“She’s clever as well as beautiful. Bet this one will keep you on your toes.” The professor winked. “Come to think of it, she’s wasted on you. I don’t suppose you’d consider an academic sort of man, Miss Hadrian? Forget this bounder and marry me instead.”
His teasing made her laugh. “Sister, remember? Besides, I thought dons weren’t allowed to marry.”
Wiggins perched on his own chair behind the desk and chuckled. “Foster sister isn’t the same thing. And some women would be worth chucking it all for if I ever found one who would put up with me. Now, Thomas, answer the lady’s question. Why haven’t you come to me before?”
“Because until now, I didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one,” Tom said baldly. “You’re the most discreet man I’ve ever met—too discreet in this case. Why did you never tell me that others had been in the same situation?”
“For the same reason I never broke any of your confidences, young man. In many ways, the pupil-tutor relationship is not unlike that of a physician and patient, or barrister and client. A sacred trust, if you will. It wasn’t my place to bring up the situation when you never showed the least inclination to resolve it. Had you asked if there were others, I’d have told you there were, although I wouldn’t have given you names.”
“All your pupils?” Nell gripped the arms of her chair. Was this the link? “How many?”
“No, but most of them were from a small sampling of the college life. I suspect the young woman had some access to the records department. All the victims I’ve heard about, perhaps a dozen over the years, have been similar to you, at least overtly. All were wealthy and from good families, with reputations as well as money to lose. Whether or not it was a single young woman or a group, I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that I’ve heard of a similar situation a number of times since it happened to you, and probably three others were my pupils. Not all of them went so far as a wedding, but I know at least one did, despite my advice to the contrary. All of them did hand over generous sums. Archibald, Professor Cox, that is, mentioned a similar issue. He’s one of my counterparts at Oxford. We do keep in touch.”
Cox wasn’t the name they’d been given as the prince’s college advisor, so Nell mentioned that to Professor Wiggins, who widened his eyes. “I’ve met the man. I can’t say I’m surprised, but even among the faculty that one is close-lipped, which is one reason he’s assigned some of the highest in the land as his pupils. It does sound like the kind of scrape in which some of our most illustrious students might find themselves.”
That was likely as close to confirmation as they would get that the prince’s tutor had known. Nell gazed at the professor. “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us find this woman, or indeed, these women? A commonality? Something that we can use to find her, find the records, do anything to prove what she’s been doing all these years?”
“Nell,” Tom whispered sharply, “easy.”
“Let her speak, lad, she makes more sense than you ever did.” Wiggins waved a hand at Tom and beamed at Nell. “Excellent questions, young lady. As a matter of fact, I may have some information that could help.” He rifled through a card file and came up with a notecard, which he handed her. “Here are the names that were used, the pubs where the so-called bride was working and the churches where any weddings took place, at least as many as I’ve been able to compile, here and in Oxford. I’ve also noted the sum the woman was paid, at least when I’ve had access to that information.”
Nell glanced at the card, where a neat table displayed the information. There were also dates, starting with the year Tom had been married. Sure enough, next to that date were the initials T. D. “And the initials in the next column? I assume those indicate the student involved.”
“Correct.” Wiggins frowned. “I’d ask that you do not pursue that angle, at least not at first. If you give me a few hours, I can probably contact some of the young men and ask them if they mind me giving you their names, especially as a favor for the royal family.”
“Please do.” Tom’s voice was quiet and deferential. “But please don’t mention His Highness. With his new marriage, we don’t want word of his youthful indiscretions to spread. Did none of these men try to find her? To have their marriages deemed invalid?”
Wiggins shrugged so elegantly it was barely a motion. “A few made slight efforts. In one case at least about five years ago, the boy’s father had it annulled based on desertion. I’m not sure about the others.”
“When you speak to them, can you get a description of the woman? I’m particularly curious to see if she’s a decade older now. That will give us a clue as to whether it’s one, or a conspiracy.” Nell handed the card to Tom and held out a hand to Wiggins. “Thank you so much, Professor.”
