by Robyn DeHart
“You also want to put your hair up,” Amelia said. “No young boy I know has flaming curls the likes of yours. You can hide it beneath a hat of some sort.”
Meg’s hand went to her hair. “Yes, good reminder. Will you help me?” She directed her question to Willow. “Ask Edmond to send an invitation to Mr. Munden? Then you can send me a note to let me know the date he’s settled on, and I’ll make my plans accordingly.” Meg eyed her friend and watched the myriad of emotions cross her face. Helping her do this went against Willow’s strict code of propriety and rule following, but she was also a loyal friend, and saying no would be difficult.
Willow’s lips went thin, then she gave a brief nod. “I will ask Edmond to send a message to Mr. Munden.”
Meg popped out of her seat and raced to embrace Willow.
“If he receives an acknowledgment,” Willow continued. “I’ll notify you. You will need to go in and out quickly, Meg. And don’t speak to anyone. If he catches you, there is no telling what he might do to you. You must take extreme caution.”
“Yes, of course.” The more Willow talked, the more Meg’s nerves raged inside her. But the stakes had risen. Not only was Gareth’s innocence at stake, but if Munden was the thief, Meg needed to find out so they could dismiss him from his position.
Her father would never question her ability if she succeeded in this.
“I promise I will take great care. I will stop by later to find some clothes,” she said to Charlotte.
Meg looked around at each of her friends and felt nothing but gratitude. People went a lifetime without making one genuine friend, and here she was blessed with four.
She needed to speak with Gareth. Give him this information and see what he suggested they do. She stood. “Thank you, Willow. Thank you to each of you. And Edmond too. I should be going. Mr. Mandeville will find this information all too interesting. See you at the next meeting.”
Meg paced her father’s office, impatiently waiting until she and Gareth could speak privately. Surely this information about Mr. Munden meant he was the true thief. It all made sense. If he wanted to continue working at and stealing from Piddington’s, he had to blame the theft of the boxes on someone else. Gareth was a convenient choice since he was the newest employee and, for the most part, kept to himself.
She stood at the windows overlooking the factory floor and watched the men filter out the front door. She’d been waiting for nearly three hours to speak with Gareth, and the moment would be here quickly now. On her way into the factory, she’s stopped by his machine to tell him she needed to see him at the close of the day. He’d looked rather irritated by the whole scene.
Meg stepped back to the desk, then walked over to the bookshelf. She ran her hand across one shelf of books. Some of her mother’s favorite volumes, worn-out, well-loved leather-bound books. Kept here in her father’s office because ordinarily he spent so much time here. And he always needed a piece of her nearby. At home in his bedchamber, he had a handful of other editions.
She picked up the framed photograph that sat on the shelf next to the books. The image in her palm did not do her mother justice. Without color in the picture, the vibrancy of her rich auburn hair wasn’t accurately portrayed, nor was the softness of her skin. But if Meg closed her eyes, she could almost remember the sound of her voice, almost recollect the joy in her laugh. A wave of longing washed over her.
“Oh, Mama,” she said softly.
A knock at the door startled her.
Meg jerked her hand away from the photograph as if caught doing mischief, then she chided herself. No, sentimentality was not mischievous. Nor was it the proper business countenance she wished to convey.
She allowed her hand to drop to her side, straightened her shoulders, and turned her back on the photograph.
“Come in,” she said.
A few seconds later Mr. Munden stepped into the office. Her stomach flipped over. “Mr. Munden, I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.
“I saw you up here and wanted to come ask about your father. How’s he doing?”
What did he care how her father was doing? He was stealing from the man. She set her chin and met his eyes. If he was going to be dishonest, then she’d force him to do it to her face. “He’s well, recovering quite rightly, I do believe,” she said.
He nodded. “That’s good.” He glanced over to the windows, then slid his hands into his pockets. “When are you expecting he’ll return to work?”
“Shouldn’t be too much longer.” She actually didn’t know that for certain, but perhaps his pending return would spur Munden to confess.
“That was a nasty fall he took,” Munden said. She thought she detected a slight glimmer in his eyes.
Meg frowned. Nasty fall, indeed. Oh, gracious, was it possible that Munden had caused her father’s accident to get him out of the way at the factory? Without her father’s watchful eye and daily management, Munden’s duties had increased, as had his freedom. “Yes, it was a nasty fall.”
Munden nodded. “Give him my best. I’ll be off now,” he said, then turned and left the office.
Meg watched him leave and clenched her fists at her side, then caught herself. She was not a violent person, and even if she were, what could she do to him? He was more than twice her size. She ordinarily didn’t mind the fact that she was so small, but only a moment before it had seemed a serious hindrance.
Granted, even if she were as tall as Charlotte, she probably could not do much to defend herself against the bulky Mr. Munden.
“What the hell did he want?” Gareth said from the door.
She hadn’t even heard him open it.
Gareth must have read the momentary confusion on her face because he continued without giving her a chance to respond. “Munden?” he repeated. “What did he want?”
She shook her head. “He was asking about my father. He wanted to know when he was coming back to work.”
