A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1)

by Laura Beers

  “Are you trying to blow up the orphanage?”

  Miss Gaillard laughed. “Heavens, no,” she replied. “I find it admirable what you are trying to accomplish with these girls.”

  “Thank you,” Madalene said hesitantly.

  In a swift motion, Miss Gaillard lifted her skirt and removed a pistol that was strapped to her leg. “But that doesn’t mean I am going to let you go. At least, not yet,” she remarked, pointing the pistol at her. “If you are a good girl, then I might let you live.”

  Miss Gaillard walked over to a crate and produced some rope. “I must admit that I was pleased when I first saw you snooping around my wagon,” she said as she stepped closer to her. “I knew that it was only a matter of time before you stepped inside of the outbuilding.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Because we are a lot alike,” Miss Gaillard stated. “We both are curious creatures.”

  Miss Gaillard put the pistol on the table. “I am going to tie your hands now,” she instructed. “If you try to reach for the pistol, I will kill you.” The way she spoke those words, Madalene knew she was in earnest.

  “I understand,” Madalene replied, knowing she needed to bide her time until she could find a way to escape.

  Miss Gaillard stepped closer and roughly tied her hands tightly together. Then, she reached down and ripped a large section of Madalene’s gown off.

  “I can’t have you yelling for help, now can I?” Miss Gaillard asked before she shoved the fabric into Madalene’s mouth.

  “Oh, there is one more thing,” Miss Gaillard said nonchalantly as she picked up the pistol. “Unfortunately, this part is going to hurt.”

  Madalene watched as Miss Gaillard pulled her arm back, and she attempted to brace herself the best way she could. As the pistol slammed against the side of her head, everything went black.

  Baldwin leaned back in his seat and took a sip of his drink before saying, “Marie is mad.”

  “Why do you say that?” Corbyn asked as he sat across from him.

  “She despises the British for what they did to her father,” Baldwin explained, “but I believe her hatred to be misdirected.”

  Oliver nodded. “I would agree, but it isn’t as if she could go after Napoleon. He is exiled on the island of Elba.”

  “Her plan could kill hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people,” Baldwin said. “Lord Desmond’s rallies always attract a large crowd, and constables are on hand to ensure no violence breaks out.”

  “Do you think the mass killing will be the start of the revolution that they are planning?” Oliver asked.

  “It very well could be,” Baldwin replied, “especially since the people have been stirred up for less before.”

  Corbyn leaned forward in his seat. “After you drive the wagon away from the Blue Boar, our agents will raid the pub, and we will capture Marie, Morton, and the other conspirators.”

  “Where will you take the wagon?” Oliver asked.

  “I am not sure,” Baldwin replied. “It isn’t safe to go very far with a bomb strapped to the back of it.”

  “I would drive it to the docks and toss it into the river,” Corbyn advised. “The water will neutralize the gunpowder, rendering the bomb useless.”

  “That is a good idea,” Baldwin acknowledged.

  Corbyn smirked. “You sound surprised, but that is why I am the one in charge,” he remarked. “I will have agents standing by on the docks to assist you in removing the bomb very gently from the wagon.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Baldwin said before taking a sip of his drink. “I can’t help but comment on how evident it is that Morton and Marie intend for me to be the scapegoat. Frankly, I don’t think they care whether I survive the explosion or not.”

  Rising, Oliver responded, “You make an interesting point.” He walked over to the drink cart and poured himself another drink. “To them, you are expendable.”

  Corbyn raised his glass. “I see that they sized you up correctly,” he joked.

  Baldwin chuckled.

  “If we knew where Marie was storing the bomb, then we could seize it tonight,” Oliver said, bringing the glass up to his lips. “Do you have any idea where she is hiding out?”

  “The only hint that she gave was that the gunpowder was in a secure place,” Baldwin replied.

  “That could be anywhere,” Oliver mumbled.

  Baldwin nodded. “My thoughts precisely.”

  A knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” Baldwin ordered.