“Not at all, dear lady.” He squeezed her hand and tipped his head over it. “Delighted to be of assistance.” He darted a glare at Tom. “I’d have been so some time earlier, if this one had bothered to ask.”
“I didn’t know there were others,” Tom repeated, a pink flush brightening his tanned face. “I was so wrapped up in my own misery, it didn’t occur to me that Polly might have been part of a larger scheme.”
“Always look beyond your own nose. Always look for the grand scheme. That’s a cornerstone for science, philosophy and so much more.” Wiggins scratched his chin and gave Nell a conspiratorial grin. “You try to teach these young men, Miss Hadrian, but they do resist.”
She couldn’t resist smiling in return. “My mother says the same. And while my pupils are younger, I see it as well. I’m sure you do the best you can, Professor.”
“A teacher? How lovely—” Wiggins began.
“Not now.” Tom stood and slapped the notecard against his palm. “In case we didn’t mention it before, at this time, we have a bigger problem than my own marital uncertainty. At the least, we’re searching for a kidnapper and killer, and at the worst, a threat to the entire kingdom. We need to go. Professor, if you could contact the others and see if any are willing to talk to me, I can compare them against the list of marriage lines our sister found in the Babbage engine files. First though, I think I’ll go show her likeness to the publicans on your list.” He swallowed hard and flushed, as if realizing he may have said too much.
Nell stood and allowed the professor to linger a bit as he shook her hand in farewell. His exaggerated flirting had lifted her spirits despite the urgency of their mission. “Thank you so much, Professor Wiggins. I hope we meet again.”
“Delighted, my dear. I do hope so.” He gave Tom a brief handshake. “I do understand the nature of your work, Sir Thomas. I always have. I’ve a distant connection to the Order myself, which is why most of you, including yourself and Sir Connor, are assigned to me when you matriculate here. Do let me know if I can be of further assistance. I’ll start telephoning immediately, of course.”
“Thank you.” Tom clasped the man’s hand. “Why did you never tell us that you knew?”
Wiggins smiled. “I never needed to.” He gestured to the door. “Now be off with you while I make these telephone calls. Good hunting and be safe, children.” He sat back at his desk and didn’t look up as they left.
“Well, that was interesting,” Nell said on the way back to the car.
Tom grunted. “I guess. I suppose you’re going to insist on coming with me to interview publicans?”
“Of course.” She linked her arm through his. “You obviously can’t be trusted in a pub on your own.”
Chapter Eight
This wouldn’t be Tom’s first pub crawl through Oxford, but it was going to be the least pleasant. For one thing, back when he was a student, he’d been a young man out drinking with his mates. Now he was a grown man on a mission. For another, back in those days, Nell had been ever-present in his heart, but nowhere near him physically. Now she stood beside him, her stiff carriage and brittle smile letting him know how hurt she was by his actions.
What an idiot he’d been.
&n
bsp; What a cad he was, to involve her in his dirty laundry despite the grief it must be causing her.
He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her, if he only had the chance.
What would he do if he wasn’t married to Polly? If there was public proof that the marriage had never happened. Yes, he’d take responsibility for the child, whether the boy was Tom’s or not—if there even was one, and if he was alive. Tom rubbed his chest where it burned at the thought of Nell’s Charlie being one of the bodies in that pit. He’d seen the young man’s photograph as part of a larger group at the school and had no idea whether or not the boy was his son. It didn’t seem right. Shouldn’t he know? Shouldn’t a father have instincts about these things? Especially with his type of magick?
Tom had no idea, a situation becoming all too common in the past two days. His mind kept turning over the “what ifs.” If he didn’t have a child, if his marriage did turn out to be completely bogus, that would mean he was free to marry Nell. If she’d have him. Earlier, she’d indicated that she was done waiting. She loved him. She’d never tried to hide that, but she’d had time to come to terms with her disappointment and she’d made a life for herself without him. He had betrayed her trust in ways he didn’t know if she could ever forgive. He’d sure as hell never be able to forgive himself.
