by Nicole Byrd
“That you can be sure of,” Clarissa told her. “She didn’t give you any indication where she was staying in London, did she? She’s no longer matron at the home, you know.”
Becky looked, for the first time defiant, even if only in retrospect. “She wouldn’t ’ave told me.”
“Oh,” Clarissa said in disappointment.
“But I ’eard her give the ’ackney an address when she left,” the maid added.
“Becky!”
“It were Brown’s ’otel in Cheapside,” the girl said.
Clarissa gave her an impulsive hug. “Oh, that’s wonderful, that will be a big help—at least, I hope it will. Thank you, Becky. Are you happy here?”
“Oh, yes, the ’ousekeeper is a pleasant woman, and the mistress so much kinder than Miz Craigmore,” Becky explained earnestly. “And the other maids are good to me, too.”
“Still, if you ever need help, this is where I’m living now.” She told the servant the address of the Fallon house. “My brother was not lost at sea, as the matron told me. He came home and found me, you see.”
“Blimey!” Becky looked at her in awe.
After more reassurances from Clarissa, the maid went back downstairs, and Clarissa herself hurried back to the drawing room. The visitors again took their leave.
“Out with it,” the earl said when they were hardly off the doorstep. “While we were making boring conversation—good lord, that woman can talk your ear off!—I can tell that you have learned something much more to the point than how to best roast a peacock, which poor Lady Gemma and I were instructed about in excruciating detail.”
Clarissa told them all in a rush.
“Oh, heavens, it is true, then,” Gemma said. “How clever the two of you were to suspect such a plot!”
“Clar—Miss Fallon should get the credit,” the earl said, just as Clarissa was shaking her head.
“Oh no, I would not have thought of it except for your lists of criminals, compiled with the runner’s help.”
Exultant over the clue she had uncovered, Clarissa agreed with the other two that their last visit should be as short as possible. And in fact, when they broached the question of speaking to the female staff about proper conduct, instead of looking startled or insulted, the lady of the house threw back her head and laughed.
“All of my maidservants are over forty, so I suspect their courting days are behind them. But by all means, if you wish.”
And Clarissa found no familiar faces in the staff, so she kept her homily brief.
Later, in the carriage, they discussed it all.
“And yet, did you note that the robbery here was very much the same?” the earl pointed out. “Fast and efficient. No one woke until the gang was out of the house. Does that disprove our theory, that Mrs. Craigmore helped scout out the houses through her contacts among former foundling home girls now gone into service? If there is no such maid here, how did she know any details about this household? I asked Mrs. Barton specifically if anyone answering to the matron’s description had called at the house, and she said she was sure she had not.”
“She has two daughters who are out,” Gemma noted. “One is in her first Season. They could have gossiped, you know, and another servant overheard it.”
“But in so much detail? Surely, they would not gossip about where they keep the good silver?” Clarissa suggested.
Gemma sighed. “No, you are right. I don’t know.”
The earl shook his head. “I shall have to check out this hotel. Perhaps tonight—”
“No, tomorrow,” Clarissa interrupted. “I mean, if you please. I wish to go with you!”
They both stared at her. “No, indeed—” Gemma began.
Lord Whitby’s tone was gruffer. “I will not risk your safety or your reputation.”
But Clarissa refused to give in. “I might be needed. You would not know the name of the hotel if I had not come along today! And remember, Mrs. Craigmore was posing as a middle-class matron, so the hotel is likely quite respectable.”
“But I am promised to go with Lady Gabriel tomorrow,” Gemma said. “I shall see if I can bow out, but—”
Clarissa threw her a beseeching look.
Gemma sighed. “Oh, very well, I have taken some rash steps myself when it seemed important. And I know Lord Whitby will look out for you. Just get her back before dark, I beg of you, and Clarissa, do not tell your brother!”
