Hollis rubbed the back of his neck. “That will be a burden to her, no matter her willingness. Her school is in the black, but I suspect only just. Educating the middle classes is far less profitable than the upper class.”
“Could we offer to help with the girls’ expenses?” Irving asked.
Fletcher pushed out a breath. “That’d be a tall ask, considering our funds ain’t what they once were.”
Irving shook his head, slowly and with frustration. “That elusive Mr. King needs persuading to join our society. Adding his resources to ours—well, that’d see us in fine feather.”
“We could use a tycoon.” Brogan laughed.
Fletcher managed to laugh along, but his amusement was limited. He used to be their “tycoon.” Not being a doctor like Milligan, or a master strategist like Stone, or having connections to important people like Hollis, money had been the best he’d had to offer.
“I’m getting closer to sorting the man,” Fletcher said, not mentioning the “slightly” that ought to have been included before the word “closer.”
“Either we need him among us,” Hollis said, “or we need to find a means of reestablishing one of us as the top of the market.”
Fletcher hadn’t shared with the general membership his suspicion that King might actually be one of them already. The Dread Master had agreed with the need to consider it, and Fletcher was keeping his eye on everyone. He also hadn’t mentioned that King likely had a more formal education than most of them. They couldn’t afford to have too many people asking questions and drawing attention.
“I’ll find him,” he said as both a promise and a warning, should such be necessary. “When I do, the lot of us can stage a dethroning if need be.”
“Spent loads of time looking at petticoats and corsets and them kind of lady things.” Henry, the bootblack, spun his penny in his hand as they talked. “She wandered in an’ out of a lot of shops, but she weren’t interested in buying nothing.”
Odd. “Why do you say that?”
“She was looking for me more than anything.” He flashed a gap-toothed smile. “A clever mort, that one. Not many fine folk can sort out that they’re being followed.”
“Then you didn’t see where she were going in the end?”
“She’s smart; she ain’t a genius.” There was nothing quite like the cocky self-assurance of a life-hardened child of the streets. “She talked to a clerk on the street, gave ’im her papers, then went to York Place.”
“What did she do on York Place?” Perhaps that was a clue to her search for King.
“Went inside Mr. Hogg’s school.”
That was decidedly unexpected. “Well, I’m dished.”
“She were in there too long for me to stand about waiting. Cain’t shine shoes while tailing a bird.”
“The women are a distraction, Henry.”
The boy’s gaze narrowed on him. “That Miss Black’s a looker. And clever, too. An’ I hear she’s a writer like you.”
“She is a writer, sure enough,” Fletcher said, “but not like me.”
“Ain’t as popular?”
He shook his head. “Her writing’s far more proper.”
“The way she were lookin’ at you while I shined your boots, I don’t think your improper writing bothers her much.”
That was intriguing. “And how was it she was looking at me?”
“Before or after you wouldn’t talk to her?” Henry pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against. He slipped his penny into his pocket, then took up his bootblacker’s kit. “If I were you, I’d not disappoint her like that again, guv’nah.”
Fletcher chuckled. He was receiving advice about women from a ten-year-old. He tossed him a sixpenny bit. “Drop a word in m’ear if you see that clerk again, the one she gave her papers to. That bit’s curious enough to chew on.”
Henry tucked the coin in his pocket and tugged at his cap. “Sure enough will, sir.”
The mystery niggled at his brain as he wandered down the street.
Why had Miss Black given her papers to a clerk on the street? Why had she gone to Hogg’s school?
How, exactly, had she been looking at him?
Perhaps it was his distraction, perhaps it was pure, unadulterated curiosity, but his feet took him to the front door of Thurloe School. He was ushered in and shown to the school’s drawing room, where a full dozen women, some younger and some far older than he, watched him enter.
He sorted it quickly. It was likely the teachers’ calling day.
“I were hopin’ to talk with Miss Black,” he said to the room at large, unsure who to address directly.
A woman, likely near Irving’s age, answered. “She’s comforting one of the students. A little tiff amongst the girls.” She tapped the sofa beside her. “Do sit and visit a spell. Miss Black will be but a moment, I’m sure.”
The woman’s eyes held a heap of mischief. Visiting with her would be a joy. He took the seat she offered.
“I’m Fletcher Walker,” he said. “And I suspect you’re trouble.”
“He has taken your measure, Constance,” one of the other teachers said.
Fletcher leaned closer and, lowering his voice, said, “I like trouble.”
“And I like you far better than that Mr. Headley who calls on our Miss Black. He wouldn’t know trouble if it handed him an embossed calling card.”
Fletcher laughed out loud. Smiles lit the faces around the room. Apparently, he and Constance weren’t the only ones who found Headley unimpressive.
Another teacher, her dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray, moved to a chair closer to his. “Your name is familiar. Are you the Fletcher Walker who writes the Urchins of London tales?”
“I am.” It was, in fact, his most recent offering. “’Ave you read them?”