So much depended on how these next few hours played out. Tom’s stomach burned and acid filled his mouth. He’d never had a case that made him physically ill before, but he hadn’t slept in the past two days and he was barely able to eat. Hardest of all was trying to maintain his composure in front of Nell. A big part of him wanted to lay his head in her lap, beg her forgiveness and weep. He was a disgrace to the Order and to the men who had raised him.
“May I see the photo again?” Nell paused as he moved to hand her into the vehicle. “I want to see if she resembles Charlie.”
Tom handed her a small portfolio from the rear seat of the car before closing her door and coming around. “All the information we have is in there.” He handed her the card from Professor Wiggins to be added to the file. “I thought we’d start with the pub where I met Polly, and proceed to the others on the list.”
“That sounds perfectly rational.” Nell’s gloved fingertips flipped through pages of information as Tom started the car. He couldn’t see her well through the corner of his eye while driving, but he did get a glimpse of the picture of Polly when Nell lifted it to the top of the stack and laid it on her lap. “She’s lovely, or she was, anyway. How old was she when you met?”
“Eighteen, or so she said.” That seemed so young now. “One year my junior.” And two years older than Nell. “She seemed older, though. She was certainly…knowledgeable about the ways of the world.” In truth, she’d led Tom about like a bull with a nose ring.
“Was she your first?” Did he imagine a tremor in her voice?
“No.” He hadn’t thought he could get more miserable, but she was proving him wrong. He swallowed hard, determined to hold nothing back. “Back in Wapping, there were any number of barmaids willing to educate a young cardsharp, and I was far from being a saint. Once we moved to Hadrian House, though, there was a long gap. Papa made it clear right off that the housemaids were not to be touched, even if they were the aggressors. I suppose by the time I came to Oxford, I was thinking as much with my…lower regions as with the proper brain. I told myself one of us needed some experience. None of those things was entirely true, though. They were all just excuses for giving in to temptation because I was a randy young idiot. It’s not something I’m proud of.” He was, however, rather proud of the fact that he’d kept his voice from shaking. Talking about sex with Nell, even the wrong sort of sex, meaning sex with anyone other than Nell, was having an uncomfortable effect on those same lower regions.
“I understand about the girls in Wapping,” Nell said. She gazed at the portrait of Polly. “The rest…well, I suppose it was simply that we were never meant to be. I’m sorry for that, but better to know before we married than after.”
He wanted to protest but wasn’t sure he could. Not until they were sure about all the ramifications of his idiocy. He settled for abject apology. “You do know how sorry I am to have hurt you?”
She looked over and gave him a heartrendingly sad smile. “I know. I’ve forgiven you, Tom. It wasn’t easy, but I did. We’ll always be family. I won’t go through the rest of my life hating you for breaking my heart. All that would serve is to destroy myself, and any future happiness I might find. I deserve better than that, just as you deserve better than to live a life filled with regret. Move on, dearest. It’s time. We both have our lives ahead of us, and we both deserve to make the best of them. Simply not together. I’ve come to terms with that and I think perhaps you should too.”
There was absolutely nothing he could add to that, so he focused on the road. Only a few minutes later, he pulled into the lane beside a large, boisterous pub, or at least it had been a rollicking place a decade earlier. “Very well. Are you sure you want to come in?” While women weren’t forbidden in public houses, most ladies considered them a bit depraved for an afternoon call.
“We’re looking for Charlie.” Her voice cracked. “Or at least to find out what became of him. He may or may not be your son, but he is my pupil and I care for him. I’m not backing down now.” She unlocked the door of the car and let herself out before he could come around to assist her.
Well now, she was in a snit. Of all of them, Nell was the one who never forgot her manners.
