Saving Sarah

by Gail Ranstrom

  “D-Dicken, Sticky Joe. And Mr. Renquist. He used to be one of Bow Street’s finest thief takers, and I thought if he could find thieves, he could locate three small children.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes and he mistrusted her answer. At the moment, he wondered if he could trust anything she said. “Be that as it may, do not follow Whitlock again. If you do, there will be consequences.”

  She squirmed in her chair, then tightened her jaw with determination. “I shall follow Mr. Whitlock for as long as it takes to find the last child. Consequences be damned.”

  Bloody hell! Sarah Hunter was the most aggravating woman he’d ever known. “ Grim consequences,” he told her in a threatening tone. “Are you certain you want to risk that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  If threats were not going to work, he certainly could not keep her under lock and key until McHugh located the blackmail evidence. There was only one solution. “If I find the child for you, Sarah, will you stop?”

  She hesitated, uncertainty in her eyes. “I…I suppose. I mean, I would have no further reason to follow him.”

  Relieved, he nodded. “Then tell me who I am looking for.”

  “Benjamin. He is the youngest. He is five years old but small for his age, and we have speculated that Mrs. Carmichael may have apprenticed him to a chimney sweep. We have not been able to find a trace of him in any of the usual places, and Mr. Whitlock’s nightly ramblings have not led us to any likely sources.”

  “And that is why you went back to talk to Mrs. Carmichael?” At her nod, he continued. “How will I know him?”

  “He is so high.” She held her hand up to measure three feet. “Blond, with blue eyes, and thin. Mrs. Whitlock says he has a dimple in his right cheek. I have seen a miniature portrait of him. I will recognize him.”

  “Then I shall bring you every dimpled, blond, blue-eyed sweep in London, and you may choose the right one.”

  A tiny smile curved her lips before a veil fell over her features again. “We are out of time. I shall go with you.”

  “Be here at seven in the morning.” He called her bluff, knowing she could never get away in daylight. “I’ll send out my best men. We shall have him within the week.”

  “Week? I need him tomorrow.”

  Surprised at her urgency, Ethan frowned. “I will do all I can, but I can promise nothing. In fact, it would be best if you keep out of it. My men could move faster without you.”

  She clasped her hands together and the knuckles turned white with her intensity. She seemed to be struggling with her pride, then looked up at him and nodded. “I shall wait for word from you until evening tomorrow. After that, I shall have to join the search. If Benjamin is not delivered to my door, should I meet your man here or at St. Paul’s?”

  “St. Paul’s. Why the urgency, Sarah?”

  “M-Mrs. Whitlock is beside herself.”

  “What will prevent Whitlock from stealing them away again? Have you thought this out?”

  “Thoroughly.” She shrugged. “I have a plan.”

  The mere thought of that gave him pause. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. She met his eyes and did not waver. “Very well. I shall find Benjamin, and you shall leave Whitlock alone.”

  “Why are you following Mr. Whitlock?” she asked.

  He had known that question would come and had decided to tell her as much of the truth as he could without endangering her. “Like you, Sarah, I am doing a favor for a friend.”

  “Then you know the level of my commitment.”

  Yes. He knew. His commitment, his honor depended upon the repayment of his debt to Kilgrew.

  She tilted her head. “So you arranged everything, down to finding Mr. Whitlock at the Swan? What would you have done if I hadn’t chosen him as the subject for my ‘following lessons’?”

  “I’d have guided your choice.”

  “Guided?” she asked, arching her eyebrows in scorn. “Was I so easy to manipulate? I begin to doubt you were ever honest with me, Ethan. Yet you have the temerity to take me to task for lying to you.”

  “Enough,” he snapped. “I have more than my share of grievances. Shall we keep to the subject at hand?”

  “I think we are finished.” She stood up and glanced around. “I believe I can find my way out.”

  Ethan stood, too. Was Sarah so rattled that she had missed the obvious? “Did you lose your cap when Rob brought you here?”

  She became still and stared at him thoughtfully. “I…I think it fell off at the orphanage.”

