A Buccaneer at Heart
Page 16
Still holding her gaze, he baldly stated, “Because I need your help.”
She blinked. Twice. Then, still faintly suspicious, she asked, “How so?”
He crossed one knee over the other, set his laced fingers on his uppermost thigh, and did his best to appear relaxed but grave, and also faintly—but not too overtly—supplicatory. “As I’ve learned more about the situation here, it’s become increasingly apparent that even with my men as support, there are areas of...expertise that I and my crew lack. For instance, having the ability to further investigate the kidnapping of the children. We know that the children’s disappearances don’t connect with Undoto’s church, so how and from where are the children being preyed upon? Are they even being taken for the same reason—the same ultimate destination?” He looked directly at her. “If I or my men start asking around, we’re unlikely to get far—not on our own.”
He’d banked on the children being an angle that would appeal to her; from the expression on her face and the militant light that sparked in her eyes, he’d guessed correctly. Smoothly, he continued, “My men and I expect to have to watch and wait for several days at least, until the slavers leave their lair and return to their camp. We’ll follow when they do, and then we’ll have the information we were sent for. With that in hand, we’re required to return to London and report. All well and good, but meanwhile, I’m anticipating several days of inaction, and rather than waste them, I would like to use the time to get some idea of how the slavers are stealing away children—how they have in the past, and if they still are. That’s something extra to add to our knowledge of what’s going on here that I would like to take back to place before those in London.”
Her nod was decisive and, as he’d hoped, supportive. “I applaud such a stance. Seizing children?” Where another lady might have shuddered, she looked pugnaciously belligerent. “That cannot be allowed to continue.”
“In addition”—he tracked the emotions flitting over her face—“I have a letter I would like to see on its way via the general post to the Admiralty.” With his customary nonchalance, he drew the letter from his pocket, then met her gaze. “To the First Lord.” He held the missive up. “I’ve written of what I’ve learned regarding Holbrook—who appears to be innocent and oblivious of his wife’s involvement. Melville and those assisting him need to know that, so that they know they can and should leave Holbrook in place and uninformed.”
He glanced at the letter. “I’ve also included various additions to what my brother reported—small matters in themselves, but they add to the wider picture and might prove crucial to those who come later.” He returned his gaze to her face and met her eyes. “I have to allow for the possibility that, for one reason or another, I and my crew will be taken by the slavers, too. It’s unlikely, but not impossible, and it’s therefore important that this letter gets away.”
A faint frown played about her eyes. “Why can’t you just post it?”
He told her.
“Ah. I see.” Her eyes were riveted on the letter.
“So I wondered if you would be willing to go with me to the docks and see this letter on its way.”
Her brows rose as her gaze shifted to meet his. “Of course.”
Her haughty agreement was music to his manipulative soul.
Aileen studied the faint smile that seemed to lurk about his eyes and at the corners of his well-shaped lips. She tried not to notice those lips themselves or, indeed, to allow herself to fall into the depths of his eyes. For some idiotic reason, she found them quite mesmerizing, but she knew better than to let him guess that.
However, she had a sneaking suspicion that she was being managed. Very artfully managed, but managed nevertheless. As someone who frequently managed others, she knew the signs—no man of his ilk was that guileless.
Still, as long as he continued to answer her questions and tell her all she wanted to know...
If it became necessary, she could always tip the scales and reverse the condition.
She blinked, refocused on his eyes—on the far-too-perceptive blue of them—then, deliberately imperious, she held out a hand, palm up. “If you wish me to assist you, you can trust me with that.”
His eyes widened fractionally, but he smoothly sat up, reached out, and placed the missive in her outstretched hand.
She grasped the letter and nodded. “And you can also promise me that you will inform me of what you and your men learn as to the location of the slavers’ camp.”
He hesitated at that, but after a second of regarding her with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom, he inclined his head. “You have my word I will share with you whatever we learn.”
She took a second to replay his words, then permitted herself a small smile. She looked at the letter in her hand. “Right, then.” She rose. “Let’s be off to the post office.”
He’d risen as she did. He smiled and fell in by her side as she made for the door.
He reached out and opened it. She sailed through, paused for him to join her, then walked out of the house with him by her side.
She was, she decided, as she allowed him to hand her up into the carriage, quite enjoying this.
Why not?
Playing to his expectations caused her no harm, and at least he’d come to his senses sufficiently to see the value in sharing what he knew and including her in his plans.
What his true motives were she didn’t yet know, but she would learn of them eventually, of that she had no doubt.
He sat on the seat opposite. He’d given Dave directions to drive to Water Street and halt at a certain spot for them to walk down to the post office on the quay. Having seen him walk out with her, Dave had accepted his directions with a grunt. The instant Frobisher shut the door, the carriage jerked into motion.
As the carriage rattled down the hill, Aileen struggled to keep her gaze trained forward and to the side, denying the nearly overwhelming urge to study Frobisher. He, too, did the polite thing and didn’t stare at her; she glanced at him once and found him looking out of the window.
