“They not there, sir,” a bent woman wearing a dirty shawl said to him.
“Where are they?” he asked.
She simply shrugged, turning away and he fished in his pocket for a few coins. “Where are they?” he asked, holding them out.
She regarded the coins, considering. “They left. First the girl. Then her mother. Didn’t go to the same place. Girl seemed upset. So did the mother.”
“What happened to get them that way?”
The woman shrugged again, and Percival sighed, reaching in his pocket for a gold sovereign, “What happened?”
“Man came. He was shouting at them. Called them criminals. Said they was stealin’. The mother threw ‘im out. Daughter left soon after.”
“Describe this man,” Percival demanded.
The woman looked down at the coin again and then back up at him, assessing.
“‘e was a lord, like you. Fancy. Nose in the air like the air was foul or somethin’. Loud man, angry.”
Percival almost smiled at the description. He was fairly sure she was speaking of Lord Huntington. He held out the coin to her.
“Thank you.”
She reached out a slow hand, snatched at the coin, and then hurried away lest he change his mind. Percival strode to his carriage, resolving to call on Abigail at home. Where else would she have gone?
He drove off, pulling up to the Thorne household, watching for any sign of life.
“Philip!” Joan called desperately as she rushed into the house. He came hurrying out of the study in response, face grim.
“What has happened?”
“S-s-she…Ab-ab-abby.”
Philip came and gripped her arms hard, staring into her eyes, “Calm down, Joan. Breathe...now tell me what is going on.”
“A-Abigail found out about...about…”
“About what, Joan?”
“Reggie. She knows about Reggie.”
Philip gawped at her. “How?”
“Man came in the shop, he confronted her about it.”
“What man?”
“I-I don’t know. I th-think it was her father.”
Philip’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Whose father?”
“T-the girl. Th-the one who...the one that’s engaged to the Duke.”
“Oh. Huntington.”
“Y-yes. Is that who he is?”
Philip nodded, moving away as he pondered this new information. “You say he came to confront her about it?”
“H-he was accusing her of all sorts of things. Stealing...lying. I...asked him to leave but it was too late. She had already heard everything.”
“Where is she now?”
Joan shook her head, “I don’t know. She just...ran off.”
“We have to find her.”
“I know we do. But where do we start?”
Joan hesitated. “The Duke?”
Just then, they heard a carriage draw up outside. Philip strode to the window to peer outside.
He turned to Joan with a grim smile. “Well, speak of the devil and he appears.”
Chapter 14
Complications
Twenty-three years ago, Underworld Britain had been in the midst of a nightmare, courtesy of one Domitian Constantine.
It was a well-known fact that Mohocks were covetous of titled Lords and their properties. They conspired with some noblemen, such as the Duke of Leicester, who fell on hard times, and was incorporated into their ranks – to apply his influence on their behalf in exchange for a share of their loot.
They kept their claws dug into these noblemen for as long as they could, even going as far as endowing new candidates to keep it up.
Bearing in mind this obsession with the aristocracy, it came as quite the shock when the Mohocks seemed quite enchanted by this interloper—a commoner—and teamed up behind his plans for empire building. His ambitions went far beyond mere thievery and survival and he began to fill his followers with delusions of grandeur.
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Domitian Constantine seemed quite reasonable at first, all pleasant politics, and pretty speeches until he had taken a turn towards the murderous in an attempt to secure new territories.
When ruling half of the London Underworld proved not to be enough for them, they decided they wanted the rest of England, too. They aimed to claim it through killing and torture, and nobody was safe.
Just when things were looking bleak, Reginald Sinclair, an orphan boy raised by criminals, stood up to oppose him. He and his brother, Philip, fought side by side to defeat this scourge. Many of the other gangs joined them, purely in the interests of self-preservation.
After a few years of horror and fear, Reginald Sinclair stopped the fighting by destroying Domitian Constantine in spectacular fashion, returning things to normal.
Or, relatively so, as Domitian Constantine’s unlamented demise left the Underworld in upheaval. Reginald faked his death to protect his new family from retribution from Constantine’s followers. He set his brother to watch over them and disappeared. Domitian Constantine and his followers had run brothels and opium dens and smuggling rings, all of which collapsed in the aftermath, leaving a vacuum of vice. From this emptiness emerged the Foxes, to save the morally corrupt from boredom.
Reginald and his Foxes snagged up the brothels and cleaned up the girls.
