by Laura Beers
Placing the tray onto the table, Sarah sat down next to him. “I never said they were doing anything illegal,” she assured him. “But they do keep their voices hushed and stop speaking when I deliver their coffee to them.”
“That is rather odd, is it not?”
She shrugged a half-shoulder. “It is not unusual here. The men don’t want women to overhear their conversations.”
“That is terrible.”
“I am used to it,” Sarah remarked.
“Are any of those men here now?” he asked hopefully.
Sarah’s eyes scanned the room. “I don’t see any of them now, but they usually come later and stay till closing.”
An older man with white hair shouted across the room. “Sarah!” he exclaimed. “Get back to work!”
Sarah hastily rose from her seat and grabbed the tray. “I apologize for tarrying. I will go get yer coffee now.”
“Please do not hurry on my account,” Baldwin encouraged.
He watched as Sarah hurried across the room and stopped to speak to the older man before she disappeared through a back door.
Baldwin sat back in his chair. He had garnered the information he needed by speaking kindly to the waitress. Men often overlooked women, who noticed more than they ever let on. He had learned prostitutes were the greatest source of information, because men would often brag to them about their exploits. Sometimes it was too easy to discover what he needed to know, costing him only a few coins in the process.
Perhaps he would bring Oliver back with him later this evening in hopes of rooting out the radicals. After doing so, he would infiltrate them, and they would lead him to the French spy. If all went according to his plan, this mission would be wrapped up in less than a week.
The door to the coffeehouse opened, and a young woman with an elaborate chignon walked confidently into the hall. She was dressed in a pale blue gown, marking her as a woman of means. With an oval face, delicate features, and green eyes that appeared defiant and intense, she was a vision of perfection.
The room went silent as all eyes turned to look at her expectantly, many of them lewdly perusing her body.
To his astonishment, the young woman appeared to grow more determined by the attention she was garnering. “I would like to speak to the man in charge,” she said firmly.
A man at a table next to him shouted, “Come here, pretty little thing. I will be whatever you want me to be!”
She jutted out her chin. “I do not appreciate your insinuation,” she remarked in a haughty tone.
The man laughed at her indignation.
Sarah walked out of the back room and saw the young woman standing in front of the door. “Settle down!” she exclaimed to the group. “Ye have all seen a lady before.”
“Not as pretty as her!” another man yelled.
Shaking her head, Sarah approached the young woman and started conversing with her. It was a long moment before she bobbed her head.
Sarah started weaving between the tables and the young woman followed. They both disappeared up a set of stairs in the back of the room.
Curious as to what this young woman wanted, Baldwin rose from his chair and headed up the stairs. He had just stepped into the hall when he heard someone knocking on a door around the corner, followed by Sarah saying, “Mrs. Hardy. It is me, Sarah.”
Baldwin flattened himself against the wall and crept closer to the edge of the hall. He could hear the door creak open and an unfamiliar voice asked in a slightly muffled voice, “Is everything all right?”
“Your daughter is missing from the orphanage,” another voice said. He assumed this was the young woman from downstairs. “I was hoping she was with you.”
“No, she is not. I rarely see Edith since she moved into the orphanage,” the woman said.
“Do you know where she could be?” the young woman asked.
Silence.
“Do not fret,” the young woman attempted, but he could hear the strain in her voice. “The constable and a Bow Street Runner will be on the case, and they will find her shortly.”
“What will we do about money until then?” the woman asked.
Baldwin peered around the corner and saw the young woman reach into her reticule. She pulled something out and extended it towards the woman.
“This should help until Edith returns home.”
“Thank you,” the woman said in a grateful tone. “You have no idea how much this means to me and my daughter.”
“You are more than welcome.”
The woman stepped into the hall and lowered her voice. At that moment, loud, boisterous laughter came from downstairs, blocking out the conversation between the women.
Baldwin watched as the woman disappeared back into her room and closed the door. He realized he had better leave or he would be discovered.
He hurried down the stairs and returned to his chair. As he reached for his now cool cup of coffee, he saw Sarah and the young woman descending the narrow stairs.
Three men rose from a table in the corner and went to approach the young woman as she stepped off the stairs.
“What’s your hurry?” he heard one of the men ask as they blocked her path to the door. “Come join us for a cup of coffee.”
“No, thank you,” was the young woman’s reply.
“What is your name?”
The young woman stiffened. “That is none of your concern.”
“Leave her be,” Sarah ordered firmly.
The men dismissed Sarah’s comment and continued to pester the young woman with unwelcome questions.
Baldwin rose from his chair, knowing it was his duty as a gentleman to help a woman in need. He walked over to the group of men, shoved past them and reached for the young woman’s arm. “Allow me to escort you to your coach,” he said.
One of the men blocked his path. “Maybe this woman doesn’t want to go with you.”
Baldwin met the man’s gaze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “It is time for this lady to leave, and I intend to ensure she is met with no harm.” His words brooked no argument.