Clarissa hugged her sister-in-law and threw one quick glance toward the earl. Behind his usual impassive expression, which no longer seemed so enigmatic, he didn’t seem angry that she had insisted on coming along. And it was her clue, she had found it! Should she not be there to help unravel it? Besides, it was her neck they could very well put the noose around if the real killer were not unmasked!
Ten
Dominic arrived at the Fallon home the next morning at the appointed time. He had some misgivings about taking Miss Fallon along, but she had a point. She had been quite helpful yesterday, and who knew what they might find today?
If she could just keep her mouth closed—and refrain from swearing—and in other ways not draw attention to herself, no one would likely remark too much upon her presence. And if he, lately, found his days more invigorating when he was in her company, well, she was a singular creature, and quite amazingly lovely.
Besides, desperate times called for desperate measures. God knew, their errand was urgent enough. Miss Fallon was still caught in a most perilous situation, and it must be resolved, especially as he suspected it worried her more than she allowed it to show.
When he stepped out of his chaise and was shown into the house, he was surprised to find Miss Fallon pacing up and down in the front hall, instead of waiting decorously upstairs in the drawing room.
He was also surprised at her appearance. She wore a drab gown and a downright shabby shawl, and her bonnet was plain. And she had a crumpled garment draped over her arm.
She motioned to him. “At last!”
He started to point out that he was just on time, but she didn’t pause to listen.
“We must go quickly. I sent Miss Pomshack up to her rooms on an errand, but we must hurry before she returns and tries to stop me. The butler will inform her that I have gone to do more good works.”
Dominic couldn’t help glancing at the manservant. His expression was impassive, but only, one suspected, with enormous effort.
“And Gemma has asked me to bring along Matty,” Miss Fallon continued. “You don’t mind, do you? She is quite discreet.”
He saw that the girl, dressed today not in her maid’s kit but in modest off-duty apparel, stood nearby.
“No, it is an excellent notion to bring your lady’s maid, but—”
However, Miss Fallon was already hurrying outside. The butler watched them go, and the footman, who appeared mystified at all the strange goings-on, held open the door. Matty hurried after her.
But outside, the surprising Miss Fallon paused again. “We shall have to hail a hackney, my lord.”
“There is a problem with my chaise?” Dominic stared at her.
Raising her brows, she met his glance. “Your carriage screams wealth and privilege, my lord, even if you did not have your crest emblazed upon the door! And, oh, leave your coat inside it.”
He bit back a retort. It was undignified to argue with her in front of the house. A small movement of the curtains at a front window made him fear the footman or another servant was watching, and what if Miss Pomshack returned? The thought of facing down that lady’s moral righteousness gave even him a qualm. He did as he was told, sliding out of his well-cut coat with the help of his servant, then, feeling ridiculous without his jacket, he sent his groom to hail a hackney.
“Just take the chaise home and wait for instructions,” he told his coachman grimly.
“Yes, milord,” the man murmured, looking bewildered, but not half so confounded as Dominic himself.
Once a hackney had been procured, Domi
nic handed the ladies into the hired vehicle. Then he joined them and turned to demand further explanation. But before he could ask, he found that Miss Fallon was looking him up and down, and her gaze was critical.
“I’m sorry about your coat, but you are dressed too richly.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dominic raised his brows. He frequented the best tailor in London, and no one had ever complained about his appearance before. And he certainly did not go in for dandyisms or vulgar displays of wealth. He wore no gold fobs or flashy diamond jewelry, just a simple signet ring on one hand that had been his father’s. “My coat did not please you?”
“Now, don’t get in a huff,” she begged. “It is a most handsome coat.”
He wasn’t sure he had ever engaged in such a ridiculous dialogue. But why should anything about Miss Fallon surprise him?
“I only mean, it says too much about your rank and your wealth, my lord, just as your carriage did. But I think we can disguise you sufficiently. Here you are, I brought this for you to wear.”