  The door opened, and his butler stepped into the room. “I am sorry to disturb you, milord. But a Mrs. Foster would like a moment of your time.”

  “Mrs. Foster, you say?” he asked, wondering why Miss Dowding’s companion was here to call on him.

  “Yes, and she says that it is most urgent,” Pratt asserted.

  Leaning forward, he placed his drink on the table in front of him and rose. “Send her in.”

  Pratt tipped his head and departed from the room, leaving the door open.

  “Why do you suppose Miss Dowding’s companion is calling on you?” Oliver asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “I was just asking myself that very same question,” Baldwin muttered.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Mrs. Foster rushed into the study, her eyes frantically seeking him out.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Baldwin asked as he hurried over to her.

  Mrs. Foster placed a hand up to her forehead. “I’m sorry for barging in on you at this late hour, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Baldwin placed a hand on her sleeve and led her towards an upholstered chair. “Why don’t you start by telling me what is wrong?”

  After she was situated, Mrs. Foster looked up at him and asked, “May I have something to drink?”

  “Yes, I can get you some tea,” Baldwin suggested. “That should help calm your nerves.”

  Mrs. Foster shook her head. “I need something much stronger than that,” she replied. “Do you have any brandy?”

  Baldwin blinked in surprise. “Yes, I do have brandy.” He walked over to the drink cart and poured a glass, then walked back and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Mrs. Foster said as she accepted the glass with a shaky hand.

  Pulling a chair closer to her, Baldwin sat down. “Can you tell me what is wrong?”

  “It’s about Miss Dowding,” Mrs. Foster said hesitantly, “she’s gone missing.”

  Baldwin could feel the air rushing out of his lungs at her stunning announcement. But in the next moment, he grew solemn and alert, knowing he had to keep all of his wits about him. He knew he needed to find out as much as he could about Miss Dowding’s disappearance, and quickly.

  “I want you to start from the beginning,” Baldwin ordered, his eyes never straying from hers.

  Mrs. Foster took a sip of her drink. “We went to the orphanage to look for any clues about Miss Hardy’s disappearance, but we didn’t find anything. Not that I thought we would,” she rambled. “I told Miss Dowding that but—”

  “I need you to focus, Mrs. Foster,” Baldwin said, speaking over her.

  Mrs. Foster gave him a repentant smile. “My apologies,” she replied. “I tend to ramble on when I get nervous.”

  “There is no reason to be nervous here,” Baldwin assured her.

  Mrs. Foster glanced over his shoulder, and he followed her gaze. Corbyn and Oliver were both standing there with stern looks on their faces.

  Turning his attention back towards Mrs. Foster, Baldwin remarked, “Don’t concern yourself with them. They will be able to aid in the search for Miss Dowding.”

  Mrs. Foster nodded. “As I was saying, we didn’t find anything in Miss Hardy’s room, so I thought Madalene would benefit from some tea. But, when I returned from preparing the tea, Madalene was gone.”

  “Do you have any idea where she went?”

  Mrs. Foster shook her head. “We searched the enti
re orphanage before we called for the constable,” she said. “Then, we searched it again and again.”

  “Are there any other buildings that she could have visited?”

  “There is an outbuilding, but Miss Gaillard was kind enough to search it for us,” Mrs. Foster said.

  Corbyn spoke up. “Who is Miss Gaillard?”

  “The French teacher at the orphanage,” Mrs. Foster explained. “She was temporarily appointed as headmistress after Miss Hardy went missing.”

  “I see,” Corbyn replied. “So, she must be a trustworthy individual.”

  Mrs. Foster bobbed her head. “Oh, yes. The girls love her.”

  “Can you think of any reason why Miss Dowding might have left the safety of the orphanage?” Baldwin asked.

  “Not one,” Mrs. Foster answered. “She is smart enough to know that it is not safe to wander in that part of Town.”

  “Was she carrying her pistol?”

  Mrs. Foster gave him a blank look. “I didn’t even know that she owned a pistol.”

