A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1)

by Laura Beers

  “Regardless, Edith was abducted, and we must try to help her.”

  Lord Hawthorne unclasped his hands and said, “I will do my best to find her, but London is a very big town.”

  “I could always—”

  “No! You will do nothing,” he barked.

  Madalene’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I am just deeply worried about my friend.”

  “You should be.”

  “Where will you start looking for her?”

  “I have contacts all over London who should be able to assist me in finding Miss Hardy,” he revealed.

  Finding herself curious as to what kind of contacts a marquess would have, she asked, “May I ask who your contacts are?”

  “You may not,” he said firmly, “but I can assure you that they can be trusted.”

  “I just think…”

  He spoke over her. “That is wholly unnecessary.”

  She lifted her brow in amusement. “You don’t wish for me to think, my lord?”

  The irritation was evident on Lord Hawthorne’s expression as he replied, “You are a very vexing young woman.”

  Madalene decided to take the opportunity to ask another question that had been on her mind. “You previously mentioned that you had a certain set of skills that could help me find Miss Hardy,” she said. “I am curious to what those are.”

  “You do not need to concern yourself with that,” he remarked dismissively.

  “Whyever not?”

  Lord Hawthorne clenched his jaw. “I am not willing to divulge that information and you must take me at my word if you want my assistance.”

  Madalene knew that she had pushed him too far and she didn’t dare risk losing his help in finding Miss Hardy. Frankly, she had no other options but to trust Lord Hawthorne.

  “I will take you at your word, for now,” she said, “but I do hope one day you will trust me enough to confide in me.”

  Lord Hawthorne extended his hand to assist her in rising. “Trust is to be earned, Miss Dowding.”

  Madalene accepted his hand and rose. “Regardless, I am thankful that you are assisting me in finding Miss Hardy.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lord Hawthorne remarked as she removed her hand from his. “I did warn you not to get your hopes up, especially since there is a good chance we may never find Miss Hardy.”

  “You did mention that, but I am choosing to focus on the positive.”

  Lord Hawthorne shook his head. “Your eternal optimism is quite irritating.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t intended as a compliment.”

  Madalene smiled up at him. “I know, but I decided to take it as one.”

  “On my word, it is extremely frustrating to get through a conversation with you,” Lord Hawthorne declared. “I am not entirely sure why I ever agreed to help you in the first place.”

  She had been wondering the same thing. “Why did you offer to help me?” she asked.

  Lord Hawthorne didn’t speak for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I suppose I felt some compassion towards your plight, and I know my sister would be saddened if anything ever happened to you.”

  “Well, I thank you for your assistance.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Lord Hawthorne put his arm out towards her. “Allow me to escort you back inside. I need to return to the House of Lords shortly.”

  Chapter Seven

  Baldwin had just situated himself in his darkened coach when the door was flung open and Corbyn stepped inside.

  “You are helping the chit now?” Corbyn asked as he sat down across from Baldwin, his voice dripping with disapproval.

  “I see that you got my letter,” Baldwin replied as the coach jerked forward.

  “I did, and I have some questions.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Corbyn untied his white cravat and tossed it to the side. “If I understand your letter correctly, you want me to use the agency’s resources to find this woman, this Edith Hardy.”

  “Yes.”

  Frowning, Corbyn asked, “For what purpose?”

  “You said yourself that Miss Hardy could be one of the women that were reported missing in the newspaper.”

  “She might likely be, but the Bow Street Runners were assigned the case,” Corbyn said. “No one asked for our assistance.”

  “That hasn’t stopped us before.”

  Corbyn shook his head. “I know Runners are incompetent at best, but that doesn’t mean we interfere every time they botch an investigation.”

  “All I am asking is that we send out a few inquiries to the other agents around Town and see if they have seen anything that would warrant some concern.”

  Leaning forward, Corbyn removed his grey jacket and promptly turned it inside out, making it brown in color. “I have agents residing in the rookeries,” he shared, setting the jacket next to him. “Everything they see is suspicious. Crimes are rampant there, and some Runners won’t even go into certain parts of Town.”

  “Someone must have seen these girls being abducted,” Baldwin pressed.

  “Most likely, but we have more pressing matters at hand,” Corbyn argued. “You are supposed to be trying to find a French spy and stopping a radical group.”

  “I can do both.”

  “Can you?”

  Baldwin reared back. “What are you implying?” he asked.

  “You seem awfully preoccupied with this Miss Dowding.”

  “That is not true.”

  Corbyn gave him a knowing look. “Miss Dowding keeps showing up where you are, and she has a sad, distressing story to get you to do her bidding.”

  “What are you inferring?”

  “Maybe you were right,” Corbyn said with a slight shrug. “Perhaps Miss Dowding is more than what she is letting on.”

  “I do not believe that to be the case,” Baldwin replied. “Her eyes do not speak of a devious nature.”

  “Just promise me that you will be cautious.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  Chuckling, Corbyn replied, “I believe we both know that to be untrue. Sometimes I wonder if you have a death wish.”

