“Lie!” Clara exclaimed.
“Lord Tremayne is in Scotland,” Saber continued. “Addison has already begun spreading the news that His Grace is out of the country, and I want you to further it. I don’t want anyone to know I’m back in London.”
Lucille frowned. “My boy, you are not in Scotland. You are standing right here in this room.”
“I am in Scotland,” Saber insisted. “Goldie is bound and determined to seek out Lord Tremayne to spy on him. To prevent her from embarking upon such a vain task, Addison—probably at this very moment—is telling her that His Grace is in Scotland with no immediate plans to return. The nobility will be led to believe the same, and—”
“Marion, are you saying the poor girl still doesn’t know who you are?” Clara asked.
Saber crossed to the piano and ran his finger over the violet satin that covered it. “She knows the common man beneath the nobleman.” At the thought, a tender flame warmed his soul.
“The common man...” Clara began, baffled. “Marion, you are making no sense: Perhaps you should leave the room, come in again, and we can make a fresh start with this conversation.”
Saber shook his head, clearing it of all thoughts but the information he had to give his aunts. He’d already decided to tell them just enough to satisfy them, but would not reveal anything that might upset their delicate sensibilities. “Listen carefully, aunties. In the letter I had Addison bring to you from Leighwood, I told you about Delia’s diaries. You will be glad to know that in the matter concerning Hutchins’ and Doyle’s thievery, those books have, indeed, been informative. There is a problem with them, though. Many of them are badly stained and next to impossible to read. This upset me, for I’ve found other passages in them that are a great deal of interest to me. Entries concerning Angelica. I—I need to know what Delia wrote about Angelica. Surely you can understand how important it is to me to know what she thought about the girl I was going to marry.”
“Well, of course we do, my boy,” Clara murmured. She watched Saber carefully, waiting for his blank expression to crack with pain. His eyes reflected anxiety, but not the profound agony she was accustomed to seeing when Angelica’s name was mentioned. She frowned in total confusion.
Saber left the piano and sat down beside his Aunt Lucy. “I have just concluded a visit with Tyler Escott. He’s a well-known detective, and is going to study the diaries carefully. Not only that, but he is going to build an ironclad case against Hutchins and Doyle. He agrees that it’s better that no one knows I am in London. Every precaution must be taken to keep Hutchins and Doyle from learning Goldie has found me. If they knew, they’d have time to escape before I can bring them to justice. So you see? The fewer people who know she and I are together, the better. I can’t very well live in my own home right now. Addison’s other house will be my place of residence until Hutchins and Doyle are arrested.” Looking at Clara, he raised his chin.
She recognized the unshakable defiance in his gesture, and lifted a gray eyebrow. “Very well.”
Saber saw the arched brow and knew exactly what it meant. “Aunt Clara, whatever scheme it is you are planning right now, I can assure you I won’t—”
“Marion, my boy,” Lucille interrupted, “after Mr. Hutchins and Mr. Doyle are imprisoned, will you return to Ravenhurst with Goldie? Addison told us she is in danger of losing her home if she doesn’t bring you back, and I must say I’m thrilled with the possibility of your return to your ducal lands.”
Saber shook his head. “No, but Goldie will not lose her home. Ravenhurst will soon be in the hands of a new manager, who will see to her every need. And when she returns it will be with ample evidence that she has found me. I will not allow anything to happen to her. I’m going to take care of her, just as I tried to take care of Delia.”
Clara studied her nephew. There was a soft glow in his eyes when he spoke of Goldie. But there was a crease of dismay on his brow, too. Clara’s curiosity about the girl who caused such conflicting emotions grew. “Where is she, Marion?”
“Addison will be bringing her shortly.” He suddenly remembered the butler. “You did instruct Tamworth to have a care when addressing me?”
“We did,” Clara assured him. “But I want you to know, Marion, that asking the servants to lie...that pulling them into this masquerade of yours is highly improper.”
Saber feigned a guilty expression, then promptly continued with his instructions. “When Goldie arrives, do not call me Marion. I am Saber West. And pray, don’t forget that Addison is our distant relative. He has given you this house and has furnished it for you as well. He—”
“Having to remember all of that is going to drive us quite mad,” Clara predicted curtly. “And I must say, Marion, that quite a change has come over you since last we saw you. Your morals have disappeared. You think nothing of telling falsehoods, and are you aware that your neckcloth has come untied? I have never seen it like that.”