She handed over the most ill-cut, rumpled coat that Dominic had ever laid eyes on. He touched it with reluctance. It was made of coarse cheap linen, and he would swear that one of the seams was already fraying.
“I borrowed it from the footman. He’s about your size, although his shoulders are narrower, so it may be a bit tight. I didn’t dare ask him for trousers—” She paused abruptly.
He was gratified to see that even the unexpected Miss Fallon had her limits; she had turned pink.
“You expect me to wear this?” He could not keep his voice from rising. A preposterous idea, they were not going to a costume ball!
Sitting quietly in the corner of the carriage, Matty shivered at his tone. But Miss Fallon regarded him steadily, her expression earnest.
“I thought about this a good deal last night, my lord. There are times when one can impress those who are poorer and of lower social class and obtain the desired results, but there are also times when such a show will only intimidate them. I observed a servant in the first house yesterday who I suspect knew something about the foundling home and the criminal gang we are seeking—I thought of returning myself to confront her—but I doubt it would serve. It was useless to press her at the time. She would never have confided in a lady, and a stranger, to boot.”
“I see,” he muttered.
“The only reason I obtained any information from Becky, at the second house, was that she remembered me from the home, remembered me as an equal. Gemma tells me that today we are going into a less prosperous part of London. I think we have a better chance of learning more if we look, well, less overpowering.”
She really expected him to wear this, this garment. Dominic drew a deep breath. He wanted to wither her with a glance, but he had not the heart. And anyhow, it did make a contorted sort of sense.
With great reluctance, he drew on the offending piece of apparel. It was indeed tight through the shoulders, and also through the upper arms and chest—the footman must be a hollow-chested fellow, he thought. Dominic could not quite button it, so it would have to hang open, creating an even more disreputable appearance. He tried not to think what he looked like.
He told himself he had certainly looked worse many a time on the battlefield in a ripped and bloodstained uniform, but he felt, well, undressed, as if he had wandered out of the house in his nightshirt. Thank heavens he would likely see no one he knew, and he was equally grateful his own valet could not see him. He looked up—if she were laughing . . .
“That’s better.” Miss Fallon nodded in approval. “Of course, the boots are a dead giveaway, but the footman had no extra shoes, and they would likely not have fit, anyhow. Perhaps you can scuff them up a bit and get them dirty, so they will be less conspicuous.”
“Scuff my boots?” Dominic stared at her. “My valet is going to resign.” As soon as he said it, he remembered that her safety—her life—was at stake, and he pressed his lips together for an instant, angry at himself. “Very well.”
She seemed satisfied. “What do you think we will find at this hotel, my lord?”
He wished she would call him Dominic, and that impulsive thought surprised him so much that he forgot to answer until she turned to look at him, her gaze inquiring.
“I—I’m not sure. Whatever information we can about the matron and her habits. I’m particularly interested in learning if she has had any regular callers.”
“Of course.”
Dominic continued, “If we can trace this gang of thieves, we might identify the real murderer.”
Miss Fallon shivered. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. Even if she were involved in a criminal group, and I would not put it past her, especially after she had lost her post at the foundling home, still, what reason would they have to kill her? If she has been scouting homes to rob, and coercing the girls she once bullied at the home to help her, she must have had value to them.”
“Perhaps it was a quarrel over their loot,” he suggested.
“And it happened just at the time I had encountered her in the street?” Miss Fallon wrinkled her nose in doubt.
It was an adorable nose, he thought, and her skin was palest ivory, almost translucent, with faint blue veins showing at her temples. If the little maid were not sitting in the carriage—Perhaps Lady Gemma had been wise to insist upon a chaperone. . . .
He pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “That’s true, it is a surprising coincidence.”
“Surely just what a magistrate would say,” she agreed, her tone dry.
“But that does not mean it is not true,” he argued, worried about the wrinkle of concern he saw appear in her smooth forehead.
