by Brenda Hiatt
"London won't be the same without the Saint of Seven Dials," said Kemp, echoing his thoughts. "Lots of folks count on him, from what I hear. And didn't the bloke gather evidence against real criminals, as well? Useful, that."
Noel nodded. "Useful indeed." Lord Marcus had given him enough evidence to break up a ring of crimps —men profiting from the kidnapping and selling of young boys into service aboard ships —and to put three of them in prison. A valuable resource gone, along with Noel's ostensible reason for nosing about London.
Without the cover of hunting down the Saint, how was he to track down the Black Bishop without giving himself away to his crafty nemesis? Discovery would likely mean the same fate as the last agent —not that fear of death would stop him. His pursuit of the Bishop had long passed from the patriotic to the personal.
"You're right, Kemp," he said slowly, thinking hard. "London needs the Saint of Seven Dials —and so do I."
If Lord Marcus was unwilling to take up that mantle again, perhaps the answer was to do so himself. As the Saint, surely he could ferret out the real identity of the essayist Mr. R, now his only link to the Black Bishop. And with the Saint still active, he could continue his public investigation, allowing him to pursue his covert one as well.
His decision made, Noel stood. "I'll be back in a few hours," he told his manservant.
The next Saint of Seven Dials would need more information from his predecessors before he could step fully into their shoes.
* * *
Rowena finished her tea. No doubt Matthilda was getting something to eat in the kitchens, but perhaps she should—
No, this was London, where the division between mistress and servant would be more rigidly enforced. She must remember that, as well as countless other items of protocol, if she was to remain long enough to further her goals.
Should she have sent that note to Pearl? She recalled how grand her friend had looked at her wedding earlier that summer. They'd scarcely had a chance to do more than nod at each other amid the festivities at Oakshire. What if she had changed?
But even as she wondered whether it was too late to call the footman back, a knock came at the door and a moment later she heard Pearl's own voice in the hall, demanding to see her. Rowena sprang to her feet and hurried out to greet her friend.
"Rowena!" Pearl exclaimed before she could speak. "You've come at last! I must say it's about time. Oh, I've missed you so!"
Laughing with relief and delight, Rowena returned her embrace, then ushered her into the parlor and called for more tea. "Surely with a new husband you haven't had much time to miss old friends?" she asked with a grin.
Pearl blushed slightly. "Well, perhaps not . . ." Then she smiled again, and she was the same Pearl as always.
"But what has brought you to Town?" she asked. "Never tell me it's simply to sightsee, or even to make your come-out during the autumn Season, for I won't believe it. Knowing you, there must be some ulterior motive."
Rowena had to chuckle. Pearl knew her so well. "I thought it was time I saw something of the world beyond Oakshire," she explained. "You above all should understand that all of one's education can't come from books."
"Very true. And I am delighted you are here. You can't imagine how insipid the conversation of most Society ladies is. Clothes, gossip, which entertainments to attend —never a word on serious topics. And heaven forbid I should introduce them myself. I'm considered enough of an oddity already."
Rowena gazed at her friend's violet-blue eyes, golden ringlets and classically beautiful face, such a contrast to her own bespectacled gray eyes, straight, coppery tresses, and unremarkable features. Pearl, an oddity? "Then I fear I'll never manage to fit in at all."
"Fitting in is overrated," Pearl declared. "Why, if I hadn't been willing to ignore Society's rules, I'd never have met Luke, or found out— But that's a story for another time. Please tell me you'll stay at Hardwyck Hall. Luke is so busy lately, it would be wonderful to have someone around I can talk to— really talk to."
Though she had secretly hoped for such an invitation, Rowena hesitated. Her own life seemed so far removed from Pearl's now. But at her friend's pleading look, she nodded. She had never been able to deny Pearl anything.
"I'd love to. Will tomorrow be all right?"
"Certainly— as early as you can come. Luke has meetings all day, I believe, and this will give me the perfect excuse to avoid taking tea at Lady Mountheath's, which I had half promised to do."
