Christ. He would likely be crippled with lust before completing this mission.
“Is something wrong,” she asked as she came up to him. “You look . . . pained.”
“No, but I suspect I might soon have reason to be,” he said, eyeing two urchins trailing in her wake, devilment written all over their grubby little faces. “Please tell me those two aren’t going to look after my cattle.”
Actually, the beautifully matched pair and the curricle were Alec’s, and Alec was notoriously touchy about his animals. He would no doubt look with extreme disfavor on little boys handling them.
“Aw, go on, guv,” one of the urchins piped up. The engaging, freckle-faced boy had a shock of red hair sticking out from under his cap. “Me and Benny looks after Mr. Beaumont’s horses all the time.”
Will widened his eyes at Evie, who was struggling not to laugh. It took a few moments before she could compose herself enough to answer. “Will, I’d like you to meet Peter McGuire and his brother Benjamin. Boys, this is Captain William Endicott. You’ll do just as he says and take good care of his animals, will you not?”
Benjamin, who looked younger than Peter, split his mouth open in a good-natured grin that revealed he was missing his two front teeth. With the size of his smile, Will could almost see down to the boy’s tonsils.
“Aye, Miss Evie, we will,” Peter said. “You can count on us, guv—true blue, and that’s a fact.”
Will narrowed his gaze at Evie.
“Honestly, Will,” she said, “you can trust them. They do look after Michael’s horses on a regular basis. There’s a stable over in the next street where Peter and Benjamin are training to be grooms. They will look after your horses splendidly.”
Will heard the slight note of anxiety in her voice and saw the pleading look in her eyes behind the polished glint of her spectacles. Glancing down, his gaze collided with two earnest pairs of eyes, also pleading with him.
“We’ll take good care, sir,” Benjamin said in a squeaky voice as he gazed longingly at the beautiful grays. “Promise.”
Will capitulated. Alec would kill him if anything happened to the pair, but he found himself unable to disappoint the boys—or Evie.
“Very well.” He extracted a shilling from his vest pocket and flipped it to Peter, who seemed to be in charge. “Walk them up and down, and come fetch me if you have any trouble. There’s another shilling in it for you if you take good care of them.”
The boys babbled their thanks, tripping all over themselves with excitement. Fortunately, they calmed down when they approached the horses. Will lingered a few moments to see how they got on, but they handled the pair with a maturity beyond their years. Then again, the children of the rookeries grew up quickly, forced into work, begging, or thievery at an early age.
“Thank you,” Evie murmured as he took her arm.
“They seem like smart boys. Do they attend the school?”
“When their parents let them. They have four other mouths to feed, and Mr. McGuire makes very little money as a day laborer. He sometimes sets the boys to begging with their baby sister. If we can train the boys to be grooms, I’m confident we can find places for them in a few years. It would make a real difference for the entire family.”
He ushered her through the door into a low-ceilinged, narrow hallway that appeared to run the length of the building. “Is that one of the things you do—train children for useful employment? I thought St. Margaret’s only ran a charity school?”
“Many parents in the parish see little use for book learning, so we try to combine school with training for a useful profession.” She glanced over her shoulder as she led him along the passageway. “We help the parents find employment too. As I mentioned, I’m a steward for the school, but my primary focus is on assisting adults who come to us for help. I work very closely with them.”
Will nodded politely, hiding his surprise. He’d thought her involved in the typical sort of charity work for women of her class—such as helping to raise funds for indigent children or perhaps occasionally teaching a class to little girls. Her involvement at St. Margaret’s was much more significant than he expected.
She showed him into a large room with benches and a few tables, a globe on a stand at the head of the room. “This is where we hold classes for the children in the mornings and on Sunday afternoon. We occasionally hold classes in here for the adults, although we have workrooms upstairs, too. Those are mostly for teaching the women fine needlework and other useful skills. Father Kevin O’Kelley, St. Margaret’s pastor, lectures on Sunday afternoon and also conducts classes for the men.” She grimaced. “Although attendance is often a little spotty.”
“I imagine it can be difficult to persuade them to give up what little free time they have to come here and sit through a lecture.”
She closed the door and gestured for him to follow her down the hall. “Yes, but Michael has devised a way to encourage participation. He holds informal discussion groups afterward, and we provide food and drink.” She threw him a wry smile over her shoulder. “It’s amazing what a cup of beer and a few meat pies will do. Sometimes the discussion can get quite lively, especially when Michael decides to give a political lecture.”
Will maintained his expression of polite interest. “Indeed? How often do those informal discussions take place?”
“Usually once a week on Friday night, although there’s a great deal of activity on Sunday, too. The men often prefer to leave the churchgoing to the womenfolk and the children, and congregate over here to smoke their pipes and ’ave a chew, as they call it. Some days the air is blue with smoke when they finish.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her bang-on imitation of an Irish accent.
At the end of the passage, a set of steps led up to the second floor and another passage branched off to the right, leading to another wing.