  “Good God,” he muttered. “Was there any mark, anything about it, that could lead the authorities to you?”

  “I don’t know. It was the one you gave me.”

  Ethan ran his fingers through his hair. He was safe enough. He never tagged or marked his clothing for just such reasons. “I will take you home. We cannot have you roaming the streets with half the authorities in London looking for a murderer.” When Sarah shook her head, he grabbed his jacket from a peg on the back of the door and ignored her. “You are important to one of the few friends I have left.”

  “Reggie?”

  “Auberville.”

  Her voice was soft. Uncertain. “You spoke with him?”

  Recalling the things Auberville had told him caused Ethan a momentary flash of discomfort. “I hoped for a clue as to why you would suddenly decide to marry Cedric Broxton. God knows, the last time I saw you, you were entreating me to free you from your fears, and then you were avoiding so much as a single dance with me. What was it, Sarah? Remorse over having allowed me to make love to you? Or did Reggie persuade you that I was not worthy of you? That I am a thief and a murderer?”

  She looked up at him and the pain in her eyes was startling—and unexpected. “Should I have ignored the evidence of my own eyes and ears? But you were always a gentleman to me, and so I did not care until I learned what placed you under a cloud, sir. Treason. You were in league with those who employed Mr. Farmingdale and the others. And one does not earn a title such as ‘Demon of Alsatia’ without cause.”

  He twisted her words this way and that, trying to make sense of her reasoning. She had not cared when she thought that he was a thief or a murderer, but could not forgive treason? Then the hidden meaning in her words hit him full force. He blinked in astonishment. Sarah had believed the worst of him all along. She simply hadn’t cared. And he had been naive enough—nay, eager enough—to believe that she saw through the lies and aspersions to the truth of who and what he was.

  The realization was deep and painful. He could deny her charge, of course, but to what purpose? People believed what they wanted to believe unless they had solid, undeniable proof to the contrary. He had no proof.

  He took Sarah’s arm more roughly than he intended and turned her toward the door. “Time you were in bed, Lady Sarah.”

  The next morning when Grace, Charity and Annica were present, Sarah went to her parlor door and peeked into the hall. No lurking brothers, thank heavens. She closed the door to insure their privacy. The servants were far too busy cleaning from the party last night to eavesdrop, and her brothers would stay far away from what they assumed was a Saturday meeting of bluestockings for the purpose of discussing literature.

  “Last night,” she began as she took her seat again, “I found Mrs. Carmichael dead. She’d been killed where she sat. I doubt she even saw it coming.”

  Shocked gasps met this announcement and Sarah rushed on, glossing over the things she did not wish to discuss. “Someone said she was selling the children in her care. Money. I wonder if that was not Mr. Whitlock’s motive for stealing the children rather than keeping Mrs. Whitlock under his control. His nightly activities do not come cheap—tarts, opium, drink. And did Mrs. Whitlock not say he’d been blackmailing someone?”

  “I recall something like that,” Charity mused. “It does appear he is a man in need of money. But what happened last night? Did you report the murder to the magistrate?”

>   “I fled,” she admitted. “I heard the watchman’s whistle and ran for all I was worth. I could only think of what Reggie would say if I was caught at a murder scene dressed in Andrew’s clothes. I had picked up the knife, and there was blood on my hands. It would have looked as if…” She glanced down at her hands, trembling with the memory.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No. But I heard footsteps when I arrived.” She shivered. “It must have been the murderer.”

  “Lord,” Grace muttered. “What next?”

  “Tonight,” Sarah said, “I shall rejoin the search for Benjamin.”

  Annica gestured airily. “If Mr. Renquist cannot find Benjamin, ’tis unlikely you will be able to do so.”

  “Tonight is all we have. If we do not find Benjamin tonight, we could miss our chance to put Harold Whitlock on that ship. I think we should have him conscripted whether we find Benjamin or not. I fear ’twas Mr. Whitlock who dispatched Mrs. Carmichael—to prevent her from telling. If he would do that to an ally, what might he do to Mrs. Whitlock if he suspects her of treachery?”

