by Laura Beers
Corbyn stepped up to the buffet table and picked up a plate. “That would have been a waste of time,” he said as he piled eggs and bacon onto his plate.
“What is it that you wanted to speak to me about?”
Walking around the table, Corbyn sat down next to him. “Morton may be right about Desmond,” he shared.
“You found proof that he is stealing from the workhouses?”
“Not exactly, but the agent who reviewed the ledgers confirmed that the numbers appeared to be doctored, but has no proof,” Corbyn said. “We need to find the solicitor that Morton mentioned and speak to him.”
“I will see what I can do.”
Corbyn took a bite of his eggs and chewed them thoughtfully. “Have you discovered anything more on the case?”
“I have not, but there is a meeting tonight at the Blue Boar.”
“Excellent,” Corbyn replied. “Wouldn’t it be grand if you were able to meet Marie tonight and stop this growing rebellion before it escalates?”
“Yes, it would.”
Corbyn pointed his fork at him and said, “I couldn’t help but notice you and Miss Dowding were getting rather close during the waltz.”
“Not you, too!” Baldwin huffed. “Miss Dowding and I are just friends.”
“It didn’t appear that way.”
“Then you need spectacles,” Baldwin quipped.
Corbyn leaned back in his chair. “There is nothing wrong with falling in love, especially since you are retiring as an agent after this case.”
“Falling in love?” he repeated back in disbelief. “I am doing no such thing with Miss Dowding.”
“Are you sure?”
Baldwin bobbed his head decisively. “I think I would know if I was falling in love with her,” he asserted.
“Then I stand corrected,” Corbyn said in a tone that implied he didn’t believe him. “That is probably for the best, because my agents haven’t been able to find any clue of Miss Hardy’s whereabouts.”
“None?”
Corbyn shook his head. “They have scoured London, but it would appear that Miss Hardy simply disappeared into the night.”
“That isn’t likely.”
“I know, but our leads have been exhausted,” Corbyn replied. “And I am unable to dedicate any more resources from the agency on her case.”
Running a hand through his brown hair, Baldwin said, “That news is going to devastate Miss Dowding.”
“It is a good thing you aren’t holding a fondness for her,” Corbyn remarked, amused.
Baldwin shoved his chair back and rose. “If you will excuse me, I have work that I need to see to. I trust that you can see your way out.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You seem awfully cheerful this morning,” Mrs. Foster commented as she pulled the thread through the fabric. “Is there any particular reason why?”
Madalene lowered her needlework to her lap and replied, “I find my thoughts continuously returning to the ball last night.”
“Is that so?” Mrs. Foster gave her a knowing look. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
“No,” she replied, not daring to admit that her thoughts were repeatedly turning towards Lord Hawthorne. “The whole night was rather enjoyable.”
“You sound surprised,” Mrs. Foster remarked.
“Frankly, I am. I danced nearly every set, and I met the most interesting gentlemen,” Madalene said.
“That is generally what happens at a ball.”
Placing her needlework on a side table, Madalene admitted, “This was the first ball where I didn’t feel like I was a prize to be won.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
Madalene reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup of tea. She took a long, lingering sip before she lowered the teacup to her lap. “I think I would like to stay in London for the rest of the Season.”
Mrs. Foster’s brow shot up. “Truly?”
“My mother found immense joy in London, and I’m wondering if I can find the same amount of joy, as well.”
A frown came to Mrs. Foster’s lips. “Is this about a handsome marquess who has somehow managed to bewitch you?”
“I know not what you are talking about,” Madalene said, taking a sip of her tea.
“No?” Mrs. Foster asked. “Not only did you dance the waltz with him, but you also took a turn around the gardens.”
“That is true, but nothing untoward happened.”
“I never implied that it did,” Mrs. Foster remarked. “I am just concerned about your welfare, and that includes your heart.”
“Who said anything about my heart?”
“No one did, but it is rather obvious that you have developed feelings for Lord Hawthorne,” Mrs. Foster said. “And please do not insult me by trying to deny it.”
Madalene gave a half-shrug. “Perhaps I have developed some feelings for him, but that is a far cry from having my heart invested.”
“Then you are lying to yourself.”
Before she could respond, Graham stepped into the room and announced, “Mr. Walker is here to call upon you, Miss.”
“Will you send him in?”
Graham tipped his head and departed from the room.
A few moments later, her solicitor entered with an unusually solemn look on his face.
Placing her teacup onto the tray, Madalene rose and asked, “Is everything all right, Mr. Walker?”
Mr. Walker stopped in the center of the room, his back stiff. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you should know before it hit the newspapers tomorrow.”
“Which is?” Madalene asked hesitantly.
“I’m afraid what I’m about to share is a little indelicate,” Mr. Walker said, wincing.
Madalene glanced nervously at Mrs. Foster, wondering why her solicitor was stalling. “Whatever is the matter?”
Mr. Walker took a shuddering breath before sharing, “Miss Hardy was found floating in the River Thames this morning.”
Madalene gasped as she lowered herself onto the settee. “How horrible!” she exclaimed.