Evie pointed up the stairs. “As I mentioned, the other workrooms are upstairs, along with bedrooms for Father O’Kelley and his housekeeper and her son. We can go up if you like, but the rooms are similar to the classroom I just showed you. Although there are no classes in session now, you’re welcome to return on Sunday when things are busier.”
“I’m impressed, Evie,” he said. “I expected a small charity school, but these facilities are quite expansive.”
Leaning against the window frame next to the staircase, she untied her bonnet and took it off with a little sigh of relief. Even in the dull light of an overcast London day, her hair, pulled into a thick coil at the base of her neck, glowed like warm honey.
“We’re very fortunate that Michael was able to purchase this building a few years ago and donate it to St. Margaret’s.”
He ignored the tightening in his gut at the warmth that infused her voice whenever she talked about Beaumont. He even hated the fact that she constantly used his given name, since it spoke to an intimacy that Will was beginning to actively resent.
“That was good of him,” he replied in a neutral voice. “What used to stand on these premises?”
Her lush mouth kicked up into a little smile. “A gin house and distillery.”
He couldn’t help a laugh. “Ah, I thought I caught a faint trace of something.”
“No doubt it’s the lingering scent of the juniper and alcohol. They’re very difficult to scrub out, although we’ve certainly tried.”
She pushed off from the window frame. “Let’s finish the tour, shall we? The offices and kitchen are along this passage.”
He followed her, his gaze fastening once more on her bottom, gently outlined beneath her soft blue skirts. Will seemed to be developing an obsession with her arse, one that might prove difficult to break.
The truth was that he was fast growing obsessed with Evie, which took some getting used to. They’d been close as children, and he’d always loved her. But the feelings she aroused in him now had nothing to do with childhood friendships and everything to do with the fact that he was a man and she was a desirable
woman.
A woman he admired and cherished, he reminded himself, and one he’d sworn to protect. That was what mattered, not his surprisingly strong physical attraction to her. His first and only job was to get to the bottom of the conspiracy that threatened not only the government, but Evie, too.
“The kitchen is through there.” She pointed to a door at the bottom of a shallow flight of stairs. “That’s Mrs. Rafferty’s domain. She’s the housekeeper, although she also does some cooking for Father O’Kelley as well as for the meetings we hold for the men. And here,” she said with a proud little flourish, “are the offices of the Hibernian Benevolent Association.”
Opening a door opposite the steps to the kitchen, she led him into a sort of anteroom that clearly served the function of a small drawing room. The walls were whitewashed and plain, hung with a few innocuous paintings of landscapes and religious scenes in simple wooden frames. A battered armchair sat in front of a small coal grate, and a green velvet chaise that looked like it had come from a lady’s dressing chamber stood against the opposite wall, a low table in front of it. A sturdy-looking teapot surrounded by mismatched cups and saucers was the table’s only adornment. The decidedly shabby room had a sort of coziness that was enhanced by pots of flowers. Geraniums, again, clustered on the sill of the window that looked onto an alley.
Will smiled. Even here, Evie did what she could to introduce some color and beauty.
“I know it’s not much,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she gazed about the room, “but it does allow us some privacy and a more normal setting when we meet with some of our charity cases. The men can get quite intimidated when they have to face Michael across a desk. Or me, in the case of the women. Most times, they find it hard to ask for help.”
“For anyone with a shred of dignity, it would be.” He nodded to a door behind the chaise. “What’s in there?”
“That’s Michael’s office, although I use it when he’s not here.” She walked over and opened the door. “It’s where we keep correspondence and the ledgers relating to the charity. Michael takes care of most of that, although I handle some of the correspondence with our patrons.”
Will took a quick glance into the small room, noting the plain furnishings—a large desk and chair, fronted by two cane chairs. The desk was angled toward the door, revealing cubbyholes and drawers, one of which had a keyhole. That presumably locked drawer piqued his interest. “Do you keep any monies on the premises?”
“No. The funds are with Michael’s bankers, or kept at his rooms. We both carry only small amounts when we come here and leave nothing in the offices.”
Will needed to search that mysterious locked drawer once he got Evie out of the way. “You mentioned that you help find positions for your charity cases. How does that work?”
She watched him with a puzzled smile. “Will, are you truly interested, or simply doing some footwork for Captain Gilbride?”
He wanted to put her question down to an understandable assumption that he would find talk of charity work boring—as would most men of the ton—but he suspected such was not the case. Though her smile had a teasing cast to it, it didn’t reach her eyes. Behind her spectacles he thought he read a clear skepticism of his motives.
Not good.
Evie’s quiet manner had fooled many into thinking her less perceptive than she was, but Will knew she had a mind like a good magistrate—sharp, inquisitive, and prone to suspicion. That last trait was newly developed and one he needed to factor into his calculations.
“As I said, I promised Alec I’d look into things,” he answered with an easy smile. “But I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that what is important to you is also important to me.”
“I’m glad,” she said, sounding a little breathless.
Her shy, grateful smile tore through him like buckshot and made him feel a complete cad. He was interested in the place for her sake, but not for the reasons she’d take from his words. Will made a promise to himself that once this was all over, he’d make as sizeable a donation as he could—and ensure Alec did too—to support her work at St. Margaret’s.