"If you're sure . . ."
Pearl rose to embrace her. "I'm absolutely determined on it, and you know how stubborn I can be. I'm due for a fitting, so I must run, but we'll talk more tomorrow. And welcome to London, Rowena. Trust me, you're going to love it here."
A moment later Pearl was gone, and Rowena was left to consider the likelihood of that parting prediction. While Pearl had been a zealous reformer in her own right before her marriage, Rowena had been the one to bring issues to her attention. More than once, Pearl had talked her out of taking radical steps to further their aims— steps that Rowena had to admit could have landed them both in serious trouble.
What would Pearl say if she knew about Rowena's political essays and the comment they occasioned? Though she'd told her brother she had changed, she knew she hadn't. It only seemed that way because she had lately diverted her reformist energies into her writings.
Should she tell Pearl about the essays? She was the one person Rowena knew who might appreciate what she was doing, and she would undoubtedly enjoy being in on such a secret.
No, she would wait. After a few days in Pearl's company, she'd know whether she could safely divulge her secret activity.
Seating herself again at the writing desk, she began to jot down the thoughts that had occurred to her during her journey, for inclusion in her next essay for the Political Register.
* * *
At the appointed time, Noel knocked at the imposing front door of Hardwyck Hall. While Lord Marcus had been relatively easy to talk to, Lord Hardwyck had proved more elusive —due, no doubt, to the constant demands on a man of his wealth and importance. Noel had had to arrange an appointment through Hardwyck's secretary for an interview.
If he ever took up the title of Earl Ellsdon, for which he was heir presumptive, he would not be so self-important, Noel promised himself.
The door was opened by Hardwyck's surprisingly young butler. "Ah, Mr. Paxton. His lordship awaits you in the library."
Just as in his previous two meetings with Lord Hardwyck, Noel felt slightly defensive —as though he had kept the man waiting, when in fact he was a minute or two early. No doubt just what Hardwyck intended.
The earl rose to greet him as he entered the large, well-stocked library. "Good afternoon, Mr. Paxton. I must say, I was surprised to hear you wished for yet another interview. At our last, you implied you had put the case of the Saint behind you."
Noel seated himself on an expensively upholstered chair as the butler retreated and closed the door behind him. "I've given up trying to put a stop to his activities, yes," he said carefully.
"As they appear to have stopped of their own accord, that would seem a reasonable decision." As before, Lord Hardwyck admitted nothing, though Noel knew full well he had been the original Saint —and Hardwyck knew that he knew it.
"So, your interest now is purely academic?" Hardwyck prompted, when Noel remained silent, trying to diplomatically phrase his first question.
"Not purely, no. One might say that it's of a more— practical nature." When Lord Hardwyck did not respond, Noel went straight to the point. "I'm looking for the sort of information one might need to carry on as Saint of Seven Dials."
His host's brows rose. "Indeed. You have a candidate for the post, then?"
Noel met Lord Hardwyck's gaze squarely. "I do. Myself."
"Why?"
Having already decided that only the truth would do, Noel recounted the details of his own career as a spy during the war— first unofficial, th
en, once he had proved himself, under the direction of the Foreign Office.
"So you are the fabled Puss in Boots," said Lord Hardwyck wonderingly, shaking his head with a smile. "You are well qualified, then, but I still do not understand your motive for wishing to become the next Saint."
Grimly, Noel explained about the Black Bishop —how he had pursued the murderous traitor in France until it was believed he was dead, and that he had now resumed that pursuit on English soil. To underscore the importance of his quest, he told Lord Hardwyck about his cohorts who had met their deaths at the hands of the Bishop, including the latest, right here in London.
"So while I do intend to carry on the Saint's work of providing for the poor, I also mean to use that guise to gather the information I need to bring the Bishop to justice —much as Lord Marcus gathered the information on those crimps," he finally concluded. "Will you help me?"
There was a long, tense silence, during which the earl stared at Noel, dark eyes narrowed, as though he would bore a hole in his brain. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"Call me Luke," he said. "It appears we are destined to get to know each other quite well, so we may as well begin on a first name basis."