Gareth nodded. “What was it you wanted to discuss with me?”
Seeing Munden had rattled her, and she’d nearly forgotten what she needed to tell Gareth. Nearly forgotten that they had the first clue in the case.
“I’ve discovered a bit of information. Helpful information,” she added, then sat behind the desk.
He followed suit and sat across from her. “And?” he asked.
“It appears that our Mr. Munden made a hefty purchase recently. One he could not afford with his salary.”
“What sort of purchase?”
“A racing horse.”
Gareth released a low whistle. “I’ve never been in the position to investigate the price on such a creature, but I suspect you’re right and they’re not cheap. How did you find this out?”
“Willow’s brother. Apparently he saw Munden at a gaming hell and the man was bragging about it.”
“So you have no other proof than the man’s own boasts?” Gareth asked.
Meg frowned. “No, I suppose not. Edmond, he’s Willow’s brother, is a fine fellow, very honest, you see, and he would never make up something of this sort.”
“I didn’t mean him. I meant Munden. He seems precisely the sort to invent such things to make himself appear more important than he actually is.” Gareth rubbed his one forearm and then the other. No doubt working those machines all day made his arms ache.
She didn’t miss that his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing well-formed arms smattered with dark hair. “You certainly have a point there. But it seems to make sense. He steals the boxes, sells them and pockets the cash for a later purchase, then blames you for his crime to deflect suspicion from himself.”
His eyebrows raised. “You’ve certainly figured all of this out, haven’t you?”
She shrugged. “With the help of the society.”
Gareth leaned back in the chair, arms rested behind his head. “Do you believe those boxes are worth that much?”
“I asked the same question.” She relayed the potential plan of selling the co
ncept to another factory.
“That would make him a thief and a traitor,” Gareth said. “Weighty accusations, Miss Piddington, with no actual proof.”
She pursed her lips. “Did I mention, I also suspect him of causing my poor father’s accident? Removing my father from this office for a few months would certainly give him the freedom to do his debauchery.”
“Debauchery?” He smiled, and she caught herself staring at his mouth. “You do have quite the imagination. I hate to present the obvious, but you’ve criticized Munden for making accusations about me without proof. Now you’re doing the same with him. You need evidence for your suspicions,” he said.
He was right, but it was different somehow. Different because she liked Gareth. More than she had any right to. But despite that, she knew they needed proof about Munden regardless of how she already knew and believed him to be guilty.
“We’ve already thought of that too and have the perfect plan,” she said.
He steepled his fingers under his chin. “I’m intrigued.”
“I will sneak into Munden’s residence and look around. Find paperwork or something from the purchase of the racing horse or perhaps confirmation of him stealing those boxes. Once we have that verification, we can confront him and your name will be cleared.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said. When she didn’t deny it, he came to his feet. “No, it’s too risky, not to mention illegal.” He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Meg.”
“But if it will clear your name, isn’t it worth it?”
A deep frown creased his brow. “Not if you get caught or hurt in the process,” he said. “I can’t allow that.”
Oh, so he was concerned with her safety, and that meant he cared for her. Her insides warmed. At least a fraction.
“I will wear a disguise to protect myself.”
He stood and walked the short length of the carpet. “You don’t know how to break and enter,” he argued, then he hesitated, his expression changed as if he was almost afraid to say more. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t know how, but how difficult could it possibly be?”
He stopped pacing and looked at her. “You really are serious about this,” he said. He rubbed his forehead.
“Indeed.”
“I’m going with you,” he said firmly.
Her heart—not to mention her pulse—leaped at his words. To hide her sudden anticipation, she insisted, “I will be safe. I don’t need you coming along to act as a nursemaid.” Although she was secretly hoping he would come with her.
“You can’t argue with me about this. If you’re insistent on this, I’m going with you. You’re not getting yourself killed on my account. I don’t have time to feel guilty about that.”
She felt her excitement wane a little. Here she had just accepted that he was concerned for her well-being. Began to believe he actually cared about her, if only a tiny bit. But his concern wasn’t built on warm feelings toward her, but rather a desire to not feel guilty. He didn’t want to feel responsible should anything happen to her while she flitted around the city on his behalf.
He released a puff of air. “What about Munden?”
“Already taken care of.” She gave him a sweet smile.
“Proud of yourself?” he asked.
“Quite.”
“Very well, explain how you will get him out of the house.”
“Edmond will send an invitation for another game. Munden apparently enjoys a good game and shouldn’t be able to resist a personal invitation. Especially from the son of a viscount.”
She thought she detected a slight flinch, but it was gone before she could be certain.
“It is settled then,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. Her stomach was rolling with excitement. This must be how Amelia felt as she and Colin chased after the man who had stolen her father’s prized antiquity. Nervous and scared, but exhilarated all at the same time.
She didn’t want to consider how her excitement had increased now that Gareth was going to accompany her.
“Do you know where he lives?” he asked.
She picked up the file from the top of her father’s desk. “I looked it up. He’s not too far from here, but we’ll have to go into the city. I’ll send you a message when I have everything set,” she added.