The man’s eyes flickered with fear as he moved to the side. “That is good of you, Mister.”
Baldwin addressed the young woman when he asked, “Is your coach outside?”
“It is,” she replied.
He acknowledged her words with a nod as he started leading her towards the door. As they stepped outside, he saw a black coach waiting on the street. A footman jumped off his perch when he saw the young woman and went to put the step down.
Baldwin dropped his hand from her arm as they came to a stop in front of the coach. “Get in the coach and never come back,” he barked.
The young woman’s lips twitched downward, but her words were cordial, reiterating to him that she was a genteel woman. “I would like to thank you for escorting me—”
Baldwin cut her off. “Save your words.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He took a step closer to her, and the young woman looked up at him in surprise. “Women are not allowed in coffeehouses,” he stated. “Reputations have been ruined for less.”
“I am aware of that, but I needed to speak to someone renting a room upstairs. I assure you that the matter was of the utmost importance.”
“Why didn’t you send a footman in to do your bidding?”
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. “I wanted to be discreet.”
“Discreet?” he questioned. “The very presence of a woman in a coffeehouse caused a stir amongst the patrons.”
“I had not realized my presence would cause such a disturbance.”
“Then you are a fool.”
The young woman’s lips parted in disbelief, making it evident that she was not used to being treated in such a fashion. “That is rather ungentlemanly of you to say.”
Baldwin let out a dry chuckle. “I never claimed to be a gentleman.”
“Your actions prove otherwise,” the young woman challenged.
; Realizing that they were drawing the attention of the people on the street, he held out his hand and said, “Allow me to assist you into your coach before anyone recognizes you.”
The young woman reluctantly placed her hand in his and stepped into the coach. Once she was situated, she slipped her hand out of his.
“Thank you—” Her words were barely out of her mouth as he closed the door of the coach.
Baldwin watched as the coach drove away from the coffeehouse, finding himself immensely relieved that he would never have to see that infuriating young woman again.
Chapter Four
The morning sun streamed through the window as Baldwin sat in his chair and perused the ledgers on his desk. His brother had done a fine job of ensuring all their investments had grown over the years. When Baldwin left for his mission, Oliver had balked at the responsibility that had been handed him, but Baldwin had faith that he would rise to the challenge. And he had been correct.
Oliver had increased their holdings by buying up the parcels of land surrounding their country estate in Sussex.
“Well done, Brother,” Baldwin muttered to himself as he closed one of the ledgers and reached for another. Perhaps he should leave his brother in charge more often.
As if on cue, Oliver walked into the study with his cravat untied, the top buttons of his waistcoat undone, and his hair tousled about.
“What has you up so early?” his brother asked with a yawn.
“I wanted to get a start on reviewing the ledgers,” Baldwin lied. He didn’t want to tell his brother that he hardly slept anymore. He couldn’t. Images would come to his mind, images that he wanted to forget.
Oliver sat down in the chair in front of the desk, his eyes red. “May I ask why?”
“I thought I should become reacquainted with the finances. Although, I must admit that you’ve done an admirable job with them.”
With a smirk, Oliver admitted, “It wasn’t me.”
“No?” Baldwin asked. “Then who was it? Our man of business, Mr. Owen, or one of our solicitors?”
“It was Jane.”
Baldwin lifted his brow. “Jane?” he asked. “She did all of this?”
Oliver nodded. “Our sister is quite clever when it comes to managing the properties and balancing the ledgers.”
“You don’t say,” Baldwin replied, wiping a hand over his mouth. “I had no idea.”
“I hadn’t, either, but she saw me struggling with the ledgers one night and offered to take a look,” Oliver shared. “After that, she just sort of took over and started working with our man of business.”
“And Mr. Owen worked with her willingly?”
“Once he saw Jane’s vision, and how much money was to be made by her, he came around.”
“For which I am immensely grateful.” Baldwin paused, perusing his brother’s haggard appearance. “I must say that you look awful.”
Frowning, Oliver said, “That was not a very nice thing to say to your favorite brother.”
“I am only speaking the truth,” Baldwin replied. “Were you out all night?”
“I was. I went to the gambling halls.”
“Is that where you went after dinner?”
Oliver nodded. “I spend nearly every night out. Sometimes I am at the gambling halls, and other times I am at social gatherings, balls or soirées.”
“Since when did you start enjoying social events?”
Crossing his arms over his wide chest, his brother said, “I don’t, but Corbyn tasked me with identifying any radical thinkers amongst the ton.”
“Ah, I understand now.”
“At first, I enjoyed the gambling halls,” Oliver admitted. “I even made a small fortune at the tables, but now I find them rather irksome.”
“You should ask for a new assignment.”
Oliver shook his head. “I am in a perfect position to spy. Furthermore, the scheming mothers generally avoid me for their matchmaking because of my despicable reputation.” He lifted his brow. “But I daresay that you won’t be so lucky.”
“I intend to avoid the marital noose.”