If the place didn’t turn out to be a center for deadly conspiracies. He dreaded that possible outcome. Even if he could keep Evie from harm or suspicion, she’d never forgive him for spying on her once the truth was known.
“If you’ll have a seat, I’ll explain how we do things,” she said. Then she clapped a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve been terribly rude. Would you like some tea? I can step into the kitchen and ask Mrs. Rafferty to make some.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I thought I’d take you to Gunter’s when we’re finished here. After last night I owe you a treat.”
Only after the words were out of his mouth did Will realize that her suggestion would have afforded the perfect opportunity to get her out of the room so he could do a quick perusal of Beaumont’s desk. But her rueful grin almost made up for his blunder.
“You obviously haven’t forgotten that I could never resist ices.”
“I’ve never forgotten anything about you, Evie,” he said quietly.
That was the simple but earth-shattering truth. For years, he’d allowed the pressing concerns of his life in the military to overshadow his feelings for her. But now that he was with her again, he realized she’d always been there, quietly waiting at the back of his mind and deep in his heart. In some mysterious way, she’d been a lodestone during the difficult years of the war—invisible but always exerting a subtle pull of memory, one that spoke of peaceful, happier days.
She stared at him, wide-eyed and uncertain. Her hand drifted up to rest gently against her pretty mouth. An overwhelming urge to kiss her flooded through him, and it took a forceful effort not to haul her into his arms and taste her sweetness, searching for the love she’d once had for him and hoping it was still there.
Footsteps clattering in the hall startled them both. Evie’s gaze darted to the door. Her cheeks flushed pink and she made a funny little grimace, as if she’d just thought of something unpleasant. Then she seemed to shake it off, along with the fraught intimacy of the previous few moments.
“Have a seat,” she said, waving to the chair. “I’ll see who that is.”
She opened the door to the hallway but didn’t step fully out while she talked to whoever was standing there. Will’s gaze drifted to Beaumont’s office, but there was no chance of getting in there while Evie lingered close by. He suspected that he and Alec would need to make a midnight expedition to St. Margaret’s sooner rather than later.
Rather than take a seat, Will tuned his ears to Evie’s conversation. There were at least two people in the hall, one a man and the other a woman, both with heavy Irish accents. If he leaned over slightly, looking around Evie, he could see the edge of a bonnet and a slender shoulder and arm clothed in drab but serviceable fabric.
Will jerked fully upright when Evie turned around with a smile. She blinked, as if surprised to see him still standing in the center of the room.
“Will, I’d like to introduce you to these people. They live on the other side of King Street and have been coming to St. Margaret’s for over a year.” She lowered her voice. “I thought speaking to them might give you a better sense of what we do rather than simply listening to me. Would that be all right?”
King Street was in the heart of the Irish rookery in St. Giles. Will was most definitely interested in meeting them.
“That sounds like a fine idea,” he said.
Evie opened the door wide and ushered the couple into the small space. Will moved behind the leather armchair to stand next to the hearth.
“I’d like to introduce Miss Bridget O’Shay and her brother, Mr. Terence O’Shay,” Evie said, smiling kindly at the newcomers. “Bridget, Terence, this is Captain William Endicott.”
He wouldn’t have needed the introduction to know they were siblings, although Terence O’Shay towered over his sister and had massive shoulders and stevedore hands. Bridget
, who didn’t look much older than Evie, was slender, fine-boned, and very pretty, despite her plain servant’s garb and the drab bonnet on her head. They both had the pale complexion, dark hair, and blue eyes of the Black Irish. Their strong features included a chin that, on the young woman, was determined, but on the man looked stubborn and sullen. Bridget dipped into a curtsey, giving him a friendly smile, while Terence narrowed his eyes, only grudgingly taking off his rough woollen cap when his sister nudged him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Will said in a friendly voice.
“I doubt that,” Terence muttered. Bridget cast her brother a stern warning glance before returning her attention to Will.
“Thank you for your kindness, Captain,” she said. She had a pleasant, low voice, softened by the lilt of her accent. “Miss Whitney just said you was interested in what we do at St. Maggie’s and asked if we would mind chattin’ with you.”
“I am indeed, if you don’t mind.”
“Please, everyone, take a seat,” Evie said. “Terence, would you mind bringing in one of the chairs from Mr. Beaumont’s office? That way we can all be comfortable.”
“I’ll be standin’,” came the surly reply. “I won’t be stayin’ long enough to bother meself with fetching the seat.”
His sister let out an exasperated sigh, sending Evie a little grimace of apology. Will had the impulse to shake the man for embarrassing his sister.
“As you wish,” Evie responded in a cool voice that made her displeasure abundantly clear.
Will found it interesting that Evie’s habitual shyness had been replaced by a manner that signaled how clearly she was in charge. It wasn’t brassy or false but seemed to slip easily over her, as if she were in her natural element. It stemmed, no doubt, from her need to manage the world and make it a better place.
She turned her back to Terence and ushered his sister over to share the chaise with her. Will waited until they were seated then took the armchair.
How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy Page 16