Distractingly compelling he might be, but she’d already seen enough to judge him effective—the sort of man who could and would get things done. In his own way perhaps, but done nonetheless.
If she had to work alongside someone to learn what had happened to Will—to lay the groundwork for his rescue—then she would far rather it be with a man like Frobisher.
She might not entirely trust him, but he was a sort of man she understood—the sort of man she had an affinity with, a man like her brothers. He would respond to much the same goads, would react in what to her were predictable ways.
Until she had reason to decide otherwise, her best way forward was to play by his rules. He’d been sent by the paramount authority to search for information to pave the way for all those taken, including Will, to be rescued. That was her ultimate goal as well. Working with Frobisher rather than against or despite him made singular sense.
And she had to admit that the notion of children—and young women, too—being seized by the slavers to serve some blackguard’s nefarious ends had fired her ire.
She’d lived her entire life in safety, in the sure knowledge of being surrounded by those who cared.
What it would be like to live without that net of unstated security she couldn’t imagine, but she knew many young women—and children—did.
In the wider scheme of things—in the larger cosmos—surely she owed those who hadn’t had her privileged life something?
She could give them her championship, if nothing else.
She could work beside Frobisher and see what she could do, even while she assisted him as required and supported him in furthering Will’s cause.
There was, indeed, a lot to recommend Frobisher’s way forward—regardless of whatever his true motives were.
She glanced again at Frobisher; he now seemed sunk in thought.
She shifted her gaze away and set her mind to the challenge of how to learn more about the missing children.
As the carriage turned into Water Street, she flicked a glance at Frobisher. “Mrs. Hardwicke is the minister’s wife.” When he met her gaze, she continued, “She might well have information about the missing children, especially as you said that they, too, are European, by which I assume you mean primarily English.”
He nodded, then said, “Mrs. Hardwicke was the source of our information on the seventeen children that have gone missing.”
“Indeed?” She smiled intently. “In that case, she is undoubtedly the best person for us to question.”
He shifted. “I already have a list of the names and ages of those taken that she provided to my brother.”
Aileen inclined her head. “That’s a start, but there are several other facts to which Mrs. Hardwicke is very likely privy, and those might give us a more definite idea as to how the children were taken, and specifically from where.”
The carriage was slowing; the intersection they wanted was coming up on the right.
Across the carriage, she met Frobisher’s blue eyes. “I suggest, sir, that I should post your letter, and then, as it is still midmorning, we should adjourn to the rectory and see what more we can learn.”
He held her gaze; she sensed he wasn’t accustomed to following someone else’s directives. But then the carriage rocked to a halt—and he bowed his head in agreement. He stepped down and gave her his hand.
As she descended to the pavement, she fought to suppress a no doubt unwise, stupidly triumphant grin.
CHAPTER 8
From the shadows of the alley that ran alongside the post office, Robert watched Miss Hopkins—how was it he didn’t yet know her first name?—march along the quay and sweep in through the door, exchanging a polite nod with a gentleman who promptly held the door for her and raised his hat.
Robert inwardly humphed. The woman moved with the aplomb of a force of nature, the effect augmented by those snapping hazel eyes and the crowning glory of her brilliantly glossy hair. Her bonnet hid most of her distinctive locks, but tendrils hung in ringlets on either side of her face and about her nape. Those tendrils tended to bob and tremble in a thoroughly distracting way.
He found it disturbing that he even noticed such things, but with her...he couldn’t seem to rein his senses in.
The urge to step out of concealment and sidle up to the window and check that she’d met with no difficulty bloomed. He clenched his jaw against the impulse; there was no reason to imagine anyone would think her sending a letter to the Admiralty was odd—and if anyone was insane enough to question her, she was more than capable of putting them in their place.
Even if someone noticed the plainly male script of the address, he felt confident she’d concoct some glib story and deliver it with a haughty air.
She had a very good line in haughty airs.
He slouched against the building’s siding and kept his head down. An uneventful minute ticked past. The impulse to just take one quick look through the window pricked at him. But he really couldn’t afford to be recognized—and stepping free of the shadows onto the open quay in the middle of the morning would definitely risk that. If just one person recognized him, the news that another Frobisher had appeared in the settlement would spread, and speculation would swell—and the villains might take fright.
He shifted, restless—then he hit on the one thought that effectively doused the urge to peek through the window and check on his new co-conspirator.
What if she spotted him?
He was still debating the likely outcome when she sailed out of the post office, came marching along the quay, then turned down the alley and swept past him and on.
As he’d directed, she didn’t spare a glance for him; as she walked on, he fell in behind her. Only after she’d rounded the first corner did he lengthen his stride and catch up to her.
He glanced at her face. Her expression was...just a touch triumphant.
Something inside him eased, relaxed. “No difficulty?”