Saber reached up and felt the cloth. With a firm tug, he removed it. “No matter. These blasted things—”
“Marion!” Clara exclaimed. “Where in heaven’s name is your sense of propriety?”
“I—” He broke off when the butler arrived at the door. “Are they here, Tamworth?”
Tamworth inclined his head. “Lord Gage has arrived, Your Grace.”
Saber scowled. “Tamworth, you mustn’t address me or Lord Gage thus. I thought my aunts explained that to you.”
“They did, milord. And you may rest assured that I will call you sir in the presence of Miss Mae.”
“Very well. Show them in.”
“Miss Mae did not accompany Lord Gage, Your Grace.”
“Saber!” Addison shouted, running into the room. “She’s gone! Goldie’s gone!”
Saber bolted from his seat. “Gone? Where—”
“We breakfasted together, and then she went upstairs to do whatever it is women do after breakfast!” Addison explained hysterically. “I went into my office to await her, but when she didn’t come down I sent Mrs. Stubbs to check on her, and—She—We couldn’t find her! We looked everywhere!”
Saber felt dread pump through him. “Addison, didn’t you tell her you were going to bring her here to meet my aunts? Didn’t you—”
“I told her Lord Tremayne was in Scotland, but that’s all I had the chance to say! She began a stream of chatter that had no end! Went on and on about some chap named Duncan Gilmore who wore a skirt, had naked knees, and told everyone he was Scottish! I tried to talk, but she—”
“Addison! Goldie is wandering around London! Alone!”
“Saber, we’ll—”
“I’ve got to look for her! She—”
“You take your coach, I’ll take mine. We’ll—”
Saber never heard the rest of what Addison suggested. He raced from the house, slamming the front door behind him as he left in search of the girl whose welfare depended on his finding her.
Before someone else did.
Chapter Thirteen
“Itchie Bon,” Goldie murmured down to the dog, “I think we’ve found the street that leads to hell. I don’t know how we got to this place, but we sure did take a wrong turn somewhere.”
Revulsion snaked through her as she stared at her surroundings. Here the streets were not as clean as they were near Addison’s house. Filthy didn’t even describe them. Rotting garbage was piled everywhere, and Goldie noticed no one cared about having to step around it. Some people trudged right through it, and one woman was even huddled in it for warmth against the chilled morning mist. The air was filled with a cacophony of human voices, animal screeches, and rolling wheels. All around her were tall buildings, painted black by the greasy smoke she could see, smell, and taste. It seemed to her that the sunshine couldn’t find a way past it. She decided her conjecture was correct when she saw no living plant growing anywhere.
Carefully making her way around a heap of fish heads, she tapped a young girl on the shoulder. “Can you tell me
where I am?”
The girl frowned, then smiled. “Ya ain’t from ’ere, are ya, miss?”
“I’m from America.”
“I knew it. Yer speech ain’t the same. Some says I’m dumb, but I ain’t. Me name’s Rosie Tetter, miss. I has sixteen years in me, an’ I gots all me teeth.”
Goldie returned the girl’s smile, looking dutifully into Rosie’s open mouth. “And what have you got in your basket, Rosie? Are you sellin’ flowers?”
Rosie laughed. “Farthest thing from it, miss,” she answered, lifting the rag that covered the basket.
Goldie’s eyes widened; she took a step back. “Great day Miss Agnes, that’s dog mess!”
The girl nodded and adjusted her black leather glove. “Been collectin’ it since dawn. It takes a long time ter find this much pure. Ya’d think with all the dogs ‘ere in London-town it’d be easy, but it ain’t.”
Goldie frowned, tightening her hold on Itchie Bon’s leash when he began barking at a stray cat. “Pure?”
“I ‘ear tell it purifies. The tanners in Bermondsey buy it an’ use it ter make leather soft.”
Goldie glanced at the full basket again. “I’ll swannee, that’s the strangest thing I ever heard in my whole life.”
Rosie nodded in agreement. “I didn’t used ter be the pure finder in me family, I didn’t. Me grandfather was. But ’e passed away a few months ago, an’ now I’m on me own in the world. I got two jobs, I do. See?” She pulled open her apron pocket so Goldie could see inside.