  “Did no one witness Miss Dowding leave the building, whether by the front or the back?” Oliver asked.

  “We questioned all the girls, but no one saw her leave the building,” Mrs. Foster replied. “The constable even spoke to our driver and footman, but they didn’t see anything, either.”

  Baldwin ran a hand through his hair, attempting to squash his growing irritation. “How can someone just disappear without leaving a trace?”

  “Have you considered that Miss Dowding didn’t want to be seen leaving the building?” Corbyn asked.

  Baldwin turned to face Corbyn. “Meaning?”

  “Perhaps she had an errand she needed to run,” Corbyn proposed.

  “No, that is impossible,” Mrs. Foster said firmly. “Besides, we don’t frequent any businesses in that part of Town.”

  Corbyn gave him a knowing look. “What if she found a clue to Miss Hardy’s disappearance and left to investigate it?” he asked. “After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Miss Dowding has visited disreputable establishments.”

  “You have a point,” Baldwin admitted reluctantly. “But what could she have found that would have caused her to leave the orphanage, unescorted and without any word?”

  “I don’t know,” Corbyn replied with a shake of his head.

  Mrs. Foster interjected, “The constable searched Miss Hardy’s room, but didn’t find anything that would give a reason as to why Madalene disappeared.”

  “What of the people that work at the orphanage?” Oliver asked.

  “There are three teachers, a housekeeper, and a cook,” Mrs. Foster shared. “They did recently hire a man to do odd jobs around the orphanage, but he wasn’t assigned to work today.”

  “Was Miss Dowding in a disagreement with anyone?” Corbyn questioned.

  “No, everybody loves Miss Dowding,” Mrs. Foster asserted.

  Baldwin abruptly rose from his chair and walked over to the darkened window. They were missing something. He could feel it. And time was of the essence.

  Rising, Mrs. Foster said, “I am sorry for burdening you with this, my lord, but Miss Dowding seemed to believe that you have a knack for finding missing persons.”

  Baldwin turned back to face her. “You did the right thing coming to me. I will begin making inquiries immediately, and we will bring Miss Dowding back home.”

  Mrs. Foster bobbed her head, but he could see the fear in her eyes. She didn’t seem to believe his words.

  “May I escort you home?” Baldwin asked.

  “I thank you for the offer, but I would prefer it if your time was spent trying to find Miss Dowding,” Mrs. Foster said.

  Baldwin met her gaze and promised, “I won’t rest until we have found her.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Mrs. Foster said, turning to leave.

  After she left the room, Corbyn and Oliver turned their gaze towards him.

  “We need to start making inquiries from the other agents to see if anyone has heard from or seen Miss Dowding,” Baldwin ordered.

  Corbyn tipped his head. “I will see to that.”

  “Good,” Baldwin said, striding towards the door. “I will be searching for her, as well.”

  Oliver’s voice stopped him from exiting. “Where, exactly, are you going to start searching?”

  “I will start at the orphanage,” Baldwin shared, “and then I will search every blasted building in the rookeries if I have to.”

  Oliver frowned. “You are letting your emotions cloud your judgment,” he said. “Wandering around the rookeries is a good way for you to end up dead.”

  “Then what would you have me do?” Baldwin exclaimed. “Sit here and do nothing?”

  “No,” Oliver replied. “We need a plan.”

  “A plan?” Baldwin repeated back incredulously.

  Oliver nodded. “Yes, we need to carefully think this through.”

  “How about this for a plan?” Baldwin mocked. “We find Miss Dowding and bring her back home.”

  Corbyn approached him. “I agree with Oliver,” he said. “You are entirely too invested in this, and you need to take a step back.”

  “I will not!” Baldwin exclaimed, pointing at the door. “Miss Dowding is somewhere out there, alone and afraid, and I will not abandon her.”

  “We have agents in the field who can search for her, but we need you to prepare for tomorrow’s mission,” Corbyn asserted. “There are hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent lives at stake if you screw it up. You must think about them, as well.”

  Baldwin reared back. “Are you truly asking me to stay home and do nothing?”