  As Corbyn started unbuttoning his ivory waistcoat, Baldwin asked, “What are you doing?”

  Corbyn’s hands stilled. “I am changing.”

  “I can see that, but why?”

  “I have an appointment in the rookeries,” Corbyn explained.

  “Pray tell, why didn’t you change before you got into my coach?”

  Corbyn removed his waistcoat and placed it on the bench. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the time, and I needed to speak to you.” He shrugged on his jacket and shared, “I had my valet design my jackets to be worn on either side.”

  “That is rather ingenious.”

  “I thought so, as well,” Corbyn remarked as he reached up and tousled his brown hair.

  Baldwin found himself curious and asked, “Who are you meeting?”

  A smile came to Corbyn’s lips. “I do not reveal my informants.”

  “But why you?” Baldwin asked. “Why not assign an agent to meet with this informant?”

  “I enjoy getting out into the field every so often, and this is my informant.” Corbyn had been folding his waistcoat into a small square and now stuffed it into one of his pockets.

  Baldwin glanced out the window as the wheel of the coach hit a rut in the cobblestone street. “Isn’t that taking an unnecessary risk?”

  “Not for me.”

  Bringing his gaze back to meet Corbyn’s, Baldwin said, “I want your help with finding the missing girls.” Corbyn opened his mouth, no doubt to object, so Baldwin hurried on. “You owe me one.”

  Corbyn gave him a skeptical look. “You are truly calling in your favor for Miss Dowding’s sake?”

  “I am.”

  “Fine,” Corbyn responded with a deep sigh. “I will send out some inquiries amongst the agents, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “Th
ank you.”

  Corbyn hit the top of the roof with his fist and the coach began to slow down. “This is where I get out,” he stated as he reached for the handle. “I will expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning. I want to be briefed on the progress of your assignment.”

  Baldwin winced. “It hasn’t progressed as quickly as I would have liked.”

  The coach came to a halt, and Corbyn opened the door. “You have all night to find something,” he noted in a stern voice. “Don’t let me down.”

  After Corbyn closed the door, Baldwin watched as he disappeared down a darkened alleyway. He thought briefly about following his friend, but he decided that would be a foolhardy thing to do. Corbyn was almost as good a spy as he was… almost. Although, it came as no big surprise when he learned that Corbyn had been promoted to the head of the agency at the Alien Office. He was exactly the type of leader the agents needed to rally around.

  It wasn’t long before the coach stopped in front of Floyd’s Coffeehouse. He exited the coach and entered the building in a few strides. His eyes scanned the room as he looked for Sarah. When he didn’t see her, he took a seat at a table in the corner.

  A thin, blonde woman approached him with empty cups in her hands. “What can I get you, Mister?”

  “Just some coffee.”

  “If you want something to eat, I can recommend the mutton stew,” she suggested.

  Reaching into his pocket, Baldwin pulled out a coin and slid it across the table. “Just coffee for me.”

  The woman reached for the coin and said, “I will be back shortly.”

  Baldwin placed his arms onto the table and leaned forward as he tried to listen to the conversations going on around him. Nothing he heard was cause for any great alarm, just the usual conversations that he would expect to find in a coffeehouse.

  The serving woman walked up to the table and placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you,” he said, placing his hands around the warm cup.

  She looked curiously at him. “You must be the bloke that Sarah told me about.”

  “She talked about me?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, the woman lowered her voice. “She said you were asking a bunch of questions the last time you were here.”

  “I am just trying to find some like-minded individuals, such as myself.”

  She seemed unconvinced, but she bobbed her head. “Let me know if you need my help.”

  Baldwin watched as the woman walked towards a group of three young men who were hurling their words about. As she reached for their empty cups, one of the men eyed her backside lewdly.

  The woman didn’t seem to pay it any heed and quickly moved on to another table.

  He watched as one of the men pulled out a bottle from his jacket pocket and poured the contents into his cup. Then, he passed the bottle to another person at his table.

  Baldwin shook his head at the young men. It was only a matter of time until they were kicked out of the coffeehouse for their rowdy behavior, since alcohol was generally banned from reputable establishments.

  Reaching for his cup, Baldwin was about to take a sip when he heard one of the young men say, “I wonder if the boss would want her.”

  Another young man with a large forehead swiped at his arm. “I doubt it. She is old,” he said, slurring his words.

  “How old do you suppose she is?”

  “I don’t know, but she is at least thirty.”

  The young man whistled. “She doesn’t look too bad for her age.”

  Baldwin followed their gaze and realized they were making the disparaging comments about the woman who had served him.

  The young men returned their attention to one another, keeping themselves hunched over their drinks. They weren’t dressed in the finest apparel, but they were dressed in the latest fashion. Their boots had scuff marks on them, implying they did not care for them as they should. Which also meant that they did not employ a valet, or at the very most, a terrible one.

  Finding himself curious by the conversation he had overheard, he rose from his seat and approached the table where the young men were situated. He sat down on an empty chair and placed his cup on the table.

  All the young men’s eyes were on him. “That seat is taken, mate,” one of them said.

