The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Excuse me," she called to the boy. "Yes, you there! May I ask you a question?"

  The lad came forward slowly as Sarah approached, until they met in the pool of light cast by one of the numerous street lamps on Mount Street. He looked up at her with a scowl, but then his expression changed to something like wonder and he swept off his cap and executed an awkward bow.

  "Evenin' miss. Did you need summat?"

  "Just information," Sarah replied with a smile at his eagerness. The boy's eyes widened further. "I'm looking for someone, and I hope you can help me find him."

  "I'll do what I can, miss," he assured her fervently.

  "Thank you. Do you by any chance know a boy by the name of William Killian? He'd be just sixteen, and fair."

  The lad's face lost some of its eagerness. "Can't say I do, miss, but I c'n ask around. Might he go by Will, or Bill?"

  Sarah tried to swallow her disappointment. William might not be in London at all, for all she knew. "He might. I haven't seen him in some years. He used to go by the nickname 'Flute' when he was younger."

  She hadn't given that name before, thinking it impossible that William would still be using it— but now the boy was nodding.

  "That's a name I've heard, right enough. Flute. Don't know 'im meself, but Renny's mentioned him once or twice."

  "Really?" Sarah tried to contain her excitement. Surely there could be other boys using that nickname. Eight years was such a long time. Still—"Can you tell me where to find this Renny?"

  The lad nodded again. "I c'n show you." He looked up at her expectantly and Sarah bit her lip.

  "I have no money, I'm afraid, or I'd pay you for your trouble. I'm new to London and haven't found employment yet, but—do you work this crossing regularly?"

  "Aye."

  "Then I promise, as soon as I find a position, I'll come back with a few pennies. What is your name?"

  "Paddy. But that's okay, miss. I'll be passing close by where Renny lives on my way home anyway." He headed north, motioning her to follow him.

  It was possible, of course, that young Paddy would take her to someone with evil designs in hopes of a reward, but his eagerness to help seemed genuine. Besides, what choice did she have? Her trust was rewarded when he stopped across from a fashionable —and therefore probably safe— house, in the heart of Mayfair, on Grosvenor Street.

  "It's that one there, Miss." Paddy pointed. "These days, Renny works for a proper swell what lives there."

  Sarah looked at the tall town house and nodded. "Thank you, Paddy. I'll go speak with him. And I'll pay you for your help as soon as I can, I promise."

  Paddy grinned. "I don't doubt you'll find a job soon enough, miss," he told her. "Pretty as you are, you'll have the gents tossing you gold guineas, mark my words."

  Though she feared Paddy thoroughly misunderstood the sort of employment she was seeking, Sarah only smiled rather than attempt to explain to a ten- or eleven-year-old boy. Heading across Grosvenor street, she veered off to the side to find her way to the back entrance of the indicated house, as the front door was obviously out of the question.

  A narrow alley led to the mews, housing the stables for each house along the row. Grooms hitched horses to carriages and coachmen prepared to take their masters to late entertainments, but no one took any notice of the nondescript gray figure slipping through the garden gate halfway down the row.

  The house sported a small ornamental garden and a rather larger kitchen patch. Sarah made her way along a narrow path winding between rows of cabbages and carrots to tap at the kitchen door. A kind-faced woman opened it, wiping flour from her hands onto her broad white apron.

  "Yes, miss? May I help you?"

  "Yes, please. I'm looking for a boy named Renny. I'm told he has a position here."

  "Come in, do."

  The cook stood aside to allow Sarah to enter the brightly-lit kitchen. Maids bustled about, washing up dishes and pots from dinner and putting them away. It seemed a cheerful place, and Sarah was conscious of a fleeting wish that the Mountheath household were more like this one.

  "Is Renny here?" she asked. "I have a . . . a message for him, from my brother."

  "He's likely out in the stables, though he may be off running errands or such. I'll send someone to see." The cook beckoned to a young maid. "Polly, do you run out to the stables and see if Renny is still there. He has a visitor."