“None.” After a moment, she glanced at him and met his eyes. “I told you everything would go smoothly.” She looked ahead and tugged up her gloves. “Now let’s get to the carriage and drive to the rectory.”
His lips twitched; the idea of what his crew—let alone his brothers—would think at seeing him following her directions...
He sobered as he realized he wasn’t sure if they would laugh—or feel sorry for him.
How the mighty had fallen and all that.
But he was only acceding to her command to placate her. And while her direction matched his own. If she diverted from his predetermined course, then he would seize the wheel and haul her back, but until she did, there was no reason he could see to rock this boat.
Dave was waiting where they’d left him, at a spot where an overhang screened those climbing into and out of the carriage. As soon as they were seated and the door closed, the old cockney set his horse in motion.
Neither Robert nor Miss Hopkins spoke as they traveled back up Tower Hill, past Mrs. Hoyt’s boardinghouse, and on to the rectory.
As he handed Miss Hopkins down, he murmured, “My brother and sister-in-law became acquainted with Mrs. Hardwicke—they spoke with her on several occasions. If you need to use a name for me, introduce me as Mr. Aiken, a friend of your family.”
She met his eyes, her gloved fingers gripping his, then nodded.
He offered his arm, and she took it. As they walked up the short path, she dipped her head his way and murmured back, “Is there any chance Mrs. Hardwicke will recognize you?”
He hid a grimace. “Declan and I look similar, so she might. If she does, I’ll claim he and I are distant cousins. But I’m counting on her not being able to place me—and I intend to fade into the background and leave the questioning to you.”
She grinned and patted his arm in a soothing manner.
He cast her a speaking look as they halted before the door, then he smoothed his expression, reached out, and knocked commandingly.
A little maid saw them into a small but comfortable parlor, then went to fetch her mistress. Robert saw Miss Hopkins to the sofa, then moved to an armchair beyond its end, out of the light falling through the windows.
Mrs. Hardwicke walked in briskly a minute later. “Good morning.” A stern-faced matron, she looked at them keenly as they rose, her gaze traveling from Aileen to Robert—and there Mrs. Hardwicke’s gaze halted.
Aileen plastered on a smile and stepped forward. She held out her hand. “Good morning, ma’am. I hope you remember me—Miss Hopkins. I called several weeks ago during one of your afternoon teas.”
Mrs. Hardwicke’s expression cleared and she grasped Aileen’s fingers. “Of course, my dear. We didn’t have much chance to speak, I fear.”
“No, indeed.” When the minister’s wife’s gaze strayed again toward Frobisher, Aileen waved airily, rather dismissively, his way. “This is Mr. Aiken.” She gave Mrs. Hardwicke barely a second to exchange a polite nod before barreling on, “I’m visiting the settlement for a short time, and I’ve heard some rather disturbing rumors. We thought you might be the best person to ask for the truth.”
“Rumors?” Mrs. Hardwicke frowned. “I’m not sure a minister’s wife is really the best source—”
“Oh, it’s not that sort of rumor.” Aileen glanced at the sofa.
“Please.” Mrs. Hardwicke gestured. “Pray be seated.”
Aileen sat, pleased when Mrs. Hardwicke chose to sit in the armchair fa
cing her.
Frobisher waited until both she and Mrs. Hardwicke had settled their skirts, then resumed his seat, sinking as far into the shadows as he could.
“You see”—Aileen leaned forward, capturing Mrs. Hardwicke’s gaze—“we’ve been walking around the shops in Water Street, and we heard from several shop girls about children going missing.” She straightened. “It’s something of an interest of mine—I’m aware of the work done by the Foundling House in London—and...well, I did wonder if there was some problem here and, if so, what help I might be able to provide, even if only to take news back to the right people in London.”
She now had Mrs. Hardwicke’s complete attention; the woman had all but forgotten Frobisher’s existence.
After several seconds, Mrs. Hardwicke moistened her lips. “My dear, if you can get anything done, I, for one, will pray for you every night.”
Aileen widened her eyes. “So the rumors are true?”
“Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but what I can tell you is that through my husband’s mission here among the poor, I’m aware of at least seventeen children who have vanished over recent months. And there may very well be more.” Mrs. Hardwicke’s expression hardened. “And no matter what those in higher office may claim, these children have not run away. They’ve been kidnapped, although by whom and for what I cannot begin to guess.”
“Good gracious!” Aileen sat back. She paused as if considering, then asked, “Tell me—the children who’ve vanished. Do they have anything in common? Do they attend the same school or orphanage, or...?”
“Oh, my dear! There’s no orphanage in this settlement—as you most likely can guess, that’s one of the last things any town gives a thought to. And as for schools, they’ve only just started talking of establishing a grammar school for the children of the Tower Hill families. Those in the slums will be waiting a long time for any sort of schooling.”
“In the slums? So all the children who’ve vanished have come from there?”