Goldie peered into the pocket, seeing what looked to be about fifty or sixty cigar ends. “Do you smoke those?”
Rosie laughed and swiped at a lock of limp brown hair. “No, I sells ’em. I got lucky last night, I did. Spent hours on Regent Street, an’ found all these. There’s a bloke in Rosemary Lane wot buys ’em. ’E sells ’em ter the cigar fac’try, an’ they’re made inter more cigars. Wot a joke on the toffs wot buy an’ smoke ’em! Every time they lights one up, it might be the same one they smoked last month!”
Rosie’s enthusiasm made Goldie smile. She felt herself warming to the friendly girl. “Do you live around here?” she asked, praying Rosie would say no.
“I live about a block away. Weren’t ya watchin’ where ya was goin’ miss? Ya ain’t the sort wot lives around ‘ere.”
Looking around, Goldie sighed. “I was watchin’ where I was goin’, but I got lost. I just kept walkin’, and I ended up here. This is the first time I’ve ever been in London. And the worst thing about it is that no one knows where I am. They don’t even know where to look for me.”
“Don’t be afeared, miss. Ya found me, Rosie Tetter, an’ I’ll sees ter ya, I will. ’Ere,” she said, digging into her blouse, “’ave a bite.”
Goldie looked at the moldy piece of bread. Compassion for Rosie bloomed. “No, thank you, Rosie. I’ve already eaten.”
Shrugging, Rosie popped the bread into her mouth. “Why ya ’ere, miss?”
“I came to London to watch dukes, but I don’t reckon I’ll find any around here. Do y’know where I can find a group of ’em all together? I don’t have time to hunt ’em out one by one, y’see. I figure if I can find a place where they make a herd, I’ll get a lot more done.”
“A ’erd o’ dukes?” Rosie murmured, scowling. “I ain’t never ’eard of ’em makin’ a ’erd, but I’ve seen groups o’ maybe five or six rich blokes before. Will that do ya, miss?”
“My name’s Goldie. And yes, a flock of five or six would be—”
“Coo, Rosie!” a man exclaimed as he approached. “Who’s yer friend? Fine skirt, she is. Dainty chickabiddy.”
Rosie spat at the man’s feet. “She ain’t yer bleedin’ chickabiddy, Og, so don’t ya go gettin’ no itches ter put yer flamin’ bunch o’ fives no place on ’er! Ya got that, dicky dido?”
“Who ya callin’ clay-brained, Rosie?” Og demanded, his fleshy face purpling. “I ain’t the one ’avin’ ter pick up pure, am I? Ya won’t find me, Og Drit, workin’ at somethin’ like—”
“Get knotted! Ya dress like a ’ardworkin’ coster, ya do, but ain’t nobody’ll find ya workin’, Og. When ya ain’t doin’ the Butcher’s biddin’, yer a bleedin’ scuffle-’unter, ya are! Always ’angin’ ’round the docks, actin’ like yer lookin’ fer work, but wot ya do is steal wotever ya can get yer—”
“Watch yer friggin’ mouth, Rosie, or I’ll—”
“An’ sometimes ’e’s a flamin’ meat-monger,” Rosie enlightened Goldie. “’E’s the sort wot no woman’s safe with. ’E filled me friend Milly’s belly last year, ’e did, an’ now Milly—”
“Bloody ’ell,” Og muttered, stuffing his hands into the deep pockets of his long, grimy corduroy coat. “Wot a cake-’ole ya got on ya, Rosie. I’ll warn ya ter ’ave a care with it, o’ I might jest close it fer ya ferever one o’ these days.”
“Try touchin’ me, Og, an’ I’ll cut yer friggin’ bald-’eaded ’ermit in ’alf!”
“Rosie,” Goldie said, “let’s leave.” She gave Itchie Bon more leash, allowing the snarling dog to get closer to Og.
When Goldie spoke, Og’s eyes lit up. He took a step away, his gaze taking in each inch of her. Smiling suddenly, he spun and charged into an alley.
Goldie felt relief flood her. “What’s a cake-hole, Rosie? And a meat-monger? And...a bald-headed hermit?”
Rosie continued to watch Og until he disappeared. “A cake-’ole’s yer mouth. A meat-monger’s a man wot can’t resist wot’s ’twixt a girl’s legs. Og Drit’s ’otter’n a flamin’ chimney, an’ ’is bald-’eaded ’ermit’s wot ’e uses when ’e’s wenchin’. It’s ’is cock, Goldie. Do ya know wot a cock is?”