“The Bow Street Runner that I hired to find Miss Hardy was able to identify her at the morgue,” Mr. Walker explained. “Apparently, she had been in the water for a few days.”
“And this Bow Street Runner is adamant that this person found was Miss Hardy?” Mrs. Foster asked.
Mr. Walker turned his gaze towards Madalene’s companion. “Yes, and her next of kin has been notified.”
Mrs. Foster rose from her seat and came to sit next to Madalene. “Are you all right, dear?”
Tears burned her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back. “I don’t know what to say or do.”
“That is to be expected,” Mrs. Foster replied. “Edith was a dear friend of yours.”
Turning her gaze towards Mr. Walker, she asked, “How was she killed?”
Mr. Walker shifted uncomfortably before saying, “It would appear that she entered the water of her own accord.”
Madalene’s mouth dropped open. “You think she killed herself?”
“There were no signs of foul play, and the coroner ruled it as suicide,” Mr. Walker said, his eyes full of compassion.
Madalene started shaking her head profusely. “No, no, no…” she started. “That is impossible. Edith would never do that.”
“I know that it may seem impossible, but we don’t know if Edith was in her right mind at the time she entered the water,” Mr. Walker explained.
“The coroner is wrong!” Madalene exclaimed. “Edith was abducted. Her room had been ransacked, and the perpetrator must have killed her.”
Mr. Walker’s eyes were full of pity. “The constable now believes that Edith ransacked her own room before she headed towards the River Thames.”
“That is improbable!”
Mrs. Foster placed a hand on her sleeve. “It will be all right,” she encouraged. “You are just in shock right now.”
“Edith wouldn’t
have killed herself,” Madalene asserted. “She was one of my dearest friends, and she would have told me if she was considering suicide.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Mrs. Foster said, reassuringly. “Sometimes people hide their pain from others, and they won’t let anyone in.”
Shifting to face her companion, Madalene replied, “She was paying off her mother’s debts and trying to start a new life. Why would she do those things if she had planned to kill herself?”
Mrs. Foster offered her a sad smile. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
“I would like to be the first to offer my condolences, Miss Dowding,” Mr. Walker said. “I hope I did the right thing by telling you.”
“You did,” Madalene rushed to assure him, “and I thank you for coming to see me.”
“You are welcome,” Mr. Walker replied. “I shall see myself out, then.”
Madalene rose from the settee. “Before you go, will you inform Miss Hardy’s mother that I would like to pay for the funeral costs?”
Mr. Walker visibly stiffened. “That is most kind of you. However, Miss Hardy will not be allowed to be buried in a parish cemetery due to the nature of her death. She will most likely be buried at a crossroad with her head downwards.”
“Then I wish to give Mrs. Hardy one hundred pounds for all the costs associated with her daughter’s death. With any luck, she can start anew with the money.”
“That is more than generous, Miss Dowding,” Mr. Walker acknowledged. “I shall see to securing the funds and informing Mrs. Hardy of your decision.”
“Thank you, Mr. Walker,” Madalene said. “I do appreciate your help with this delicate situation.”
Mr. Walker tipped his head. “My job is but to serve you, Miss.”
After her solicitor left the room, Madalene returned to the settee, retreating into her own thoughts. She couldn’t seem to process what she had been told. There was no way that Edith had killed herself. No. It was ludicrous to even think that she would.
“Madalene,” Mrs. Foster spoke softly, “how are you faring?”
Madalene brought her gaze back up. “Edith wouldn’t have killed herself.”
Mrs. Foster sighed. “Madalene—”
“I know her!” Madalene exclaimed, cutting her off. “She wouldn’t have left her mother and sister without a fight.”
“We don’t know what drives someone to end their life, but—”
Madalene jumped up from the settee, causing Mrs. Foster to stop speaking. “No! Nothing you say will convince me otherwise,” she asserted as she rushed out of the drawing room.
She didn’t stop running until she arrived at the gardens, finally giving herself permission to cry. It felt good to let the tears fall, to express her emotions so freely. There has to be a way to appeal the coroner’s decision, she thought. There must be! She refused to let her friend be buried head downwards.
What if anyone discovered my mother’s shame, she wondered. Would she be removed from her plot at the parish and buried at a crossroad, head down? Madalene felt the tremble of a sob as tears poured down her cheeks. No. She would never allow that to happen. She would fight to preserve her mother’s legacy, and Edith’s, as well.
A calm and collected voice broke through her thoughts. “Miss Dowding.”
Madalene turned around and saw Lord Hawthorne watching her from a short distance away, a concerned look on his face. Without thinking of the repercussions of her actions, she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around him.
To her great relief, he encompassed her in his arms and held her without saying a word. She laid her head on his chest and listened to the calming sound of his heartbeat beneath his blue jacket. She felt protected in his arms, making her feel as if she had found a new home.
After a long moment, and with great reluctance, Madalene stepped back and dropped her arms. “I apologize for my display of emotions, Lord Hawthorne,” she said, averting her gaze.