“I confiscated a copy of The Vampire’s Tower from a student who was supposed to be doing her mathematics. I, of course, looked over the story so I would know what she was reading. I have a concern.”
He braced himself for her inevitable disapproval. Whatever her complaint, he’d likely heard it before. “What’s that?”
“Morris and Jimmy are about to enter that castle. Do they realize it is home to a vampire? I am terribly concerned that they haven’t the first idea how very much danger they are truly in.”
Her “concern” was for his characters. She had more than skimmed the story; she had read it and been drawn in.
“Are the missing urchins there as well?” the teacher pressed. “I’m very worried about them.”
He smiled and shrugged. “You will have to read the next installment and discover for yourself.”
“You wouldn’t make me wait, would you?” She batted her eyelashes with a laugh.
“That is an unbreakable rule of authors: never reveal what’s in the next chapter.”
Her expression fell. “Then I suppose it would be futile to ask you to inquire of Mr. King what precisely lurks in the forest.”
“If I’d the first idea who Mr. King is, I’d ask him that myself.” No matter his frustration with the man, he had to admit King could weave a good tale.
“But according to the unbreakable rule of authors, Mr. King wouldn’t tell you.” The cheeky comment came from Miss Black.
He stood and offered a bow.
“Have you come to look in on Janey?” she asked.
“I ain’t harboring the least worry about her bein’ mistreated. I mean to thank you for bringing her sister here. She grieved being apart from her.” He was grateful, but he was also worried. “Having both girls here ain’t a small expense for you.”
She waved that off. “We’ll manage. Those girls should be together.”
Her compassion shone through. He wished he could tell her about the Dreadfuls and the work they were doing. She would app
laud it, he felt certain. She would understand his longing to do more. She might have some idea how they could stretch their limited resources. But revealing their activities was too dangerous for any of them to take that risk.
“Did you call for a particular reason?” she asked.
He hadn’t the first idea why he’d come by. “Only to make my ‘thank you.’ And to offer you a good day, I suppose.”
It was odd for him to feel so awkwardly uncomfortable. He rubbed at the back of his neck, scratched at his hair. Though her lips remained in a neutral line, a smile brightened her eyes. The twinkle only further upended him. It was not an experience he was at all accustomed to.
He took a step closer to the door. Looking back at the gathering of teachers proved a mistake. Half looked intrigued; the other half appeared amused. At his expense. He turned his attention to Miss Black. The smile in her eyes had shifted to laughter.
He dipped his head and beat a hasty retreat.
He, who had helped rescue countless children all over London, who was acting figurehead of a clandestine philanthropic society, had been fully flustered by a single, subtle smile from a woman he wasn’t even sure respected him.
Morris and Jimmy it seemed, weren’t the only ones who’d wandered unknowingly into imminent danger.
by Mr. King
Installment III,
in which our Heroine is delivered a most cold Rejection and asked a Favor quite unexpected!
Oh, the joy in Ludinca’s heart each time she was included when her neighbors called on one another, making their way from one house to the next in the light of day and the safety of the group! She came to know each of them during these calls and valued their association.
Miss Higgins was kindhearted, of a sharp mind, and the dearest friend one could hope for. The man whose oddly high-pitched voice had so captured her attention when first they’d met a fortnight after her arrival in the neighborhood was Mr. Jennings, and his mother, Mrs. Jennings, was the silver-eyed older woman who’d joined them.
Also among their number during the visits was, nearly without fail, the aloof and handsome Sir Frederick. He never smiled, though he did not truly seem unfriendly nor unhappy, and he never laughed. Though he did not, in her estimation, seem to be that odd sort who lacked any sense of the humorous. He also never spoke ill of anyone beyond the highwayman, and even those criticisms weren’t overly cruel nor sharp, but simply expressions of uncertainty regarding the would-be thief’s character. Sir Frederick was an oddity, a mystery, and more and more, a friend.
Nearly two months after Lucinda’s arrival in the area, after the passage of a lonely Christmas, Miss Higgins very kindly included her in an invitation to do a bit of shopping in the largest town of any note in the area. They departed just as soon as the morning light hit the roads, knowing that if they did not dawdle, they could achieve their goals at market and return home before nightfall. Lucinda prepared a list, one added to by her housekeeper and butler-gardener-coachman, then traveled with Miss Higgins to the various shops an hour away.
What a delight to be away from home and from the forest that she had come to eye with such suspicion! Maybe, just maybe, Fate was beginning to smile on her.
She purchased ribbons and embroidery thread. She found adornments enough for redecorating a bonnet and salt for addressing the issue of slugs in the vegetable beds. While Miss Higgins shopped for gloves, Lucinda moved toward the stationery shop, wanting to buy parchment and ink, though to whom she would send a letter, she did not know. She simply took comfort in the warm familiarity of such things.
Her path took her past a gentleman having his shoes shined near a sparsely laden vegetable cart. She knew him on the instant, his ice-blue eyes and firm-set jaw identifying him as her handsome neighbor, Sir Frederick.
