stopped.
“I’m sorry, sir. We did our best. Apparently, he slipped out of his room while the staff was occupied—”
“Occupied! With what?”
“There was a noise, sir, in the rear of the house. We feared it might be a person attempting to harm Mr. Sanderson. We went to investigate; however, we located no such person.”
“And?”
“We returned to our duties. It was sometime before we realized, sir. He must have slipped out—”
Sarah had fooled them all. Again. William ran a hand through his carefully ordered locks. “Damn it. Don’t tell me—it was a ruse.”
“Yes, sir. We later found a missing chair in the courtyard behind the house. Apparently, Mr. Sanderson threw it through a bedroom window.”
“Good God! But his clothes—surely you weren’t foolish enough to give him clothing?”
“No, sir. As you well know, the staff does not have access to the cabinet in your office.”
“Then—surely he didn’t run off just wrapped in a sheet!”
“No, sir. It appears the young man broke the lock to your cabinet while we were preoccupied.”
William strode into his office and examined his cabinet. At least Sarah had been neat. The lock had somehow been picked with only a few scratches on the brass plate. Rummaging through the drawer, he found her trousers and smock missing.
So she had left dressed as a man, not a woman.
“Where do you think he went?” he asked when Sotheby edged into the room behind him.
“Difficult to say, sir. We did send to Mrs. Pochard’s boardinghouse. No one there has seen him. I must say, Mrs. Pochard was very upset to hear we had apparently mislaid Mr. Sanderson again.”
“Did you try the Archers?”
Sotheby nodded, his expression pained. “Yes, sir. We sent word there. They have not seen him. Mr. Archer sent this back with the footman.” He handed a folded note to William.
Trenchard: Will investigate Newgate. Suggest you speak to Hawkins.
—Archer
“Did you—” William stopped abruptly.
“We took the liberty of sending the footman to Mr. Hawkins, as well, sir. He has not seen him and expressed his concern. It appears Mr. Sanderson agreed to marry Mr. Hawkins’s daughter. The wedding was to occur this coming Monday.”
Sotheby’s eyes remained fixed on William’s face. The butler’s normally impassive features showed a deep concern. He appeared to be struggling to anticipate William’s question.
“You’ve been busy, I see.”
“We have attempted to recover Mr. Sanderson. We rather like the young gentleman. And we all understand the gravity of his situation, sir.”
“Too bad he didn’t realize it,” William commented. “Pack me a bag and saddle a horse. I have an urgent need to visit Clapham.”
A quick, light footstep made William turn around.
“Archer! What are you doing here?” William asked, startled to find Mr. Archer coming through the door to Second Sons.
“Lack of imagination,” Archer replied, shaking his head. “No wonder she managed to slip away from you.” Archer handed his hat and walking stick to Sotheby. “Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Now, we’ve got to find her before that devil does. We’ve visited Newgate to no avail. Tell me, did she leave a note?”
William caught Sotheby’s raised brows. “Mr. Sanderson?” William asked pointedly.
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten he was only disguised as a woman.” Archer caught on quickly, his eyes twinkling.
“No—no note.” William glanced at Sotheby, who shook his head morosely in agreement. “But he wanted to talk to Mr. Hawkins.” When Archer opened his mouth, William held up his hand. “We’ve already questioned him. He hasn’t seen Sanderson. And he’s gone out dressed as a man again, so he’ll be an easy target.”
“Of course,” Archer said with a grin. “Best way to travel, though. A lone female would face a great deal of inconvenience. So, where do we look?”
“Clapham.”
“Clapham?”
“It’s where Mr. Hawkins lives. He was engaged to marry Mr. Hawkins’s daughter.”
“And you think he’s gone to Clapham for the wedding? Excellent! Just the thing to render her—his—disguise complete.”
“For God’s sake!” William replied, repulsed by the very notion. “He’s gone there to escape London. That’s all.”
“No doubt. Although a wedding would be a superb ploy. Particularly since his employer would become her father-in-law. Shows a great deal of forward thinking, doesn’t it?”
“It’s ridiculous! He’s a fe—” William cut himself off, trying to remember that the servants still believed Sarah was a man.
“Precisely why it’s such an astute move. I must say he’s turned out even better than I expected.”
“There’s no conceivable way he could carry off marriage to Hawkins’s daughter. What of the wedding night?”
“He’d manage, somehow. Plenty of alcohol can solve a great many problems. And after all, there must be some handy lad ready to step into the breach and provide the Hawkins with a few lusty grandchildren.”
