by Lucy Adams
“Nothing else has been discovered about the cipher?” he asked in a low voice, as Lord Brandley shook his head. “The book?”
Lord Brandley smiled tightly. “Lord Riggerton has been working tirelessly to make some copies of various pages,” he said firmly. “The book is to be moved tomorrow.”
“And where is it to go?”
Lord Brandley’s smile spread. “I am to take it for a time,” he said, making Charles nod in agreement, relieved to know that one of the League’s most established gentlemen would have such a precious item. “Only for a sennight or so, I think. Thereafter, I shall have it moved again.”
“And its whereabouts ought to be kept between the two of us,” Charles added, seeing Lord Brandley hesitate. “Save for the person to whom it is going, of course.” He spread his hands. “It is merely a precaution so that if there is any difficulty or trouble that overtakes any of our men, they will be unable to tell our enemies where the book is at present, for they will not know.”
Lord Brandley’s expression cleared. “Yes, I quite understand,” he said quickly. “Very good, Westbrook. I shall inform you at once when I have made arrangements for the book to be moved.”
Charles nodded, shook Lord Brandley’s hand, and made his way out of Whites, glad that his carriage was already waiting for him. Whilst he was in no mood to pretend to enjoy gambling and the like, he knew full well that this was where his responsibility lay at present. Whilst the sorrow and the grief over Sir Taylor’s death still lingered, Charles knew that he could not waste time lost in sadness. He had to continue with his intention to clear England of all manner of spies, French or otherwise, and he would begin by doing his best to curry favor with Lord Breton.
“I shall take a hackney home,” Charles informed his driver, who nodded with a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Do not linger.”
“At once, my lord,” the driver said, as the tiger climbed back into position. “Do enjoy your evening, my lord.”
Charles said nothing, waiting for the driver to disappear before he entered The Shrew. It was not one of the best gambling hells in London but neither was it the worst, and Charles did not have any fear for his safety, knowing full well he could protect himself should it be required. This was not the first time he would have been in a difficulty of that nature.
Hearing the drunken exclamations, the laughter, and the shouts coming from within The Shrew, Charles let out a long sigh, set his shoulders, and made to walk inside, only for the sound of a lady’s voice to reach his ears.
He stopped dead, turning around to see a woman climbing down from a hackney, her dark cloak shielding her although her form was still unmistakable, even in the dim lantern light. Frowning, he saw her speak to the hackney driver, who nodded and slumped back in his seat, clearly content to wait for her return.
A woman? Here, in this part of London? He could not understand what she was doing here, unless she was a lady of the night, in which case it made sense for her to be present here. But a lady of the night would not arrive in a hackney and certainly would not thereafter ask it to wait for her to return. So what was she doing here?
Stepping back into the shadows and grateful for the clouds that made their way past the moon, Charles watched as the young lady turned towards The Shrew. She wore no bonnet but had the hood of her cloak pulled up over her face. With careful fingers, she made certain that the hood remained firmly in place, before lifting her chin and stepping forward.
She is about to walk into The Shrew, Charles realized with amazement, seeing her purposeful steps and the solid direction of her gaze. She certainly cannot step inside alone!
“Excuse me.”
Before he knew what he was doing, Charles had stepped out from the gloom and directly into the young lady’s path, preventing her from reaching the door of The Shrew. The young lady gasped and took a step back in surprise, turning her face away at once.
“You cannot intend to go in there,” Charles found himself saying, as though he were gently berating an errant child. “That is not the place for the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?” The young lady swung back around to face him, her eyes lifting to his and seeming to bore into him. “I have a matter of the greatest urgency and will not be prevented from doing what I must!
Charles frowned, feeling as though there was something about this young lady that he recognized. He did not know what it was, could not quite say, and yet he felt as though he knew her.
“I cannot allow you to step inside, miss,” he said carefully, knowing that if he had to, he would ensure she was removed by force – albeit as gently as he could. “Do you know what will occur if you do such a foolish thing?” He looked behind her, wondering if she had someone – anyone – with her. “You have no companion?”
“No.” She lifted her chin, her determination more than a little apparent. “I do not need one.”
He shook his head, his eyes sliding back towards her again. “It is much too dangerous,” he said, as gently as he could. “I do not know your reasons for coming here, but I know that if you set foot inside, then you may very well have a good deal of difficulty leaving again.” Trying to press his meaning onto her with the greatest care, he saw her eyes narrowing. “The gentlemen within are drunk,” he said, thinking he would have to speak a little more clearly. “They are in high spirits and cannot easily tell one young lady from another. If you enter, then you might be considered as an entertainment, for those are usually the sorts of young women that enter into a gaming hell.” Something in her eyes flickered, and Charles forced himself to press on, his determination growing steadily. “I cannot protect you from them, for there would be more gentlemen desperate to get their hands on you than I would be able to manage.”
“I do not believe I have asked for your help,” came the terse reply. “You do not know me, sir.”