Smugglers were worried about their operations, but they were left free to operate as normal. The Foxes were taking up the reins and minimizing what had previously been a great deal of bloodshed. Philip Sinclair was in charge of the legal establishments whose profits were used to support Joan Thorne and her daughter.
Benedict looked up from reading the account, his face thoughtful, before he finished the document that his Bow Street Runner had sent him from the confidential files of Ηis Μajesty’s archive.
Reginald Sinclair was killed in an ambush not too long after the birth of his daughter, Abigail. He left his wife and child in the care of his brother, Phillip Sinclair.
“Hmm,” Benedict sighed. This was a situation that would bear careful consideration.
They heard the knock at the door and exchanged glances.
Joan wrung her hands together. “We can’t just leave him out there.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is a stubborn man and a noble, he will not go away.”
Philip sighed but went to open the door.
“Hello. I am in search of Abigail. Is she at home?”
Philip stepped back and let him in. “No, she is not. But come in.”
The Duke stepped in the house, “Where is she?” he asked, seemingly concerned.
“That is a good question, Your Grace. She went running out of the shop and we haven’t seen her since.” Philip replied grudgingly.
“Why would she do that?”
Joan sighed, “Because she learned some shocking news.”
“Shocking?” The Duke turned to her, “Shocking like perhaps her father was a criminal?”
Joan paled, “How do you know that?”
“I received the very same shocking news this morning.”
Joan’s eyebrows rose, “From whom?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Considering it is news about me and mine, I would say it is.”
The Duke sighed, “My aunt informed me of the news.”
Philip took a step closer. “Your aunt? And where did she hear it from?”
“I do not know.”
Philip and Joan exchanged glances. “So both your aunt and the girl’s father have hatched a plot to spread damned hum about my ward and her mother?”
The Duke fixed Philip with a glare. “Damned hum? Are you certain there is no truth to what they are saying?”
Philip merely glared back at him.
Joan stepped forward. “The truth or otherwise of this news is irrelevant. We need to find Abigail.”
The Duke nodded. “You’re right. Have you any idea where she would
go?”
Joan shook her head helplessly. “We have some friends in the old neighborhood but…”
“Why don’t you begin there, and I will try to retrace her footsteps from the shop?” the Duke suggested.
“We do not need your help.” Philip snapped.
“Well, lawks, you are getting it. We have to cast our resources in a pool dish if we are to succeed. So, put aside your animosity for now. We can revisit later once we get her back.”
Philip looked displeased, but he nodded his agreement.
The Duke nodded, “Good. Let’s get started, then. It is getting late and she should not be alone in the dark.”
“Mother?” Henry said, entering the drawing room where she was reading a book.
She looked up and smiled at him, “Hello, Henry. When did you return from your trip?”
“Last night, in fact. I wanted to come have breakfast with you and Percival this morning but you seemed to be having a rather intense discussion.”
“Well, there is a lot you missed while you were away.”
“Oh really? Like what?”
“Well, it seems that Percival has developed a tendresse for a dressmaker.”
“I beg your pardon?”
His mother nodded grimly. “Yes. He has.”
“But…what about Lady Rosaline? Are they not betrothed?”
“Yes, indeed they are. But he has been running around town, making a spectacle of himself over this girl. It has been mortifying.”
“Poor Lady Rosaline,” Henry murmured, “Is she all right?”
Lady Stanley shook her head, “She is beside herself. But what are we to do?”
“He cannot treat her like that. It is not right. Lady Rosaline is the sweetest, loveliest lady in London. She deserves to be treated with respect.”
“Tell that to your cousin.”
“I will.”
Lady Stanley nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand, “You are always such a supportive child, my dear.”
Henry smiled. “Thank you, Mother.”
Abigail accompanied Claudette to her performance that night, sitting in the dressing room as she waited for the play to be over. She was reading the playbill, having nothing better to do as actors came in and out, changing costumes, touching up their face paint, or just resting until they were needed on stage again. They did not speak to her much, so she afforded them the same courtesy.
She wondered what her mother was doing at the moment, if she was worried. She thought about writing a note and sending it with a messenger to their home, but she was not ready to forgive or forget and if she told her mother where she was, Joan would surely come looking for her.
All she wanted was some time to think, and her mother and Philip would just have to trust that she would be all right.
I deserve a little time after two-and-twenty years of lies.
“Richard! So you came to see the play?” Claudette beamed at the Earl, who stood at the door to her dressing room. Abigail paused in the midst of unlacing her, not sure whether to continue her task, fetch some ale, or disappear silently.