  The redheaded maid bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried out the back door, leaving Sarah no option but to wait where she was, despite her impatience to find William.

  "Have a sit-down, miss, do," the cook invited her, indicating a chair at the big kitchen table. Sarah's agitation must have shown, for the woman then said, "Polly won't be a moment, and if Renny's not there you can leave a message for him."

  Sarah nodded, forcing herself to relax, and moved to the table. Just as she took a seat, however, she heard a disconcertingly familiar voice on the kitchen stairs at the opposite end of the room.

  "—just nip down to request a late supper for our return, then we'll be off," the voice was saying, growing in volume as its owner approached.

  Alarmed, Sarah stood just as the gentleman who had been speaking entered the kitchen. Surely he would never recognize her dressed like this, she told herself, trying to turn away before he caught a glimpse of her face.

  Too late.

  With a start of surprise, Lord Peter Northrup came toward her. "Miss Killian?"

  CHAPTER 4

  For an instant, Peter thought he must be mistaken, that it must be a chance resemblance, but the alarm on Miss Killian's face as she turned back to face him proved her identity, apart from those memorable blue eyes.

  "What are you— That is, is something wrong?" he asked when she did not reply.

  Mrs. MacKay, the cook, looked from Peter to Miss Killian, then quickly busied herself rummaging in a cupboard. The maids, after a few curious stares, followed her lead, pretending to ignore the interesting tableau.

  "Lord Peter!" Miss Killian finally said, rather breathlessly. "Is . . . is this your home? I had no idea, I assure you."

  Startled as she obviously was, he had no trouble believing her. "My brother's home, actually, but as he is away, he's given me the run of it at present." He paused, questioningly.

  She dropped her gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath and met his eyes again. "I was looking for a servant I was told works here —a boy named Renny. I, ah, promised a friend from school that I would try to find her brother while I was in London, and this Renny may know something of him."

  "How commendable," Peter said, just as though he believed every word. "I fear, however, that I gave Renny the evening off, half an hour since, and he's not likely to be back for some time. Come, let me escort you back, while you tell me about your friend's brother. Perhaps I can be of some assistance."

  Coming forward, he extended his arm and Miss Killian tentatively placed her hand upon it. "Will it not look odd, a gentleman like yourself escorting an apparent maid through the streets of Mayfair?" He was pleased to see a trace of amusement in her eyes.

  "I'm considered an oddity already," he said with a shrug and a smile. "Mrs. MacKay, please tell Mr. Thatcher that I've had to run an errand, but that we'll go out as soon as I return. Have another bottle sent up if he wishes it." Then, turning back to Miss Killian, "Shall we?"

  Heedless of the curious looks of the kitchen maids, he led her out into the kitchen garden with as much aplomb as though he were leading her onto the floor of a grand ball. Glancing down, he saw her lips twitching, but she remained silent.

  "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me why you're dressed as a maid?" he asked as they exited into the mews. There was something decidedly pleasant about the feel of her small hand on his arm. "Could you not have simply sent a message, asking Renny to come to you at the Mountheaths' house?"

  She shook her head. "I didn't know anything about Renny until this evening. I, ah, slipped out of the house after the family left for t
he evening, in hopes of finding some clue to my . . . friend's brother's whereabouts, but I had no idea where to start. I was exceedingly fortunate to chance upon a crossing sweeper who was able to direct me here."

  "Ah." If anything, the mystery had deepened. Peter would lay odds it was Sarah's own brother —or lover? —she was seeking. The latter possibility caused an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. "What is her brother's name? Perhaps I've heard of the boy."

  She was silent for so long that he thought she might not answer. Finally, as they turned onto Grosvenor Street, she spoke. "His name is William, though he apparently goes by the nickname Flute. I, ah, don't believe he uses his surname."

  Brother, then, he thought with a surprisingly strong sense of relief. That surname was undoubtedly Killian. But—"Flute? That name is familiar." He thought for a moment, then it came to him.

  "Yes! A boy called Flute was valet-in-training to a friend of my brother's, when he stayed with us briefly last spring. Scrawny lad, as I recall. I shouldn't have guessed him as more than fourteen."