Pressing his brows together in exasperation, Charles tried to keep ahold of his temper. “Whatever it is that is troubling you so, it cannot be worth this,” he said, a little more firmly. “Do you seek your sweetheart? Do you wish to find him here so that you might berate him later? Is that what is troubling you?”
The young lady’s eyes flared, her anger burning straight through her and firing out towards him. “Indeed, it is not!” she exclaimed furiously. “I have no eagerness to share my intentions with a stranger, however, but I can assure you that it is nothing as simple as a mere broken heart!”
“Then pray tell me what it is so that I might help you,” Charles said, hearing a few voices getting louder as they came towards the door. Without thinking, he grasped the young lady’s arm and tugged her away from the door and further into the shadows, fearful that she might be spotted by one of the many patrons now removing themselves from the gambling hell.
“Remove your hand from me at once!” the young lady exclaimed, her voice echoing around the alley as he attempted to quieten her. “I do not need nor have I asked for your assistance!”
“Oh, now!” cried one of the gentlemen, emerging from The Shrew and hearing the young lady’s voice. “What have we here?” Staggering awkwardly, he made his way towards where Charles was standing with his companion following after.
“A wench!” cried the second, sounding utterly delighted. “Bring her out, man! Let us see her!”
Charles shook his head grimly, hearing the young lady gasp with fright. Releasing her arm, he whispered for her to remain where she was and then took a few steps forward.
“Alas, she is gone from me, friends!” he exclaimed, coming towards the first man with a sadness in his voice that he prayed would be believed. “Gone back to whence she came. I had not enough coin for her.”
The man laughed and wobbled unsteadily. “She was too much for you then?”
“It seems so,” Charles replied, putting his arm around the man’s shoulders and attempting to turn him back around again. “Come now, you can find plenty of others like her, should you wish it.”
>
The second gentleman, who appeared less inebriated than the first, did not seem to accept Charles’s explanation. His eyes narrowed, and he looked behind Charles into the darkness as though he might see someone there.
“Are you quite certain she is gone?” he asked, shoving past Charles’s restraining hand. “Or are you just keeping her for yourself?”
Seeing that the second gentleman was about to reach the place where the young lady was hidden, Charles did not hesitate but shoved the first man hard, who fell easily enough, given just how much liquor was sloshing about inside him. Then he grasped the second man by the shoulder, who spun about in fury and attempted to plant Charles a facer.
The young lady screamed in horror as something connected painfully with Charles’s eye, making him stagger back.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted, her voice high pitched and filled with fright. “I am here to find my father, Lord Leighton, that is all!”
Charles could barely hear her, his ears ringing loudly as he fell back, his head aching furiously.
“Keeping you all for himself, is he?” the second man snarled, reaching for the young lady who had now come out of the corner in which she had stood in an apparent attempt to defend Charles. “Well, we’ll see about that!” He grabbed at her, and the lady shrieked again, attempting to fight him off. Charles, his head spinning and his vision blurred, forced himself to his feet and lunged at the second man, managing to punch him down until he let the young lady go. The man let out a howl of agony and bent low, his head in his hands, giving Charles enough time to grasp the young lady’s hand and tug her towards him.
“Your hackney, I think,” he gasped, grateful that she did not make any sort of complaint. Instead, she practically ran towards the waiting hackney, the driver sitting patiently and merely watching all that was going on with an unconcerned eye. Hurrying up into the hackney after her, he shouted at the driver to depart, giving him no specific direction, and then sat back in his seat, gasping for air.
“I am terribly sorry,” the young lady whispered, her face covered in shadow as she sat next to him, pressed up as far against the other side of the hackney as she could, as though she feared he might attack her next. “I did not imagine that–”
“Who are you?” Charles interrupted brusquely, the pain in his head beginning to subside. “And what were you doing here?”
The young lady let out a long, slow breath, clearly attempting to calm herself down. “After what you have done for me, I do not think that I have any right to remain silent,” she said quietly. “I came in search of my father, as I said before.”
“And your father is…?”
“The Earl of Leighton,” came the quiet reply. “I did shout it during the attack, but perhaps you did not hear me.”
Charles blinked in surprise, shock rippling over him. If her father was the Earl of Leighton, then she was a rather important young lady within society.
And then, something else came to mind. Something so startling that he had to suck in his breath, a coldness gripping him as he realized why the name of Lord Leighton had hit him right between the eyes.
“Wait a moment,” he said hurriedly, as another shock washed over him. “We met only last evening, did we not? You are Lady Esther.”
There came a moment of silence, and Charles could almost feel her hesitation.
“Yes,” she said slowly, her words cautious. “That is correct.”
“I stood on your dress last evening,” he explained, his heart quickening suddenly. “I am Lord Westbrook.” He heard her swift intake of breath and knew that she recognized his name. “Why would your father be here, Lady Esther? And how could you be so foolish as to risk coming here alone?”