Miss Fallon fell silent, and they rode the rest of the way to the hotel. When they rolled into the courtyard, Dominic looked about. It was a modest establishment, but it appeared perfectly respectable.
A groom appeared, but Dominic shook his head at him. “We are only making a short visit,” he told the servant.
The man touched his forehead and turned back toward the stables. Dominic paid off the hackney, then found that Miss Fallon was frowning at him.
“What is it?”
“You still sound like a peer of the realm,” she said, her tone reproachful. “Don’t be so masterful, my lord. And I will not be able to call you that inside, remember, so please don’t take offense. Don’t be so quick to stare people down, and perhaps you could slouch a little? You stand very straight. You must not look as if you are so used to command.”
Dominic opened his mouth and then closed it again. “You continue to surprise me,” he told her, keeping his tone low. “Have you considered going on the stage?”
She seemed to ponder. “I’m quite sure Matthew would not allow it.”
He had not meant the comment to be taken seriously, and he glanced at her again, about to point out her mistake, then he saw the gleam of mischief in her eyes. Imp!
They went inside the hotel. Dominic would normally have hired a private parlor, but if they were not supposed to be wealthy, he assumed that would be inappropriate behavior, too.
Miss Fallon tugged on his sleeve. Normally, he would have frowned, but if she ripped this disgraceful coat apart, he would only be the better for it.
“Go into the taproom,” she whispered. “But don’t ask any questions just yet. We will join you shortly.”
“Why not? And that is likely not a proper place for you to frequent, the company may be low, and—”
She looked adamant. “I have been in such places before, my—sir. Trust me.”
She seemed to have taken total control of this expedition. He thought about informing her of the consequences of insubordination, but looking into her hazel eyes, just now full of determination, he knew it would be useless. He felt again a wave of respect for her, and a renewed sense of his own resolve that she would not be allowed to suffer for the death of the late and unlamented Mrs. Craigmore.
Miss Fallon, with Matty a
t her side, had already whisked away toward the back of the inn and soon disappeared from his view. He watched them go with some foreboding. At least she had the maid with her, but he would feel better if he could keep her in his sight.
Shaking his head, Dominic found the taproom, took a table, and ordered a tankard of ale, passing over his coin to the serving wench. Only a few other men occupied the room, drinking their brews or eating bread and cheese, and the talk was not loud, so perhaps Miss Fallon would not be shocked at what she might overhear. If anything could shock her!
He was nursing the ale, which was not up to his usual standard, when the two women returned. Miss Fallon paused in the doorway, and when she saw him, led the way to his table. As he stood, she sat down and motioned for Matty to do the same.
“Shall I try to obtain some tea for you or a glass of sherry? And what have you been doing?”
“Talking to the women in the kitchen,” Miss Fallon said, her tone very low. “Mrs. Craigmore was staying here, but under the name of Livermore.”
He blinked at her. “Are you sure?”
“Positive, the description fits, and one of the maids could describe the dress the matron was wearing when I saw her. Now you can question the landlord about her stay here and if she had visitors.”
“Well done, Miss Fallon!” he told her, enjoying the glow in her hazel eyes as she brightened at his praise. It would indeed be easier to ask about the woman if they knew the alias she had adopted.
So when he beckoned over the man at the bar, he said, “Perhaps you would share some ale with us, my good man. And some tea for my female relations?” He passed over several coins, and the man took them eagerly.
“Of course, sir.” He took away Dominic’s half-empty tankard to refill it and presently returned with that, another ale, and two cups of tea on a wooden tray. The tea was the color of mahogany and looked even worse than his own drink, so he did not envy the women.
The man pulled up another chair. “New to this neighborhood, are you, sir?”
“Yes,” Dominic told him with all sincerity. “We are traveling through London. I am looking for an aunt of mine, a Mrs. Livermore. I had a note from her a while ago, but the direction was scribbled very ill, so I’m not sure—I don’t suppose she has been staying here?”