She held fast to his arm. “But not Nanette.”
He released a pent-up breath, the sound filled with relief. “Not Nanette. I found her in time. She was fortunate, indeed. I would wager she would not be so lucky a second time.”
“The highwayman you so despise said precisely that only last night.”
He set his hand atop hers where it rested on his arm. “I do not despise him; I simply cannot approve of his methods. We are, however, pursuing the same goal. That makes us, no matter the oddity of it, united.”
“You both seek to destroy the monster.”
He nodded.
“The first time I encountered the highwayman, he searched my carriage but took nothing. He said I did not have what he was looking for. Do you know what that is? It must be connected to your cause somehow.”
Sir Frederick kept her arm through his as they slowly walked the length of the hall. “Legend tells us that the beast of the forest can be stopped only by a talisman that possesses a strength greater than the fear the monster inspires. Many have conjectured what that talisman might be. We know only that it is powerful and that it will arrive in our area when it will be needed most.”
“That is why he searches carriages when they pass through. He is looking for some sort of amulet.”
“Yes.” Much of the disapproval he used when speaking of the highwayman was absent from the simple declaration.
“Why do you not search for it?”
His eyes turned to her with tenderness in their depths. “He seeks a cure for the disease which plagues us, while I seek to rescue those already endangered by it. We each have our roles to fill.”
“Then you truly do not despise him.”
“As I said, I cannot approve of his methods, but I understand them.”
“And you truly do not begrudge Nanette and me a place under your roof whilst ours is repaired?”
His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. “I truly do not.”
“Sir Frederick! Sir Frederick!” The housekeeper arrived in a flurry of skirts. “Terrible, it is! Terrible!”
“What has happened?” Sir Frederick asked.
“The little girl.”
Lucinda’s heart fell to her feet. “Nanette?”
A quick, frantic nod. “She told the nursemaid she was afraid, that she could hear the monster breathing from all the way in the forest, that it was loud and rattling inside her bones.”
Sir Frederick tensed beside Lucinda.
The housekeeper continued, voice trembling. “The nursemaid turned to fetch a blanket, thinking the child was merely shaking with cold. When she turned back—” Her words cut off in a high-pitched warble.
“When she turned back—what?” Sir Frederick pressed, taking a single step closer to the quaking woman.
“The girl was gone. Simply vanished!”
Lucinda gasped. Nanette was gone!
“The monster,” Sir Frederick breathed almost silently.
“We must get her back,” Lucinda insisted. “Whatever we must do, we simply have to get her back!”
He turned to face her more fully. “We will, I swear to you. I will not stop until she is safe once more.”
“What can I do to help?” Lucinda asked.
He shook his head. “It is too dangerous. You must protect yourself.”
“I cannot rest knowing my dear girl is in danger.”
“I will do all I can,” he vowed. “And I will send for you if there is anything at all you can do.”
He was gone a moment later. The determined set of his shoulders gave Lucinda a much-needed bit of hope. Yet, within moments of his departure, that hope proved insufficient.
The Lucinda who had arrived at Calden Manor weeks earlier would have waited and worried and been quite helpless. The Lucinda she was now was not content with such a thing.
Nanette was in danger. Sir Frederick, brave and noble though he was, had rushed to her rescue without the least help or support, a foolish approach indeed when one considered he had a ready and able helper already in the forest.
Lucinda rushed to her room, pulled on her thick cloak, and, though she quaked inside, marched from Hilltop House directly toward the spot in the forest where she had twice before encountered the notorious highwayman.
Whenever Fletcher had a planned meeting with Stone at Dread Penny headquarters, he could count on two things: that he, Fletcher, would do most of the talking, and that Stone would arrive there before he did. This time, however, he crossed paths with Stone on the walk toward King Street.
“You’re running late, man,” Fletcher said.
“I ain’t been doing any running.” Stone’s humor was so subtle most people missed it.
They walked on.
“How’s the boy?” Stone didn’t need to say which boy.
“Back with Joe. Watched over by a bulldog of a woman who’ll not let anyone lay a finger on him.”
Stone nodded.
“We’re fortunate Miss Black sorted a way to get Allen near enough,” Fletcher said. “We’d never’ve found the little one otherwise. Still stings that he got off, though. He’ll only hurt more children.”
Stone didn’t answer. His gaze had shifted away, watching something or someone a bit ahead of them. Fletcher looked in that direction as well.
Elizabeth.
He hadn’t the first idea how she’d respond to seeing him. Their last encounter had ended with him reminding her she’d do best to keep a distance.
Her expression when she spotted him was unreadable. “Mr. Walker.” Her eyes darted to Stone, then back to him, expectation in her gaze.
He knew his part. “Miss Black, this is Stone, a friend of mine and fellow author. Stone, this is Miss Black, headmistress of Thurloe Collegiate School and an author as well.”
Stone dipped his head, but said nothing. He was even more aloof when meeting new people, no doubt from having encountered a few too many who considered his race reason for mistreating him. Would Elizabeth be among that number? Fletcher didn’t imagine so. She’d not hesitated to help Daniel in his time of need.