What a pleasant surprise to see him again. They had enjoyed many a conversation and had, in her estimation, developed the beginnings of a friendship between them. He would certainly be equally pleased to see her. Oh, blessed Fate, to be showing her such kindness today!
“Sir Frederick! What a pleasure to cross paths.”
He met her gaze with little warmth in his own. “Miss Ledford.” His greeting began and ended with that: her name, uttered with neither excitement nor any apparent desire for interaction.
Perhaps she was misunderstanding his tone. She would try again. “Have you come to town to do a spot of shopping?”
His gaze fluttered over her armful of bundles. “Have you?”
Teasing, no doubt. Amusement pulled her lips upward. “I have. My next stop is the stationers for parchment and ink. I haven’t any.”
Far from pursuing the line of conversation, Sir Frederick looked once more to the young boy polishing his shoes. “Mind you don’t miss any spots.”
“Looks a beller-croaker to me,” the poor polisher said, eyeing his work. “But if you ain’t satisfied, I’ll scrub at it some more.”
Lucinda waited, certain her friend would speak with her once more. Surely. Alas, she was to be disappointed. He never looked to her again. He acted quite as if she was not even present.
Humiliation burned in her cheeks. She refused to meet the eye of any of the passersby. Sir Frederick, who had on the many occasions in which they had been in one another’s company not seemed ashamed of her presence, had issued what appeared to be a very pointed cut. Oh, that she were wrong!
“I have enjoyed our conversations these past weeks,” she said, attempting one last time to draw his gaze. “Calling on new neighbors can be uncomfortable, even a touch miserable, when one is newly arrived.”
“New neighbors can be miserable,” he replied.
Oh. She rested her hand against her stomach, which had spun into a knot. Did he consider her “miserable”? It sounded as though he was saying precisely that.
“A pleasure seeing you again, Miss Ledford.” The bow he offered was brief and small, and unmistakable. He kept his foot on the block used by the tiny shoeshine boy. There was not so much as a glance of farewell in her direction.
She had been dismissed, coldly and swiftly. The rejection had drawn the notice of a lady and gentleman not far removed. The lady commented behind her hand to her companion, both watching Lucinda with a humiliating degree of pity. To be made an object of ridicule when she was so very newly arrived in the area, striving to be accepted, struggling to feel any degree of hope for her future in so strange and terrifying a place was a heavy burden for her heart to bear, and proof that Fate did not, in fact, look on her with any increasing degree of fondness.
“Forgive me for disrupting your day, Sir Frederick,” she said quietly before moving as far from him as her suddenly very weary and overwhelmed limbs could take her.
Cruel Fate, it seemed, took delight in her misery.
Two days passed in the silence of Calden Manor. Lucinda had ample time in which to contemplate Sir Frederick’s refusal to speak with her save to indicate that her company was “miserable.” What was she to do if he convinced the rest of the neighborhood to shun her as well? Could she live here year after year so utterly alone? How could it be endured?
Night had not yet fallen, though dusk threatened on the horizon. Lucinda stood at her bedchamber window, looking out over the thick forest. What was hidden within those trees that so frightened her neighbors? Their worry had etched its way into her heart, making her eye the dark expanse with great misgiving. All the neighborhood lived in terror of the forest. There had to be a reason.
She leaned against the window frame, watching the branches and treetops sway in the wind. Her lungs filled with the air of her room, air nearly as cold as that found outside owing to the lateness of her ordered delivery of coal.
She heard what she was certain was a knock at the front door. Her housekeeper took to bed every night just as Lucinda finished her evening meal, and her butler-gardener-coachman never came in the house. If s
he had indeed heard a knock, she would have to be the one to answer. She, alone. Undefended. With no one to turn to should the unexpected visitor have nefarious intentions.
Another knock, unmistakable this time.
“You mustn’t be a simpleton,” she said. “The night is not yet dark. You can most certainly answer the door.”
One trembling step at a time, she descended the stairs and crossed the entryway, knocks continuing to sound at broad intervals. No matter that she assured herself she had no reason for alarm, her pulse quickened with every step she took.
She opened the door an inch, peering through the tiny crack between the door and the frame. As the identity of the new arrival became clear, her burgeoning fear gave way to confusion.
“Sir Frederick.”
He dipped his head. “Miss Ledford. I am in need of a moment of your time. I have come on a matter of great importance.” He motioned to a child, a girl no more than ten years old, whom she’d not noticed before, cowering behind him and watching her with concern.
No matter that he had treated her most rudely when last they met, she could not be cold to a child. She motioned the two of them inside, closing the door behind them.
“What has brought you here, Sir Frederick?” she asked.
“I have come to beg a favor.”
That was unexpected. “Have you? Do you not think it presumptuous to ask a favor of someone whom you would not even speak with two days ago?”
“I would not presume to do so were the favor for myself,” he said. “I ask, rather, on behalf of the child.” He motioned to the small figure beside him. “Tell her why we’ve come, little one.”
The child looked up at her with fear.
The Lady and the Highwayman Page 11