“No, it might be intercepted, and that’s too risky. Come and retrieve me,” he said. “You have better access to carriages, and then we’ll ride into London and get this over with.”
A tremor of excitement shot down her spine. This was going to be a real adventure. But she couldn’t help noticing that Gareth seemed to have an uncanny insight into how to proceed with their plan.
“Have you done this sort of thing before?” she asked.
He met her gaze and nodded. “Once before.”
She felt her eyes widen. “To steal something?”
“Yes.”
“Did it work?”
He chuckled. “No, I got caught.”
Brilliant.
Meg eyed Charlotte as she dug in the trunk. “Sorry, I do believe everything will be dreadfully wrinkled. Dear Anthony is growing so quickly that his clothes are often tossed in trunks and stored. Stored for what? I haven’t any idea. It is not as if my parents will have any additional children.” She stood abruptly and turned to face Meg. “How very odd that would be. Considering I am old enough to have my own children now.” She went back to digging. “I’ve found a shirt. I’m looking for some trousers now,” she said. Her voice echoed a bit from being so close to the inside of the large trunk.
Meg smiled. “I appreciate this.”
“Well, this whole scheme was my idea. I must say, I’m thrilled that Mr. Mandeville is going with you. I feel much safer knowing he will be at your side. Here we are,” she said, then stood and turned, clothes in hand. “I believe these should fit nicely.” She shook them out before handing them over.
“Should I try them on, to make certain, in case we need to look for alternatives?” Meg asked.
“Good idea.” Charlotte watched her a moment, then added. “Go on then. Try them on.”
“In here?”
Charlotte looked around. “No one is in here. And Mama and Frannie are off this afternoon having tea with one of Frannie’s friends.”
“Give me a hand, then.” She presented her back to Charlotte so that her friend might assist her with the buttons on her dress. Quite a different situation from the night that Gareth unbuttoned her. An occasion she’d replayed in her mind several times since that night. She could close her eyes now and remember the thrill of excitement that had trailed through her body as he’d unbuttoned her dress. Good heavens, if she wasn’t careful with her thoughts, Charlotte would wonder where all the blushing came from.
“How is Mr. Mandeville?” Charlotte asked as if she could hear Meg’s thoughts.
“Doing well, I suppose. We finished the boxes. I think they came out rather nice. Considering neither of us had ever done that sort of work before.”
“There we go.” Charlotte helped Meg pull the dress over her head. “Now then, I do believe you’ll have to take your shift off, as that won’t work with the trousers. Oh, and your petticoat, obviously.”
Meg removed the petticoat and then slipped out of her drawers. Now she stood there in nothing more than her shift. There wasn’t a good way she could bunch this up beneath the trousers, so she tossed it on the floor as well. Quickly she pulled the trousers on, then the shirt. After fastening everything, she faced Charlotte.
“Well? How do I look?” she asked.
“That will never work. You can see your breasts through the shirt. We should bind them.” Charlotte went back over to the trunk and pulled out an old nightshirt and ripped a piece of fabric from the bottom hem. “This should do it. Wrap this around you.”
“Are you quite serious?” Meg asked.
“Of course I am. You don’t want anyone walking about to notice that you have breasts while yo
u’re wearing that getup, do you?”
“My breasts are not large enough to notice.”
“Trust me, I can see them clearly. It will be worse that night because of the chilly night air.”
Meg felt herself blush. “Honestly, Charlotte.” Meg snatched the fabric from her friend and wrapped it around her chest, then tucked the end under her arm.
“What? It happens to all women, I imagine,” she said with a smile.
“You’re terrible. Completely incorrigible.” She held her arms open. “Better?”
Charlotte tried to hide a smile, but ended up roaring with laughter.
“What? Is it that bad?” Meg looked down to see as much of herself as she could manage without a mirror.
“It’s not the clothes. It’s the hair. You need to put your hair somewhere.”
“Amelia suggested a hat,” Meg said.
Charlotte poked around a bit in the room and came up with a tweed cap. “Try this.”
Meg wound her hair up and held it to the top of her head while she maneuvered the cap with the other hand. Eventually she was able to get it secured on her head and then went about poking stray hairs into the sides. “How’s this? It’s not perfect, but I’ll secure it with pins when we go that night. But for now?”
“For now it creates a clear picture.”
“Do I look like a boy?”
Charlotte tilted her head a few times. “If it were dark and I didn’t know any better, I probably would assume you were a boy. Oh, we forgot one thing.”
“What?”
“Shoes.”
“That would have been interesting. I can see it now. Me hiding in the London’s dark alleyways with my trousers, hat, and pink satin slippers.” She giggled.
Charlotte held up a pair of shoes. “These will probably be too big, but you can always stuff them with some paper or something.”
Meg took them. “I guess I’m all set then.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little. But I’m more excited than anything. I thought Amelia would be the only one of us that would ever do some authentic investigation. I wish you could go with me,” Meg said.
“I don’t believe I would ever pass for a boy. I am far too tall.”