CHAPTER 2
"Are you certain you won't let Francesca attempt something with your hair?" Pearl asked, as she and Rowena prepared to go downstairs for dinner. "And I know you've never cared two pins for fashion, but a new gown or two wouldn't hurt."
Rowena smiled, but shook her head at her friend. "Would that not be hypocritical of me, after the lectures I've given you over the years about conforming yourself to the expectations of a patriarchal Society?"
"You make me seem so frivolous. But we'll see if you feel the same after a few days in Town."
Rowena smiled again, but doubted she would change her mind —or that it would make any difference if she did. She was no beauty, after all.
"Oh, I forgot to mention, Luke sent up word that we are to have another guest for dinner tonight," Pearl said as they approached the dining room. "Some official acquaintance or other, I believe."
The ladies entered the long, elegantly appointed room, where Lord Hardwyck and another gentleman awaited them. Rowena gazed about in appreciation at the rich but tasteful decor. Though her own home was far more simply furnished, she had spent enough time at the Duke's manor in Oakshire to become accustomed to—and to appreciate —such surroundings.
"My dear, you have heard me mention Mr. Paxton, I believe. Noel, this is my wife, Lady Hardwyck," said Lord Hardwyck, by way of introduction. "And Miss Riverstone, who is staying with my wife," he added, almost as an afterthought. Rowena suspected he had momentarily forgotten her name.
"Lady Hardwyck, Miss Riverstone," Mr. Paxton murmured. He barely glanced at Rowena, who sat across from him, before turning his attention to his hostess —not that Rowena could blame him. Pearl looked particularly beautiful tonight in lilac satin, while she herself all but faded into the woodwork in her plain brown cambric.
"I hear you are quite the philanthropist, my lady," said Mr. Paxton as they took their seats. "I would love to hear about some of your causes."
Rowena's attention was caught, and though he continued to ignore her, she examined Mr. Paxton with interest. Physically, at least, he certainly merited a closer look. Tall, broad-shouldered and most definitely handsome, with curling chestnut hair and classic features. But it was the intelligence in his hazel eyes that gave him a deeper appeal for her.
Suddenly embarrassed, she looked away before anyone could notice her staring at the man and tried to pick up the thread of conversation.
". . . conditions at Newgate and other prisons," Pearl was saying.
"There is considerable room for improvement," Mr. Paxton agreed. Rowena couldn't help noticing that his voice was deep, firm, and rather pleasant. "If you'd like, I can pass along your concerns to my superiors at Bow Street."
"Bow Street? You are a Runner then, Mr. Paxton?" Rowena asked, startled. He didn't seem to fit what she had read of that elite group of law enforcers.
But he shook his head. "Not a Runner, no. I'm acting in a semi-official capacity, at the behest of Sir Nathaniel Conant, Chief Magistrate at Bow Street."
"Yes," added Lord Hardwyck with a curious smile. "He's to catch the Saint of Seven Dials for them, as he has managed to elude the regular Runners thus far."
Rowena stared, dismayed. She had read enough about the Saint to have developed a great admiration for the work of the anonymous thief, and had praised him in more than one of her essays.
"That seems an unworthy goal, sir," she said, "given how few true champions the common people can claim in these difficult times."
Noel had already turned to his host again, but now he looked back across the table at Miss Riverstone, really seeing her for the first time. Drab, old-fashioned gown, brownish hair scraped into a tight bun, spectacles —she appeared to be acting in the capacity of companion to Lady Hardwyck, and he had therefore dismissed her. Unworthily, it appeared.
"Surely a true champion should not find it necessary to break the laws of the land?" he said, repeating what he'd told more than one lady who had tried to talk him out of his pursuit of the legendary thief who had captured the admiration of so many. "I would prefer to rely on Parliament to give relief to the deserving poor rather than the whims of some mysterious house-breaker."