Once inside the pub, Tom’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness. The place was full, just as it had been, but the clientele was older and quieter. There seemed to be more workingmen and far fewer university boys than he remembered. They stepped up to the bar and Tom studied the publican. It was the same man, though a decade older and more tired than he had been. “What’ll it be?” The man’s speech slurred slightly, something else Tom didn’t remember.
“Mr. Watterson, I doubt you remember me, but I’m here to ask about a barmaid who worked here almost a decade ago. Her name was Polly.”
Watterson grunted. “Barmaids come and go. Can’t remember the one from last year, let alone years ago.”
Tom held up the drawing. “At least look at her picture. Does she bring back any memories at all?”
Watterson narrowed his rheumy eyes and squinted at the drawing. “Polly, you said? Aye, I remember her. Had to let her go. Got herself in a family way.”
Tom let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That would have been her. Do you recall anything else? Where she was from? Were her parents living?”
“No idea.” Watterson squinted again. “Well, maybe her dad came round. Or her fancy-man. Can’t recall.”
“Do you remember when you fired her?” Nell’s soft voice didn’t require compulsion to encourage the man to talk.
Watterson shook his head. “No, milady. Don’t keep my ledgers that long. Think she came to me from the Boar and Bull, though. Bartlett’s the sort to keep papers.”
The Boar and Bull was one of the names on their list. Tom held out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Watterson.” He shook the snarled hand and slipped a ten-pound note onto the bar with his other. “Best of luck to you, sir.”
The barman snorted. “Best of luck. Those days have passed, son. But thank ye, just the same.” He pocketed the note with an unexpected agility and waved as they wove their way back to the door.
“And on to the next,” Nell said. “Back to the car?”
“No,” Tom replied. “From here we’re on foot for a bit. The next few pubs are all in the area.”
Nell sighed. “Well, it’s a good thing I wore walking boots.” She lifted her hem over a puddle, hopefully of beer, as they stepped out into the sunlight.
They had no better luck at the Crossed Daggers, the White Hart or the Red Lion. Fourth on the street was the Boar and Bull. Tom mentally crossed his fingers as they went inside.
Nell marched stra
ight up to the bar. “Do you sell tea?”
The barman was burly, bald and wrinkled with age. He stalked over and bore down on her. Tom moved to intervene, but paused when the man looked at her and said, “Yes, ma’am. Would you like to take that in the ladies’ parlor?”
“N—” Tom began, but Nell ignored him.
She beamed up at the man. “I should like that. Will you join me please, Mr. Bartlett? I have something I need to ask you about.”
“Aye, miss.” The barman looked over his shoulder at one of the maids. “Lizzie, a pot o’Darjeeling in the ladies’, please.” He came around the bar and took Nell by the elbow. “Right this way, ma’am.”
“Excellent. Come along, Tom.”
He could do little more than follow like a chastened pup. She’d been entirely silent in the last three pubs. What had happened to change her mind?
Bartlett seated Nell, but looked at Tom, quirking a bushy gray eyebrow.
Nell calmly tucked her breathing apparatus into the brim of her hat and gestured for Tom to remove his. “Mr. Bartlett, this is my foster brother, Sir Thomas Devere. My name is Miss Hadrian. Do sit, both of you. This is a matter of some urgency.”
The men shared a look of complete confusion, and both, lacking the manners or will to argue, sat. The maid bustled in with the tea, and Nell poured three cups before she spoke again. “Mr. Bartlett, do you remember a girl who used to work for you by the name of Pauline Berry?” Clearly she’d checked the variation of names as listed by Professor Wiggins. She gestured for Tom to get out the image, which he did.
“Aye. Poll, we called her. Worked for me a couple of times. Decent barmaid, got the chaps to drink up their fair share, but couldn’t be bothered to wipe up or do any other chores. Then one night, poof, she’s gone. Never heard from her again.” Bartlett scratched his shiny scalp. “Last time must’ve been five years ago. Didn’t even ask for a reference, not that time. She’s not working in Cambridge right now. Word got out she was earning a bit on the side.”
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