Lord Hawthorne took his finger and placed it under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You have nothing to apologize for, Miss Dowding.”
“But I do,” she said. “I accosted you nearly the moment you said my name.”
He smiled, a charming smile that caused her to grow weak at the knees. “You are welcome to accost me anytime you see fit.”
Madalene felt her cheeks grow warm as he dropped his finger. “Well, I thank you for your kindness.”
“Perhaps you will tell me what has you so upset.”
With a sigh, she revealed, “Edith was found dead in the River Thames this morning.”
Lord Hawthorne grew solemn. “I am sorry to hear that. How are you faring?”
“Not well,” she admitted. “The coroner ruled her death as a suicide since there was no evidence of foul play, despite her room being ransacked prior to her disappearance.”
His brow knitted together in a frown. “Suicide, you say?”
She nodded. “But there is no way Edith would have killed herself,” she asserted. “I know her, and that is not something she was capable of doing.”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, Lord Hawthorne leaned in and said, “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“I do,” he replied. “I will go speak to the coroner, and I will see if we can sort this mess out.”
Tears formed in her eyes. “You would do that for me?”
A smile came to his lips. “I would, most assuredly.”
“Why?” she found herself asking.
His smile grew. “Typically, when someone agrees to do you a favor, you just reply with a thank you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Lord Hawthorne dropped his arms but remained close. “If you don’t believe it was suicide, then how do you believe that Miss Hardy died?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I believe the people who abducted her must have killed her.”
“People are killed in the rookeries all the time, and the coroners can’t handle the workflow,” Lord Hawthorne said. “Most likely, the coroner didn’t give her autopsy the time it deserved.”
“I am sure that was the case.”
Lord Hawthorne glanced up at the sky. “Unfortunately, I have business I need to attend to this evening, but I will go speak to the coroner first thing tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she responded, hoping her words conveyed her sincere gratitude. “This means more to me than you will ever know.”
He brought his gaze back down to meet hers. “It is just a trivial thing, Miss Dowding.”
“Not to me,” Madalene replied softly. “To me, it is everything.”
“You are giving me far too much credit,” he said, a tender smile on his lips. “I’m afraid it shall make me full of myself.”
Madalene ducked her head as she felt the familiar warmth return to her cheeks, finding it hard to find something clever to say when she was standing so close to him.
“I’m afraid I must depart,” Lord Hawthorne said, taking a step back.
“Must you?” she asked boldly.
Lord Hawthorne chuckled. “I would much rather stay with you than go to the House of Lords and listen to boring men ramble on.”
“You flatter me,” Madalene joked, meeting his gaze.
“That was my intention.” He offered his arm. “May I escort you back inside?”
“You may,” she replied as she placed her hand on his.
As they walked back towards the townhouse, Madalene said, “Thank you for coming when you did, my lord.”
“That is what a good friend is for,” Lord Hawthorne replied, patting her arm.
Madalene smiled up at him. “I’m glad that we are friends.”
“As am I.”
In that moment, Madalene realized that she cared for Lord Hawthorne more than she was letting on. She was falling in love with him, and that scared her.
With the moonlight brightening his path, Baldwin hurried along the cobblestone street as he
headed towards the Blue Boar. He was dressed in a tattered white cotton shirt, a waistcoat that was too small for his muscular frame, and trousers held up by twine. He had yet to replace the jacket that he had given to the beggar on the street as he was racing away from the Bow Street Runner.
He arrived at the Blue Boar, ignoring the rowdy men who were lingering in front of the pub, and stepped inside. He didn’t acknowledge anyone as he headed towards the back room and knocked on the door.
Baldwin was surprised when it was opened by Morton, who ushered him in.
“Good, you have finally arrived,” Morton said as he latched the door closed. “We have been expecting you.”
Baldwin glanced around the room and counted only six people, a far cry from the crowd that had been here just a few days ago. A woman sat at the table in the corner, her features shadowed.
“Where is everyone?” Baldwin asked.
Morton stepped into the middle of the room and raised his hands, gesturing widely. “These are the people that are going to help ignite the revolution.” He pointed towards a table where two of the men were sitting. “Paul and Mark are supplying the carts and horses for the mission.”
Morton walked over and placed his hand on a man’s shoulder. “Tom is the solicitor that I was telling you about. He worked with Lord Desmond at the workhouse, and he has been writing articles in the newspaper about our cause.” He grinned. “Anonymously, of course.”
Turning back towards the woman in the corner, Morton gestured towards her. “And this is Marie.”
The woman rose confidently from the chair and stepped closer to Morton. Marie was rather tall for a woman, and she had a slim frame. She was dressed in a simple pale green gown with her brown hair pulled back at the base of her neck. With her narrow face, she wasn’t overly beautiful, but he could see how some men might find her attractive.
Marie eyed him critically as she asked in a thick French accent, “What purpose does this man serve?”
Morton turned to face her. “Baldwin saved me from being arrested by a Bow Street Runner. He is a deserter from the Royal Navy, and I thought he would be a good candidate to drive the wagon into the square since he has some experience with explosives.”