“You must be mad,” William remarked.
“Nonsense. You simply have no appreciation for an elegant scheme. Almost as good as an Archer. Nonetheless, if he’s on his way to Clapham, we mustn’t tarry. If you
’ve managed to discover his destination, I fear the man trying to kill him may have done the same.”
“At least we agree there. As soon as I change, I’m riding to Clapham. I only hope I can pick up her—his—trail.”
“You there.” Archer waved his hand at Sotheby.
“Sotheby, sir,” the butler intoned haughtily.
“Quite. Sotheby, order two horses saddled.”
Sotheby’s eyebrows rose majestically before he turned to gaze at William.
Giving up any pretense at logic, William nodded. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And wrap up some bread and cheese. We’re likely to miss our supper,” Archer ordered. “And if you have any ham, include that. And a flask of wine. Red. Claret, perhaps. That travels well. And some apples.”
Again, Sotheby glanced at William. “Go ahead, Sotheby. See what cook can manage.” He examined Archer with disgust. “Sanderson and you both share a reprehensible fascination for food. It’s obvious you’re closely related.”
Archer smiled benignly and followed Sotheby. As William started up the staircase to his room, he could hear Archer’s crisp voice adding more demands to their list. They’d need a third horse if even half of his orders were fulfilled.
When William’s employer, Mr. Gaunt, returned from his honeymoon, he was going to be furious. Not only was William spending outrageous sums of money there was little likelihood of ever getting repaid, but in addition, between Sarah and her uncle, the larder was going to be noticeably diminished.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t help a grin. Sarah had a buccaneer’s soul, quick to leap at any promise of adventure or new opportunity. While he, despite his popinjay appearance, had a more methodical disposition.
No wonder she spent so much time and effort escaping him.
With a frown creasing his brow, he set out with Archer. Despite his previous garrulousness, Archer soon proved to be a quiet traveling companion. After questioning William about his progress with the investigation, Archer lapsed into silence. They rode through London, passing over Westminster Bridge before turning onto the road to Clapham.
They had been riding for less than an hour when Archer raised his chin. “Clapham?”
“Looks like.” Rubbing his eyes wearily, William scanned the nearly deserted street. “We’ll stop and see if anyone has seen Sarah—Samuel Sanderson.”
A sign for the Plough tavern swung overhead, a few yards away on his left. His horse plodded forward, twitching its ears and neighing lightly as if sensing the nearness of a comfortable barn with a deep trough of oats.
He allowed the horse to amble into the courtyard of the tavern and looked around. A towheaded lad dashed out of the stables and took the reins of both horses, holding the tired animals while William and Archer stiffly climbed down.
After exchanging a glance with Archer, William spoke first. “Say, you haven’t seen a young man dressed in a smock and trousers have you? He would have arrived from London earlier this evening.”
After a brief flick of his eyes at Archer, the lad studied William, scratching the palm of his right hand. Taking the hint, William unearthed a half crown from his pocket. He flipped it into the boy’s grubby hand.
“Well, sir, we has several folks as arrived this evening.” He scratched the back of his neck and stared up into the starry sky. “An old lady and a couple o’ gents—”
“A young man? In a smock?”
“Mayhap.”
“Did he get off a coach here, or continue forward?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking, he continued forward.”
“What do you mean, in a manner of speaking?”
“He rented a gig. I fixed him up meself.”
“Which way did he go? Did you see?”
“Off on the west road, sir. Toward the Hawkins house.”
“Then you recognized him?”
“Why certainly I did, sir. He were Mr. Sanderson, the lad who does the bricklaying for Mr. Hawkins. Seen him here plenty, leastways afore he went off to London. Most likely, he be back to see his sweetheart. They’re to marry come Monday, you know,” the suddenly voluble stable boy said.
“Well, why didn’t you say so before?” William asked.
“Why didn’t you say as you was looking for Mr. Sanderson, sir?” the insolent lad replied, thrusting his fists into his pockets.
Archer placed a hand on William’s arm. “Thank you, lad. Take my horse and give him a good rubdown and a bag of oats, if you please.”
The boy turned on his heel, leading the horse away while he whistled loudly and off-key.
When he’d disappeared into stables, Archer said, “You, my friend, will investigate this Hawkins domicile.”
“And what are you going to be doing in the meantime?”
“Me?” Archer asked with exaggerated innocence. “Why question the staff here, of course. In case the lad was wrong, and someone else saw Sarah go in another direction.”