  “I see your point, Sarah. Yes,” Grace said. “I think you may be right. We should get rid of Harold Whitlock at once whether we find Benjamin or not.”

  “Those in favor?” Annica called for a vote.

  “Aye,” they said unanimously.

  “I shall send word to Mr. Renquist to intercept Mr. Whitlock tonight,” Annica volunteered.

  “Without delay, please, and as early as possible. I would hate to come across him tonight should I have Benjamin in tow.” Her conscience troubled her for a moment. She had promised Ethan she would not interfere with Mr. Whitlock if he found Benjamin for her. Still, Benjamin had not been delivered to her, and Mrs. Whitlock’s safety was more important than anything else. If Mr. Whitlock was committing murder now, she could be next.

  In an effort to reassure the Wednesday League, Sarah said, “Dicken and Joe are much more clever than you may think. They are children, so people say things in front of them that they would never tell anyone else. We will come up with Benjamin sooner or later.” She pressed her temples where a nagging ache began. “The worst is that I know there is something I should remember—something that could help—but it keeps eluding me. It is there, in the back of my mind—something I know, but do not know I know.”

  Grace smiled. “I fear that actually makes sense.”

  Annica lifted her teacup and took a sip. “Relax, Sarah. You are trying too hard. It will come to you if you do not force it.”

  “You are right, Nica. But I shall meet the others tonight to see if any progress has been made in finding the boy.”

  Charity nibbled a piece of butter cake. “I do not think you should, Sarah. Now that you’re to become Broxton’s bride, he will have something to say about how you spend your nights.”

  Nights! With Cedric! She shuddered.

  As if reading her mind, Annica said, “I was dumbfounded at Reginald’s announcement last night.”

  “No more astonished than I,” she admitted. “Reggie thought to surprise me with the news. He has been urging me to make a choice for some time, and I have been putting him off because it meant I would have to tell him about Farmingdale and the others. So when I did not make a choice, he made one for me.”

  “Not the result you were hoping for, I gather,” Grace said.

  She shook her head. “Heavens, no! I…actually, I am not betrothed to Cedric, but that is a secret.”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at her.

  “I told my brothers last night. About the attack,” she clarified. “Reggie says he will make things right with Lord Cedric, but he has asked me to be patient a fortnight while he thinks of a way to get clear and smooth things over.”

  “Ah.” Annica nodded. “I wondered where you went after the announcement. I looked for you to find out what had happened, but you had disappeared. Then Reggie said you’d had too much excitement and went to lie down.”

  “They think I am delicate.” Sarah said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The midnight streets were unusually quiet for a Saturday, and Sarah feared she would be conspicuous alone. She had waited fully one half hour past the appointed time when the man who had thrown her over her shoulder last night bounded up the steps of the west porch of St. Paul’s.

  He gestured to her and called in a hoarse whisper, “Hurry! No time to spare.”

  She skipped down the steps to meet him halfway before he spun on his heel and headed off at a brisk pace. The church clock chimed once, taunting her with the arrival of Sunday. “Where is he? Have you found Benjamin?”

  “You must have a great deal of influence with Travis,” he said as he set a course for Spitalfields. “He put everything else aside and put all his men on a search for one small boy.”

  Out of breath from matching his long stride, she smiled up at him. “I think he is just anxious to be quit of me.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that, Lady Sarah. Whatever the reason, it has worked. Travis is on his way there now to keep watch lest someone try to move the boy. He said he would wait for your identification before trying to…er, liberate him.”

  Hope lifted her spirits. How had Ethan found Benjamin in a single day when Renquist, his runners and she had been unable to find a single trace of him? All his unsavory connections, no doubt. “If this is so, sir, you and Lord Ethan will have my eternal gratitude.”

  “I shall give my share to Ethan. I think he will find more use for it than I.”

  Sarah glanced sideways at the Scot. His expression did not change, but those remarkable green eyes gave him away. She smiled in spite of herself. The man was teasing her!

  “Then I am safe. Lord Ethan will tell me to take Benjamin and be gone from his life.”