"Parliament!" Clearly, Miss Riverstone did not hold that august body in great esteem. "Why, even now they are discussing yet more oppressive Corn Laws. Unless wages are raised to compensate, we shall soon have even more starving and homeless people to consider."
"Therefore we should give free reign to a thief like the Saint of Seven Dials to alleviate their problems —no doubt while lining his own pockets in the process?" Noel had all he could do not to chuckle at her outraged expression.
"At least he is doing something," she responded, waving her fork for emphasis. "Legislation, even if introduced, moves so slowly that people will starve waiting for it. In fact—"
She broke off, glancing guiltily at Lady Hardwyck, but Noel was intrigued. Miss Riverstone clearly stayed abreast of political issues and held strong opinions on them. This did not seem the proper forum to pursue them, however, as he did not wish to get her into trouble with her mistress.
"Doubtless such matters are under discussion by Parliament," he said mildly. Despite her spectacles, severe hairstyle, and the scatter of freckles across her nose, Miss Riverstone was not unattractive, he suddenly realized. "Lady Hardwyck, you were speaking of your ideas for prison reform, I believe?"
With a glance at her companion which, to Noel's relief, held more amusement than condemnation, Lady Hardwyck turned back to him. "Yes. If the overcrowding could be alleviated, several other problems would be solved as well."
As she continued to expound on her ideas, Noel's attention strayed back to Miss Riverstone, who now ate in silence. Though she appeared subdued, he suspected this was not her normal aspect. Her gray eyes had sparkled with spirit and intelligence when she had spoken before. What might she look like when she smiled?
He realized he very much wished to find out.
* * *
Rowena's pride was still smarting when she and Pearl left the gentlemen to their brandy and retired to the parlor. "I can't say I care much for this Mr. Paxton," she said as soon as they were out of earshot. "Self-righteous, legalistic, toadying—"
"What?" Pearl cut her off laughingly. "I found him none of those things, though I confess I rather expected to." She paused while a maid brought tea, watching Rowena's face closely.
"Oh, I see," she said as soon as they were alone again. "You're irked that he didn't wish to discuss Corn Laws and Parliamentary reform with you."
"No, it's just—" Rowena broke off with a sigh. "Oh, Nelson was right. I can't spend half an hour in Society without spouting off my political opinions. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Pearl."
But her friend only smiled. "I thought yo
u knew me better than that. I'll allow it was a bit rude of Mr. Paxton to change the subject so abruptly, but perhaps he didn't feel he could hold his own in such a discussion. He's not a member of Parliament, after all, and may not follow such issues closely."
"Perhaps." But Rowena didn't believe it. He had quite pointedly turned the conversation back to Pearl, whose views on reform had seemed to hold his attention quite well. But why should that surprise—or bother—her? Men had always behaved thus.
"What say you to a game of chess to pass the time?" she asked, to distract herself.
Pearl grimaced. "You're sure to win as you always do, but very well. The practice will be good for me." She rang for the chess set, and by the time the gentlemen joined them, they were well into their second game.
Rowena barely glanced up when Lord Hardwyck and Mr. Paxton entered, her mind filled with strategy for several moves to come. She had beaten Pearl handily the first game, but the second was proving more of a challenge —perhaps because her thoughts persisted in wandering far from the chessmen before her.
"Shall I call for another board, or would cards suit you better?" Lord Hardwyck asked his guest after the two of them had watched the game in silence for some minutes.
"I was going to offer to play the winner," Mr. Paxton replied. "Unless you would care for cards yourself?"
"Not at all. I quite enjoy watching a good game of chess."
Rowena felt a distinct thrill of anticipation mingled with alarm, though she was careful to let neither show in her expression. She expected to beat Pearl in four more moves and it might be— interesting— to discover whether the handsome Mr. Paxton was a worthy opponent.
"Checkmate," she said a few minutes later.
Pearl shook her head and rose. "I never even saw that coming. You're every bit as good as I remember. Mr. Paxton, you wish to try your luck? I warn you, Rowena is quite the adept."