About to argue, William noted the red-rimmed eyes and lines bracketing the older man’s mouth. He abruptly decided Archer had reached the limit of his endurance and was too proud to admit it. He just hoped he’d find Sarah before Archer did. He still didn’t entirely trust him.
“Order a private room,” William replied brusquely. “If I find her, we’ll need it.”
“Certainly.”
Legs stiff and muscles aching with lack of sleep, William remounted and turned his horse away from the stables. The horse resisted. Its head curved around in response to the reins, but its body moved the opposite way, toward the open door leading into the shadows of the stables.
“Hunter!” William said sternly. At the sound of his voice, the horse’s ears flicked. The animal pulled against the reins, trying to straighten its neck to go where it wanted. “Hunter!”
Finally, the horse wheeled around and plodded, head down, toward the road.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sarah was thankful when she finally made it back to the Plough. It was already too late for the mail coach, but she felt safe enough to spend the night at the inn.
On the morrow, she’d go to Portsmouth. From there, it was but a short boat trip to the Isle of Wight. No one would think to look for her there. She’d stay a few weeks, and by June, she could send word back to Second Sons to discover if William had exposed the murder. That is, if the newspapers didn’t report on it to her satisfaction.
She didn’t know what she would do after that. Except, she absolutely would not become Lady Sarah. She was not fit to be a lady. And she had no desire to spend her days paying calls on idle women and listening to them gossip over cups of tepid tea.
“Mr. Archer! What are you doing here?” Sarah asked as she strolled into the taproom of the Plough.
Mr. Archer drained a mug of beer before answering, “Looking for you, you young rascal. And you can thank your luckiest card I did.”
“Is Mr. Trenchard here?” Her heart lifted. He came after me!
“Yes, but we’ve other concerns.” He jerked his head to his left where the door to the center courtyard stood ajar. There was the normal bustle of hostlers and stable boys scurrying amidst several carriages, exchanging horses while dusty travelers strolled to stretch their legs and get a bite to eat.
Wandering closer to the courtyard door, Sarah was surprised when Mr. Archer grabbed her arm to hold her back.
“Don’t go out there,” he said sharply. “Just look.” He pulled her into the shadows that sheltered the doorway. “Over there—the green carriage. You see the one I mean?”
Across the courtyard, there was indeed a forest green carriage with yellow trim and a crest on the door. A duke’s crest. She studied it. The crest of the Duke of Rother.
When she turned to stare at her uncle, he nodded. “Just so.”
“I want Mr. Trenchard—that is—I’d like to see him.”
Uncle John studied her face. “I sympathize—he’s a very pretty fellow—but we
’ve got a spot of trouble. And you, Miss, have a decision. Do you trust me—your family? Enough to stay in the game, or will you fold?”
With a shock, she realized the significance of her uncle’s question. She ached for the touch of William’s warm, steady hand and his calm support. But he suspected the Archers—her family. She thought he might be wrong, and if so…
Trusting Uncle John now gave her another chance to change her mind. While she could certainly go to the Isle of Wight and never see William again, she could also choose to go into the unknown world of London and Society with her uncle.
By doing so, she could become a woman—Sarah Sanderson. As a lady, she might even discover if William could be tempted, despite her sunburned face and calloused hands, and give up his conviction of what was right for her.
She might gain a family, and possibly love, if she could manage one ounce of trust. Hesitation kept her silent for a moment. She ached to be pretty and see admiration in William’s eyes, but the thought terrified her, too.
The Isle of Wight represented safety and the life she knew.
“I’ll go with you, but Mr. Trenchard—”
“Will follow us. Never fear. He won’t lose sight of you willingly. Now, have you eaten?” he asked.
“I—”
“Never mind,” he interrupted her. “I’ll order a meat pie. You can eat on the way. Now come. We’re going to slip through the kitchens and out the back. No one will see us. I’ve already brought my horse around to the kitchen yard behind the tavern—did it when the duke’s carriage arrived. With any luck, he’ll see naught but the flick of our horse’s tail.”
He hustled her through a short passageway that smelled strongly of sausage and ale. A burly woman with a drooping, damp cap atop graying hair hailed them as they entered the kitchen. Her uncle wasted no time. He flipped her a few coins and ordered her to wrap up two of the meat pies she had cooling on a scarred oaken table in the center of the room.
She smiled and complied, adding an apple tart with a conspiratorial wink at Sarah as she handed them the napkin-wrapped bundle. At the delicious, savory scent, Sarah’s stomach gurgled hungrily. She pressed her hand against her belly, willing it to quiet. The cook’s smile broadened.