Once Claudette had finished her play, Abigail had offered to help her change. This was the first she had come face-to-face with Claudette’s beau.
“I dared not miss it, once I heard you were part of it,” The Earl of Wallingside said. “Although, what's this you're wearing? No thespian I ever saw wore a coiffure of turkey feathers on her head!”
“What? You didn't care for our elegant depiction of the Quality, and you being one of them?” Claudette teased. “Besides, Richard, 'tis only a wig, even if it does seem as heavy as lead. Do take it off me, Abigail, and perhaps you can wait for me at the coffee house across the way?”
“What about your gown...?”
“Don’t you worry about it. I was seeing to my own costumes when I was just another bit in the chorus. I'll see it hung up and not left to wrinkle. I shall see you later, yes?”
“Very well, Claudette. I shall wait for you outside.”
Abigail lifted the wig onto a stand, waved at her friend, and left. Claudette shut the door behind her and wrapped her arms around Richard’s neck. He set his hands to her waist and bent to kiss her. Not that he had to bend far—she was a tall woman, and in her heeled slippers, she was very nearly on a level with him.
“What was that about your gown, Claudette?” he said when they'd broken for air.
“I trust you'll unlace me from it, of course. Aye, and lace me into another one, better suited to taking me and my friend out to supper!” She loosened one hand and tapped him on the shoulder with the fan she still held.
“Your wish is my command, madam.” He kissed her nose.
“I do hope you don’t mind if Miss Thorne sups with us?” Claudette said, once they'd traded a few more kisses, and he'd unpinned the ribbon corsage at her bosom and eased the outer gown from her shoulders. True to her word, she hung it carefully on a line that stretched across the breadth of the room. “She has nowhere to go at the moment.”
“Oh? And why is that?” Richard said, “I feel that I have heard that name bandied about. What does she do for a living? Is she a thespian, too?”
“Oh no, she is a dressmaker. She makes some of my costumes. She’s supremely talented. You should send your wife to her.” She grinned at him, unpinning the stomacher that covered her stays.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “If you say so…” he murmured, and came up behind her, putting his arms around her, and proceeded to hamper her efforts to divest herself of petticoat and broad panniers by kissing her shoulders and her neck, left temptingly bare by the way her auburn curls had been pinned up to hide beneath the wig. Clad only in her shift and stays now, she turned in his arms.
“So, Richard, do you mean to tumble me here in my dressing room?” She lifted her hands to his face. “Not that I've any objection, you understand. It’s only that I don't wish to dress my hair, only to have to do it again before we go out, so if you have a mind to, now would be best.”
“Claudette, you tempt me,” Richard said. “Again, I am a slave to your wishes, and if you desire it, I will oblige you, but I'd thought to wait long enough to get you somewhere with a proper bed.”
Claudette grinned. “Such a gentleman, Richard,” she said, kissing him once more. “I suppose I can wait for just that much longer.”
Abigail will have to bunk with the widow Maisie tonight.
“Why is your name familiar?” the Earl of Wallingside asked as they waited for supper to be brought.
“I beg your pardon?” Abigail’s heart sped up as she imagined the news of her criminal father spreading through the ton like wildfire.
“I feel I have heard your name recently,” The Earl said. Abigail’s face flew its colors.
“Uh…”
“I expect you have heard what an excellent dressmaker she is now that the season is in full swing,” Claudette cut in, saving her from embarrassment.
The Earl was staring at her with narrowed eyes. “I expect that’s it,” he conceded.
They passed the rest of the time discussing Claudette’s play and her talent and how well she looked in the glorious red gown that Abigail had made for her. Claudette took her aside after dinner to let her know that the Earl would be returning with them to St. John’s Wood.
“Excuse me while I send a note,” the Earl said, moving away and summoning his tiger. They had a brief conversation, after which the Earl gave him a note. The tiger took off on foot while Claudette and Abigail got in the carriage, ready to be transported home. Abigail was not looking forward to spending the night with the widow. She really was a talkative one. But she supposed it was better than having to listen while Claudette and her Earl did whatever it was they did together.
Percival had retired to his club after a long, fruitless day of searching for Abigail. No one would tell him much even when offered coin for it. Either they did not know or they felt strongly protective of the girl.
No amount of assur
ances that he would not hurt her had moved anyone. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe and warm. It was a cold night and no time to be sleeping rough. He could not go home, not knowing that she was safe, but he did not know what to do next.
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