Goldie’s eyes widened.
Rosie smiled and patted Goldie’s shoulder. “Listen, Goldie, I ain’t usually worried ‘bout nobody but meself, but yer the sort wot gets inter bad trouble ’round ’ere. Yer clothes ain’t much ter look at, but yer clean, an’ ya got that look about ya wot the meat-mongers like. Og ain’t the only one, ya know. ’Ell, there’s even a business fer it. Blokes like Og, they nab young girls like you, Goldie. Some nobs pay ter ’ave virgins, see, an’—”
“Nobs? Rosie—”
“Rich people. Goldie, I can tell ya ain’t never laid with a man afore. Iffen ya’ve got a mind ter keep it that way, ya got ter get out o’ ’ere. Come on, luv. I’ll shows ya the way.”
* * *
Saber bolted out of the coach when it stopped in front of Addison’s house. He’d been looking for Goldie for hours without success. He prayed Addison had found her. “Addison!” he shouted as he tore through the front door of his friend’s house. “Is she here? Addison!”
Mrs. Stubbs scurried into the entryway and curtsied. “Lord—Mr. Gage is in the drawing room, Your Grace—Sir,” she informed him, wringing her fat hands in her apron. “Miss Mae and her...friend are with him. The girl Miss Mae brought—She—Well...”
At her stammering, Saber stormed to the parlor, stopping short at the doorway. There sat Goldie, safe and comfortable on the enormous satin sofa. How dare she be safe and comfortable when he’d been searching for hours for her! he raged. Why, she didn’t even have the decency to look tired! God, what he’d been through trying to find her, all the while believing the worst, knowing she was lost to him forever.
“There you sit, Goldie Mae, warm and happy as can be!” he thundered. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? I’ve been—”
“Saber!” She jumped off the sofa and ran to him. Once before him, she did a little leap and threw her arms around his neck, her feet dangling in thin air. “Saber, while I was walkin’ home with Rosie, I came up with the most brilliant plan! You and I are—”
“Goldie, why—”
“Y’see, Saber, the real Duke Marion’s in Scotland, so I decided that what we can do is—”
“Goldie, who is this girl?” Saber asked, looking at the bedraggled person perched on the edge of the love seat. “Where have you been? Why—”
“Oh, this is Rosie Tetter,” Goldie explained, sliding back down to the thick carpet. “She’s a pure and cigar-finder. Saber, do y’know what the tanners do with pure? Do y’know—”
“Yes, I know,” he growled. “Goldie, tell me you haven’t been in the East End! Tell me—”
“Well, I wish I could tell you I haven’t been there, Saber, but y’see—”
“You’ve been in the East End—alone—and you can stand there rambling merrily on? Good God, Goldie, you should be scared to—”
“Are you mad at—”
“Mad does not begin to describe how I feel! Wandering! All morning! As if you knew London as well as your little towns in America! And here you are, none the worse! Not a scratch on you! Not as much as a slight tremble in your hands! Why did you leave the house by yourself this morning?”
At his bellowing, hurt spiraled through her. But so did anger. Dammit, he wouldn’t even listen to her explanations! Wouldn’t even try to understand how important her plan was! “Don’t you yell at me!” she hollered in a rare show of defiance.
Her shout took him aback. He’d never seen her truly angry at him before. “You shouted at me,” he said, amazed.
Ire continued to weave through Goldie. “Well, you yelled at me first! Y’want me to be upset over what happened to me today, Saber? Do you? All right, fine!” She wrung her hands. Her chin on her chest, she began to shake as forcefully as she could get her body to do it. “Oh!” she wailed. “Oh, Saber, it was awful! All those fish heads! That black air! Those screechin’ animals! And no growin’ plants anywhere! The scare I got was so terrible, I just know that if I keep on thinkin’ about it, I’ll be dead by tonight!”
Despite his anger, his lips twitched at her dramatic performance. “All right, Goldie, you have made your point. Now tell me what happened.”
“Rosie helped Goldie find this neighborhood, Saber,” Addison explained instead. “Then Goldie recognized my house. I’d been out all morning looking for her. When I didn’t find her, I came home. Not ten minutes later, she arrived with Rosie.”
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