  "He's sixteen, actually." She forgot to disguise the eagerness in her voice, Peter noticed, hiding his smile. "Do you know where he is now?"

  Regretfully, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Last I knew, Lord Hardwyck had a different valet. He might know, but I fear he is in the country with Marcus —my brother —to advise him on the estate Marcus has just purchased."

  Miss Killian's face fell. "I see." But then she seemed to rally —and to remember her fiction about the boy. "Still, that is more than I knew before, and I can write to my friend and tell her that her brother was doing well as recently as last spring."

  "Of course." They had reached the edge of Berkley Square. "I presume you would prefer to go in by the back door?" he asked.

  "Yes, I would prefer my absence not be noticed. I would have to explain, and . . . my friend would not want it known that her brother may be living rather, ah, irregularly. Though if he was training to be a valet, he must be doing quite well for himself."

  It was a question, and Peter felt obliged to reassure her.

  "I'm certain that he is. Miss Killian, we can't have you wandering the streets of London like this, so I'll take this investigation upon myself, with your permission. When Renny returns, I'll see if he knows this Flute's current whereabouts, and I'll report back to you the moment I discover anything. What say you?"

  Her shining eyes were answer enough, making her lovely face fairly glow. "Would you? That would be splendid. My friend will be so grateful, I know. And so am I."

  "Your gratitude is all the reward I need, Miss Killian." Looking down at her upturned face, Peter was seized by an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her. He took a quick step back before he could give in to an impulse that would surely lead to trouble —for both of them.

  If she noticed his sudden change of manner, she gave no sign of it. "Thank you, Lord Peter," she said, referring, he was certain, only to his offer of help. "I will await your report."

  "Good night, Miss Killian." He firmly resisted the temptation to close the distance between them. "I'd best leave you here, as two are more likely to be noticed than one."

  "Yes. Yes, of course." With a last, dazzling smile that left him breathless, she turned away and hurried to the Mountheaths' back door, entering without another backward glance.

  Peter lingered, just to be sure she had roused no alarm, then slowly walked back to Grosvenor Street. He couldn't deny being a bit disturbed at how easily Miss Killian had slipped into the role of maid for her foray into the streets. If her brother was who he thought he was, could she possibly be of his own class?

  The Mountheaths must believe her to be, he reminded himself. They were by no means known for their charity, as MRR's wickedly amusing essay in the Political Register had pointed out, and Lady Mountheath had an absolute horror of scandal. She would never have taken in a girl of dubious antecedants.

  And why did he find that so reassuring? Class mattered not at all if he were merely going to help the girl —an admirably plucky girl! —find her brother. Besides, Miss Killian had given him no particular indication that she any romantic interest in himself.

  And if she did, would he dare to trust it, when so much about her was a mystery? She was clearly as poor as a churchmouse, whatever else she might be. Though she could have no clue as to the extent of his fortune, his very status among the nobility might tempt her to feign affection should she believe him attracted to her. Which he could not deny he was.

  He would simply have to be on his guard. Not only against Miss Killian, but against his own inclinations as well.

  * * *

  So eager was Sarah to hear news of her brother, it was all she could do to hide her excitement when Lord Peter came to call the next day. Lucy Mountheath went to no such effort.

  "See, Fanny, what did I tell you?" she hissed triumphantly when he was announced. Then, turning a simpering smile on their guest, "How very delightful to see you again so soon, Lord Peter! Mama predicted you would not be able to stay away, but I scarcely dared believe her." She went off into a peal of affected laughter.

  "How very perceptive, my lady," he said, bowing first over Lady Mountheath's hand, then Lucy's, then Fanny's.

  Sarah glanced up from the corner where she sat retrimming a bonnet, and Lord Peter took a step toward her, but Lady Mountheath said sharply, "Pray do not bother Miss Killian, my lord. She needs to finish her sewing so that Lucy may wear that bonnet this afternoon. Come sit between Lucy and me while I ring for a fresh pot of tea."