Oliver chuckled. “It wouldn’t be so terrible for you to marry, assuming you find someone you can tolerate.”
“That is the problem,” Baldwin replied. “I don’t tolerate very many people.”
“No, you don’t,” Oliver joked. “I see that you haven’t changed.”
Baldwin winced at his brother’s remark, knowing that wasn’t true. He had changed drastically over these past few years, and not for the better.
“What is it?” Oliver asked.
“Nothing,” Baldwin said.
“It clearly is something,” Oliver pressed, eyeing him with concern.
Baldwin sighed deeply. “I have seen some terrible things, Brother,” he admitted. “Things that I cannot unsee.”
“We have that in common, you and I,” Oliver replied with a look of compassion.
“The royalist group I worked with was merciless,” Baldwin confessed. “They wanted to get their message across at any cost, and they didn’t care who got hurt in the process, including children.”
“That is awful.”
Baldwin grew silent as he turned his gaze towards the window. “I am not the same man I was before I left for France,” he admitted.
“In what way?”
“I’m angry,” Baldwin shared, bringing his gaze back to meet his brother’s. “I’m angry that there are people out there intending to harm innocent people to advance their own selfish agendas.”
Oliver uncrossed his arms. “That is why we do what we do,” he said. “We go after the radicals and rein them in.”
“But who reins us in?”
Oliver gave him a questioning look. “Why would you need to be reined in?”
Baldwin ran his hand through his brown hair, finding the familiar rage brewing inside of him. He couldn’t seem to explain his emotions clearly, nor could he understand them himself. All he knew was that every day was a struggle to go on. His haunted past was colliding with the present, making his life unbearable.
“Forget I said anything,” Baldwin remarked dismissively.
“Baldwin—”
But Baldwin spoke over his brother. “I mean it.” His voice was firm.
Oliver frowned, but he wisely changed subjects. “How did your time at Floyd’s Coffeehouse go?”
“It went well,” he admitted. “I discovered that a group of men meet late at night, near closing, and they tend to keep to themselves.”
“Do you suppose they are the radicals that you are looking for?”
Baldwin shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s a start.”
“That it is,” Oliver agreed.
“I should note that an odd thing did transpire yesterday.”
Oliver sat straighter in his seat. “Which was?”
“A lady came to the coffeehouse and went upstairs to visit a female tenant,” he explained. “They exchanged a few words and then she departed by way of coach.” He intentionally left out a few parts of the story that were not important.
“That is peculiar,” Oliver commented. “Why would this lady risk her reputation to visit a coffeehouse?”
“That is what I have been pondering myself, but I am at a loss,” Baldwin answered.
“Women are rather unusual creatures,” his brother mused.
“That they are,” Baldwin agreed. “Perhaps you would care to join me this evening at the coffeehouse?”
Oliver nodded. “I believe a coffeehouse is a splendid way to spend one’s evening.”
“That it is.”
“Besides, it is either the coffeehouse or attending a ball with Mother and Jane.” Oliver shuddered.
Baldwin laughed. “I won’t tell Mother you said that.”
“What won’t you tell me, dear?” his mother inquired as she glided into the room.
With a smile on his face, Baldwin asked, “Would it be all right if Oliver joined me at the coffeehouse tonig
ht instead of escorting you and Jane to the ball?”
A look of displeasure crossed his mother’s expression as she turned her attention towards Oliver. “But what will we say to Lady Haskins when she asks about you?”
“You could always tell her that I am at a coffeehouse,” Oliver attempted. “I doubt that she would take offense.”
His mother pouted. “You promised to escort Jane and me, and I have been looking forward to it all week.”
Oliver huffed. “Fine,” he said. “I will escort you to the ball, and I will accompany Baldwin to the coffeehouse another time.”
His mother’s pout turned into a victorious smile rather quickly. “See there,” she remarked, “I knew you would come to the correct decision on your own.”
Baldwin couldn’t help but be impressed by his mother’s theatrics. The agency could use someone like her.
His mother now focused her attention on Baldwin with a twinkle in her eye. “I think we should have a ball in your honor,” she announced.
“Pardon?” He had not been expecting that.
“A ball,” she repeated, “to celebrate your return to Society.”
Baldwin shook his head. “I do not want a ball.”
“But you must!”
“And why is that?”
His mother looked at him like he was a simpleton. “You have been gone for the past three years, and many members of the ton believe you to be dead.”
“Good,” Baldwin said. “I can’t stand most of those busybodies anyway.”
His mother placed a hand on her hip. “Most of those busybodies are my dear friends, and I will not have you make disparaging comments about them.”
Baldwin leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on his desk. “Regardless, I do not want a ball.”
“I’m afraid it is too late.”
“Meaning?”
His mother looked at him innocently. “I was so sure that you would want a ball that I already sent out the invitations.”
“How is that possible?” Baldwin asked in disbelief. “I just returned home.”
“I thought it would be best if we planned it straight away.”
“We?”
His mother blinked. “Don’t you want to be involved in the details?”