“Are you the author who wrote Spirit of the Sails?”
His eyebrows shot upward. He nodded once.
“I enjoyed it,” she said. “I know so little about ocean voyages. It was fascinating.”
His mouth curved the tiniest bit in gratitude. Elizabeth likely hadn’t even noticed.
She turned to Fletcher once more. “This is a fortunate turn of events. I have information for you.” Her eyes darted to Stone again, uncertain. “Unless this is a bad time.”
“Personal information?” Fletcher asked.
She shook her head. “Pieces in the puzzle we’ve been attempting to solve.”
Ah. “Then speak all you want. Stone, here, knows the topic.”
She didn’t look at all surprised. Stone was, after all, a penny dreadful author. “Janey was chattering while dusting my office this morning—the girl enjoys talking—and she said something I found important.”
Fletcher motioned her up onto the front steps of headquarters, not intending to actually step inside. Let her think he simply wished to free them from the push and pull of the street. Stone eyed the crowd and the nearby windows, not showing the least connection to the building behind him.
“Janey said that Daniel told her that Mr. Allen kept him in a pokey set of rooms far enough from my school that they’d had to walk quite a distance to arrive there. He also said he could hear a great many animals from where they were—animals and a ‘broken trumpet.’”
Those were odd clues, but also very specific.
“If we can sort through that, we might find Allen,” Fletcher said.
Stone was wearing his all-too-familiar “thinking face.”
Elizabeth nodded. “The bit about animals
made me think that, perhaps, the rooms are near the Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs, but that is all the way in Islington. Too far, I think, for them to have walked all the way to Thurloe as quickly as they must have to arrive when they did.”
“Near a mews?” Fletcher guessed. “That don’t narrow our search.”
“The boy said ‘a lot of animal noises’ but not specifically ‘horses,’” Elizabeth said. “He lived in the mews while he was at Hogg’s school. He knows the difference.”
She wasn’t wrong. But where would he have been with so many animals?
Stone suddenly jumped to attention. “London Zoo.”
The zoo. Of course. Near enough to walk, though it’d take time, and plenty of animal noises.
“What about the broken trumpet?” Elizabeth asked.
“The elephant,” Stone said, stepping down on the walk and hailing a hackney.
Elizabeth’s eyes pulled wide with amazed realization. “Of course. The elephant.”
Fletcher motioned to Stone with his head. “The man’s a bit of a genius.”
“I suspect you’re correct.”
Having summoned a conveyance, Stone waved them over. They all climbed in.
“Sackville Street, Piccadilly,” Stone told the driver.
“We’re dropping in on Brogan?” Fletcher hadn’t realized that was the plan.
Stone leaned against the carriage window frame, watching the street roll past. “We’re headed for a slum.”
Ah.
Elizabeth lowered her voice, speaking to Fletcher. “Sackville and Piccadilly isn’t precisely a slum.”
“Brogan don’t live in a slum, but he knows ’em well. If anyone can find a needle in that particular haystack, he can.”
She nodded.
The carriage swayed and jarred over the cobblestones. They all sat in silence. It was normal for Stone, not as much between Elizabeth and Fletcher. Was she uncomfortable? She didn’t seem to be, though he’d not blame her if she were.
After a long moment of quiet, she spoke. “I cannot think of a section around Regent Park that isn’t too well-to-do to meet our criteria. We must be in search of a small enclave of poverty.”
She’d been sorting the mystery still. He should’ve known. Hers was a keen mind. It was little wonder she was drawn to King’s stories. There was a complexity to them many people likely missed. Maybe that was the draw she felt to King himself. Fletcher couldn’t compete with that.
Piccadilly was busy as always. Turning off the road onto Sackville brought a needed bit of calm. The carriage pulled to a stop. Stone shifted on the bench, reaching for the door. He met Fletcher’s eye. Fletcher nodded. He knew the unspoken message: Stone meant to fetch their soon-to-be coconspirator.
“Are both of these two men part of the Dread Penny Society?” Elizabeth asked the moment they were alone.
From across the carriage, Fletcher folded his arms, shook his head, and let his lips turn up in amusement. “I don’t spill secrets so easily as that.”
“I will assume that to be a ‘yes.’”
“Assume all you want, dove. That don’t make it true.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “It doesn’t make it false either.”
“I like this bold side of you,” he said. “You are riding around London with an uncouth group of men in pursuit of a band of criminals after having stolen a child away from his kidnapper. You’re an adventurer at heart, I’d say.”
Her chin tipped up a notch. “Do you mean to spill that secret to all and sundry?”
“Give me a scrap of credit. I ain’t so untrustworthy as all that.”
He slipped across the carriage to sit beside her. “Has everything been calm at the school? I’ve worried that Allen might’ve sorted out your role in Daniel’s escape.”
“Not a single sign of difficulty.” She slipped her hand into his, so naturally, so easily. He ought to pull away—a connection between them would hurt her school—but he couldn’t force himself to let go. “I may very well have managed the thing.”