“I-I came in search of my father, for he has gone missing,” she said, making his heart quicken with a sudden anxiety. “My aunt states that he has merely left London and gone back to our estate on a matter of business, but I know full well that he would never depart without speaking to me first. Besides which, when he last spoke to me, there was a great sadness about him that I could not help but worry over. And then there was the gentleman who…” She came to a sudden stop, just when Charles was desperate to hear more. Leaning forward, he turned his head in an attempt to look at her face, even though the lantern light from the streets did very little to light the hackney.
“You can trust me, Lady Esther,” he said softly. “I must know the truth about what you have discovered if I am to help you.”
“But why should you be willing to help me?” she asked carefully, her voice edged with fear. “I do not know you, Lord Westbrook.”
He hesitated, knowing that he could not tell her of The King’s League nor why he recognized the name of her father. “I-I can be trusted, can I not?” he asked softly, trying to reassure her. “I attempted to keep you from entering the gambling hell and saved you from the two gentlemen who wanted your attentions. Surely now you cannot think me willing to injure you in any way?”
“I am supposed to accept that you merely have good intentions and seek to aid me for no other reason than to suggest you have a good character?” she asked, sounding a little doubtful. “I do not think so, Lord Westbrook. That would be foolish indeed to trust a gentleman on his word.” Surprising him still further, she reached up and rapped on the roof, making the driver come to a stop. She lifted her chin and looked at him, her eyes glittering in the dim light that now shone through the window. “I think you should remove yourself from this hackney, Lord Westbrook, if you are truly the gentleman you say yourself to be. I can make my own way home from here.”
Charles gaped at her, completely taken aback by her sudden decisiveness and determination. She clearly did not trust him, and whilst he could commend her for that, he did not think it wise that she travel home alone.
“If you please, Lord Westbrook!”
Her voice was louder now, forcing him to act. Telling himself that he had no hold over this young lady, that he had no right to demand that she do one thing or another, he still hesitated, not feeling at all right in leaving her alone.
However, Lady Esther had more force than he had expected. Throwing open the hackney door, she gestured wildly to it, without another word expressed. With a heavy heart, he moved towards it and stepped out – only for the most almighty crash to throw him headlong and for Lady Esther’s scream to ring about his ears.
Chapter Four
Esther had been frightened half to death at the first attack, only to realize, soon after, that she was sharing a good deal more than she ought with a gentleman she did not know. Lord Westbrook might very well have been more than apologetic for standing on her dress last evening and certainly had been more than gentlemanly with his apologies thereafter, but that did not mean that she could trust him. As she had been speaking, as she had been telling Lord Westbrook all about her father, a sudden realization had hit her.
She did not know Lord Westbrook at all and nor could she easily remember his face. He might very well bear a scar for all she knew, which meant that he could have been the gentleman speaking with her father. She had closed her mouth tightly, angry with her own foolishness, and had decided that she ought to remove herself from Lord Westbrook’s company as quickly as she could.
Thankfully, after some moments, Lord Westbrook seemed to be willing to do as she asked. Sitting in the hackney with the door wide open, Esther waited patiently for the gentleman to remove himself. She was a little afraid that he might refuse and might, thereafter, reveal the truth of his character, but for the moment, she had to pray that he would do as she wished. Yes, he had saved her from what might have been a terrible attack, but could that not be in order to encourage her to express herself further to him? To try and encourage her to trust him? The warnings and the fears about her father and his present circumstances continued to bite at her; they continued to press against her mind until she felt as though she might never be free of them.
It had been foolhardy to come out here alone.
She should never have even thought about departing from the house without someone with her, and she certainly ought never to have attempted to enter a gambling hell. She had done so solely because of her fear and worry, for they both drove her to act in a way that she would never have even considered under normal circumstances. Her father’s correspondence had revealed very little, other than to mention The Shrew on three separate occasions, and she had felt a desperate hope rising within her that, if she went to visit the gambling hell, she might find some answers as to where her father had gone.
Foolish behavior indeed. She had very nearly managed to walk directly into harm, had it not been for Lord Westbrook’s presence. She was grateful for his aid, of course, but that did not mean that she was about to give him her trust.
Looking directly at Lord Westbrook and quelling her fears that he might pull the door shut and demand that she go with him at once, Esther lifted her chin another notch and continued to wait. Lord Westbrook sighed heavily but moved towards the door, clearly unwilling to remove himself and yet obviously deciding to do so.
Relief filled her. She waited for him to step out – only to hear the sound of thundering hooves. Horror clutched at her as something hard slammed into the hackney, throwing Lord Westbrook from it and throwing her completely out of her chair. Her breath was tugged from her as she tried to compose herself, unsure as to what had happened but feeling pain burning all over her body.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she heard the driver shout as she struggled to push herself back up into her seat. “Slamming your hackney into mine like that? There’s going to be damage now, and you’re going to make sure it’s paid for!”