  He shook his head and led her down a side street toward a dark, cramped-looking structure with high windows and a heavy door. It sat back from the street to provide a small paved yard barred by a fence and gate.

  He turned to her and squeezed her arm in a friendly gesture. “Life is brief, Lady Sarah, and full of ironies. You may think you have all the time in the world, but the course of your life can turn in an instant. Try to waste as little of it as possible, eh?” he whispered before pointing to a darkened alley across the street. “Travis will be waiting there. I’d best get back to guarding Whitlock.”

  Sarah watched him disappear into the shadows with a feeling of regret. If her plan had gone well, Harold Whitlock would be aboard a ship about to set sail for Java. Would he still think her amusing when he discovered her role in that?

  She dashed across the lane into the alley. Ethan was crouched by a wall, waiting.

  “Sarah,” he whispered. “I think the lad is the one you are looking for. I heard the head sweep call his apprentice Benny-boy. They were working late and arrived home just a half hour ago. I could not tell if the lad was blond or not. He was covered head to toe in soot.”

  “How shall we get him out?” Sarah asked.

  Ethan peered at her through the gloom. “I thought you had a plan.”

  “I…not actually,” she admitted. “Do you?”

  There was a long silence, as if Ethan were biting his tongue. Finally, in a low growl, he said, “I suppose I could offer to buy his apprenticeship.”

  “I will reimburse you.”

  He stood from his crouch. “Wait here,” he instructed. He left the alley and went to rattle the iron gate to the small yard.

  A tall, lanky man dressed in a black coat and dark trousers opened the door and came to the gate. His sharp voice carried across the distance. “’Erenow! ’Tis late. What d’ye want?”

  “I need an apprentice sweep,” Ethan said. “How much training does yours have?”

  “’Ow much? Well, not so little as to come cheap. You could ’ave ’im for twenty quid.”

  “I’ll give you twelve.”

  The man affected outrage. “’E’s a right small one. Got a lot of goo
d years before ’e’s too big. A new ’prentice would cost me.”

  “How do I know he’s worth it?”

  “’E took down twenty bushels just today. Light some straw under ’im, an’ ’e works real fast, ’e does.”

  “Straw, eh?” Ethan’s back stiffened. Sarah saw his hands clench into fists and prayed he would not hit the man before they had Benjamin. “Fifteen quid.”

  “I dunno,” the man hedged. “Trainin’ a new one’ll set me back.”

  Ethan shrugged and turned away as if withdrawing his offer.

  “Wait! Gi’ me seventeen an’ ’e’s yours.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Benny. ’E’s about five years old. Slight frame. You’ll get four years out of ’im before you need another. ’E’s a bargain at twice what I’m askin’.”

  “Bring him out and let me have a look.” Ethan said.

  The lanky man scrambled back to the door and disappeared within. Sarah joined Ethan at the gate. “I’ll nod if it is Benjamin. Then you can pay the man and we can leave.”

  He did not turn to look at her. “Something isn’t right. Go back to the alley and wait for me.”

  “Ethan—”

  “Go, Sarah.”

  She caught the urgency in his voice and dashed for the alley. Within a few moments, the lanky man was back, dragging a small boy by his shirt collar. The lad was struggling and flailing his arms wildly. Sarah recognized panic when she saw it, and the poor child was in the grip of it. A lump formed in her throat.

  “’Ere ’e is,” the man told Ethan. “Right small, ’e is. Give me my seventeen quid, and you can ’ave ’im.”

  Ethan stepped forward as the man opened the gate to push the lad through.

  From the corner of her eye, Sarah caught a movement in the shadows across the street. Was it the Scot, come back to help? There was a small flash of light from that direction, and then a sharp crack that echoed down the narrow street.

  The sweep flew backward with a loud grunt and Ethan fell on top of him, dragging the boy with him. The child screamed as another shot rang out. Sarah staggered to her feet, fear tripping her heartbeat at a rapid pace. She started forward as the shrill sound of whistles carried from a nearby street. The watch! Every instinct she possessed drove her toward Ethan’s side, but before she could reach him, he rose to his knees and gathered the boy against his chest.