  “That is a shame, because I was hoping to buy you all a cup of coffee,” Baldwin responded.

  They exchanged glances before a dark-haired young man smiled broadly. “Well, you should have led with that, Mister.”

  Baldwin chuckled. “Next time I will.” He caught the eye of the serving woman and motioned her over. “Can I get a round of coffee for my new friends?”

  The woman nodded her head. “As you wish.”

  He turned his attention back towards the men. “She is quite beautiful,” he commented.

  “That’s what I said earlier,” the dark-haired man remarked, his eyes red-lined.

  The man with the large forehead spoke up. “You just want to bed her.”

  “That is true.”

  The last young man had curly brown hair that hung low over his forehead. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Baldwin,” he replied simply.

  The young man tipped his head. “I’m Edgar.”

  “Just call me Sam,” the dark-haired one said.

  Baldwin turned his gaze towards the last man, who had the large forehead. “And you are?”

  “My name is Paul.”

  “It is nice to meet you,” Baldwin said. “I just got released from the Royal Navy a few weeks back, and I moved to Town to find some work.”

  They all scoffed before Edgar declared, “You moved to the wrong place.”

  “Why do you say that?” Baldwin asked innocently.

  “There ain’t enough work to go around here,” Sam declared, leaning back in his chair. “People are trying to make ends meet by stealing and swindling people.”

  “Is that how you three are making money?” Baldwin inquired.

  They grew silent. “We got ourselves nice jobs,” Paul finally admitted.

  “Which are?”

  “Can’t say,” Paul replied, “but the pay is real good.”

  Baldwin bobbed his head. “I can respect that,” he said.

  The serving woman walked up with a tray and placed a new cup of coffee in front of each of them. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” Baldwin said as he handed her a coin, then reached for his cup.

  Sam watched him curiously. “You mentioned you were in the Royal Navy.”

  “I was,” Baldwin huffed, “but that hasn’t helped me find any work. I have been scrambling about trying to find a purpose in my life.”

  Edgar pulled out the bottle from his pocket. “Want to add a little brandy to your coffee?”

  Baldwin smiled as he put his hand out to accept it. “How did you smuggle that in?” he asked, pouring a small amount into his coffee.

  “The owner of the establishment don’t care as long as we keep on paying,” Sam said loudly as he reached for the bottle.

  Paul put his finger up to his lips. “Why are you talking so loud?”

  “I’m not,” Sam argued.

  Baldwin kept his face expressionless, but it was evident that these men were heavily inebriated, which was a good thing for him. People’s defenses were generally down when they’d had too much to drink.

  Leaning forward, Baldwin said, “You all appear to be exceptionally clever men.”

  Edgar bobbed his head in agreement. “We are.”

  “I thought so,” Baldwin replied, glancing over his shoulder. “I am looking for a group of free thinkers.”

  “That is what we are,” Sam declared, straightening in his chair.

  Baldwin clenched his fist and pounded it onto the table, causing the young men to jump in their seats. “That is good, because I want to join the fight against tyranny. I want to fight for the people’s rights.”
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br />   Edgar lifted his brow. “You look like you would be good at fighting,” he said.

  “I fought in the Royal Navy for ten years, and I have nothing to show for it,” Baldwin stated. “It is time to do something for myself.”

  Sam watched him as he gently bobbed his head. “We can help you with that, but it might be dangerous.”

  “I don’t mind living dangerously,” Baldwin said. “I lived that way every day I was in the Royal Navy, never knowing if the next battle was to be my last.”

  Paul leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We have a meeting tomorrow night at the Blue Boar on Whitechapel Street at ten. You should join us.”

  “The Blue Boar?” Baldwin repeated.

  “We meet in the back room,” Paul shared, bringing his finger up to his lips, “but you mustn’t tell anyone.”

  Baldwin nodded. “I understand.”

  “That is good,” Sam said in a low voice, “because Morton will kill you if you talk.”

  “Then I don’t want to make this Morton fellow mad,” Baldwin replied with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood of the group.

  Sam let out a bark of laughter before saying, “No, you most assuredly don’t.”

  Baldwin reached for his cup and slowly took a sip. He was grateful that he finally had a lead on a radical group. It may not be the one that he was seeking, but it was a good start.

  Madalene let out a sigh as she reviewed the orphanage’s ledgers at Edith’s desk. She had always been good with numbers, but this was proving to be an impossible feat.

  Mrs. Foster spoke up from an upholstered chair near the fireplace, where she was engaged in needlework. “Whatever is wrong?”

  “Once Edith returns home, I am going to hire a bookkeeper to manage her ledgers.”

  “Why do you say that, dear?”

  Madalene gestured towards the ledgers. “I don’t know how she has time to balance these books and still be headmistress.”

  “She seems to do so splendidly.”

  “That she does,” Madalene agreed, leaning back in her chair. “What am I going to do if Lord Hawthorne doesn’t find Edith?”

  “You mustn’t think that way,” Mrs. Foster chastised.

  “I know, but it has been days and there has been no word from Edith’s captors.”