“I’ll come stay at the school, sleep on a chair in the entryway if need be.”
Her arm threaded around his. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“It’s a shame you write the wrong sort of stories, my dear. You’d make an excellent addition to the Dreadfuls.”
He felt her laugh beside him. “My novels aren’t my only disqualification.”
“And we’re blackguards enough to accept your help while not allowing you in our little club.”
“Or even telling me who else belongs to your ‘little club,’” she added.
He tucked her up beside him a bit more cozily. This was dangerous ground, but he couldn’t resist. The chasm between them felt smaller in that moment. “I’ve already told you more than I should’ve.”
“You trust me, do you?”
“If you can keep Mr. King’s secret as well as you do, I haven’t the least worry over you keeping mine.”
She moved enough to look up at him. “About Mr. King . . .”
Was she actually going to tell him more of the puzzling man? He sat up straighter, afraid if he so much as breathed, she’d change her mind.
“He—”
The carriage door opened.
“Blue blazes,” he muttered.
Elizabeth put a little distance between them, presenting a more proper picture as Stone and Brogan peered inside.
“Any inklings where we ought to be heading?” Fletcher asked, attempting to look calmer than he felt. He’d nearly learned the secret of King from a woman who’d decided to trust him, even knowing his history. And these two muttonheads had ruined the moment.
“There’s a section of Maida Hill that’s a fair hardened area of Town, houses a handful of criminals. Near Regent Park, it is,” Brogan said.
“Maida Hill has some of the finest homes in the area,” Elizabeth countered.
“That it does, but it also has a good number of pockets that those in the fine homes would be horrified to know rest so nearby. ’Tis on the other side of the park from the zoo, so I’m not fully convinced the lad would’ve heard the animals from so far away.”
“Still, worth looking into,” Fletcher said.
“St. Mark’s is on the same side as the zoo,” Brogan continued, “but there’re far fewer struggling people there. A man like Allen would be hard-pressed to go unnoticed.”
“Hard-pressed, but he wouldn’t find it impossible?” Elizabeth asked.
“There’re a few tucked-away spots and bits that are harsher than others.” Brogan had been the right person to bring in for this mission.
“Those seem like good places to begin,” Elizabeth said. “It’s more than we knew an hour ago.”
Stone leaned against the side of the carriage, letting Brogan take the lead.
“’Twon’t do to wander the slums dressed anything like Quality. We’ll be sniffed out as imposters straight off,” Brogan said.
“Our work clothes, then?” Fletcher asked. They made a point of dressing whatever part they were assuming.
Brogan hooked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating his flat. “I’ve enough for us to get on with. Shouldn’t take but a minute to change.”
“Are you saying you have women’s lower-class clothing in your flat?” Elizabeth asked. “Or are you suggesting I dress as a man? Because the first would be surprising, and the second would, I fear, be ineffective at not drawing attention.”
Brogan grinned. Stone even allowed the tiniest hint of amusement.
“While I’d be curious to see you dressed so oddly,” Fletcher said, “I’ll have to agree it wouldn’t serve our purposes.”
“Then what is the plan?” she asked.
“Brogan’s sister lives here as well,” Fletcher said. “I think the two of you wi
ll get along well.”
He knew in an instant it was the wrong answer.
Her posture stiffened. Her lips tightened. “You mean for me to stay here while the three of you pursue this mystery?”
“‘This mystery’ involves a degree of danger you have never before encountered,” Fletcher said.
“I am not afraid of danger.”
“It’s my understanding, Miss Elizabeth,” Brogan said, “that it’s you who slipped the lad away from his captor.”
She nodded.
“And the safety of your school and wee girls depends on Allen not realizing you played him a nasty turn.” Brogan spoke firmly but kindly. “I don’t know that even trading your fine togs for those of the working class would fully hide who you are.”
“I understand,” she said. “But I intend to see this to its conclusion.”
“Elizabeth,” Fletcher began, but she cut him off.
“You owe me a favor, Fletcher Walker. You agreed to that weeks ago. I am claiming it now.”
That was unexpected. “The favor is participating in this pursuit?”
“Oh, I will be participating either way. The favor is that you stop being so stubborn about it.”
Brogan looked to him, barely holding back a laugh. “What’s it to be, Fletch?”
“I think she’ll thrash us up one side and down the other if we try to do this without her.”
“Save me the trouble.” Elizabeth pressed an earnest hand to her heart. “Thrashing people is so exhausting.”
Brogan laughed. “M’ sister has some clothes you could try. We’ll see if we can’t make you less recognizable.”
Fletcher climbed out of the carriage, then turned back to offer his hand to her. She took it, allowing him to hand her down. Brogan sent the driver on his way; they’d need to arrive in Maida Hill the way those of the lower classes would or the jig would be up before it even began.
“Mr. Donnelly’s sister won’t think me odd for borrowing clothes?” Elizabeth sounded more amused than concerned.
“The two of them spend a lot of time working with the struggling and destitute. The people they help trust them more when they don’t look like someone who’d think themselves above the work.”
The Lady and the Highwayman Page 21