  “No,” Corbyn replied, crossing his arms over his chest, “I am ordering you to stay home and prepare for tomorrow.”

  For a long moment, Baldwin stared at Corbyn, his mind reeling with all the horrible tragedies that could have befallen Miss Dowding. No. He wasn’t about to stand by and do nothing. In a collected voice, he said, “Then I quit.”

  Dropping his arms to his sides, Corbyn questioned, “You don’t truly mean that, do you?”

  “I do,” Baldwin declared. “If you are making me choose between Miss Dowding and being an agent, I have made my choice.”

  “What about tomorrow?” Oliver asked.

  Baldwin shifted his gaze towards his brother. “I know my duty,” he replied. “I will be at the Blue Boar per the plan, and I will stop the bomb from ever reaching its destination. You have my word.”

  Without waiting for their response, Baldwin turned and headed towards the entry hall. He hadn’t even reached the main door when his brother caught up to him, matching his stride.

  “Don’t even try to stop me,” Baldwin growled.

  Oliver glanced over at him. “I won’t,” he said. “I’m going with you.”

  “You are?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Aren’t you afraid Corbyn might dismiss you for coming along with me?”

  Oliver grinned. “It is a risk I am willing to take to ensure that my brother doesn’t get himself killed.”

  “I won’t get myself killed,” Baldwin grumbled.

  “Perhaps, but I don’t really want to be the next Marquess of Hawthorne,” Oliver joked. “So, I am going along just to make sure of that.”

  As they reached the main door, Baldwin placed his hand on the handle and said, “I do appreciate you accompanying me, Oliver.”

  “You would do the same thing for me,” Oliver replied.

  “I most assuredly would,” Baldwin stated as he opened the door wide. “Have no doubt about that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Madalene groaned. She felt as though she had been run over by a carriage. The entire left side of her head throbbed, and her whole body seemed to ache with every breath. As she moved to touch her forehead, she was reminded that her hands were bound together.

  “Good,” a familiar voice from above her said. “You are finally awake. I was worried that I might have killed you
with that blow.”

  With great reluctance, Madalene attempted to pry her eyes open and was met by the smiling face of Miss Gaillard.

  “The effects will wear off soon enough,” Miss Gaillard remarked as she turned back to tinkering at the table. “I removed your gag so we could talk before I depart.”

  Madalene sat up and rested her back against a crate. “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears.

  “I am going to blow up Fieldstone Square and, hopefully, everyone in it.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Why, indeed?” Miss Gaillard asked, glancing over at her. “Because I hate the British and everything you stand for.”

  Wincing in pain, Madalene remarked dryly, “At least you have a reason.”

  Miss Gaillard laughed. “You are funny, no?”

  “I’m not attempting to be.”

  “I could have killed you,” Miss Gaillard said, turning to face her. “It would have been rather easy, but I didn’t. And do you know why?”

  Madalene shook her head, and immediately regretted it.

  “Because I respect you, Mademoiselle Dowding,” Miss Gaillard said. “You have created an orphanage filled with love, and you impressed me with your dedication to the girls.”

  “Thank you.”

  A pained look came to Miss Gaillard’s eyes. “After my father died, I was sent to an orphanage, and I became just a number. Frankly, the headmistress didn’t care if I lived or died. We were always half-starved and cold.” Miss Gaillard shuddered. “We were always so cold during the winter months.”

  “I’m sorry you were forced to endure those terrible conditions,” Madalene said, compassion in her tone.

  “Don’t be,” Miss Gaillard replied. “That is why I ran away and lived on the streets of Paris with other like-minded individuals.”

  Not entirely sure what to say, Madalene decided to remain quiet.

  “I knew if I killed you, I would regret it later,” Miss Gaillard shared. “But I have no regrets about killing the headmistress.”

  Madalene’s eyes grew wide. “You killed Edith.”

  “Was that her first name?” Miss Gaillard asked with a shrug. “I would have thought her to be a Jane or Catherine.”