  Lady Mountheath sent Sarah a quelling glance, but the moment she turned away, Sarah looked again at Lord Peter, hoping he might give her some sign of whether he'd been successful in locating William. Nor did he disappoint her.

  Though clearly not daring to say anything under the watchful eyes of the female Mountheaths, he managed to catch Sarah's eye for an instant and send her a quick smile and nod. Her heart soared —with relief, of course. Only with relief.

  For the remainder of his quarter hour, he kept his attention strictly on his hostesses, listening politely to their gossip even when it bordered on the vicious. He never agreed with their assessments of their victims' character, Sarah noted, merely nodding and making noncommittal noises when some response was required. Finally, he stood.

  "I must take my leave, ladies. I trust I will see you at Lord and Lady Plumfield's ball tonight?"

  Lucy tittered. "Of course. I have kept the first dance free for you, my lord."

  "And I the second," Fanny put in, earning a glare from her sister.

  Sarah thought Lord Peter's smile looked rather forced. "I am all impatience." Then he looked pointedly toward her. "Mr. Thatcher has expressed a wish to dance with Miss Killian tonight. I assume she will be one of your party?"

  Though Lady Mountheath's smile faltered, she quickly concealed her obvious displeasure. "Certainly. Certainly, my lord. You may assure Mr. Thatcher that she will attend."

  "He will be delighted, I know." With a collective bow to the room that Sarah fancied had included her, he left them.

  She assuaged her disappointment at receiving no real news of William by telling herself that surely, over the course of a ball, Lord Peter would find some opportunity to tell her what he had discovered. He had appeared quite cheerful, which must mean—

  "So!" Lady Mountheath's indignant exclamation broke into her hopeful thoughts. "You must have used your wiles quite effectively yesterday, to have ensnared Mr. Thatcher so quickly. I hope you said nothing unseemly."

  "Of course not, my lady," Sarah replied. "I said very little, in fact." She did not add that Lucy had scarcely given any of them a chance to squeeze in a word.

  Lady Mountheath looked from Sarah to Lucy for confirmation.

  "I did not hear her say anything outré, Mama, though she did try to turn the conversation to political matters."

  Lady Mountheath rounded on Sarah at once. "Politics! I thought you had been properly schooled, miss, but I see
it is not so. If there's one topic a lady should studiously avoid, it is politics. Shame on you!"

  Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it, realizing that nothing she said would be believed. "Of course, my lady." Perhaps William had a position in a house that needed a governess, she thought hopefully, refusing to allow her benefactress' unpleasantness to spoil her buoyant mood.

  "Hurry up with that bonnet," Lady Mountheath said after glaring at her suspiciously for another long moment. "Then, since you've shown yourself so handy with a needle, you can make the necessary alterations to the gown you'll wear tonight. It will be an old one of Lucy's this time, which will require a bit more work as she is statuesque and you are not."

  Sarah merely nodded, careful not to let the corners of her mouth turn up. William was surely in Town, and tonight she would discover where! Seeing Lord Peter again was merely a means to that end, of course. She mustn't let her excitement over finding William spill over into eagerness to see—and perhaps dance with? –Lord Peter. That would never do.

  Still, she could hardly wait.

  * * *

  "Oh, buck up, Harry," Peter admonished his friend as they left Grosvenor Street. "It's just one dance, and with the fetching Miss Killian. I'm not asking you to spend any time with the Mountheath sisters this time."

  "You swore not to do any more matchmaking there," Harry reminded him. "I thought you wanted Miss Killian for yourself, in any event."

  "I do. That is— I never said any such thing. Damn you, Harry!"

  His friend was laughing now, and Peter had to grin in response. "Don't know why I still rise to your bait. You know I've no need to wed. One of the nice things about being fourth in the succession."

  "Need and inclination are two different things," Harry pointed out, watching him closely.

  But Peter wasn't about to give him more ammunition. "No inclination, either. As I said before, I'm merely curious about her. I'm hoping tonight I'll get to the bottom of her mystery, and that will be the end of it."