Escaping Notice

by Amy Corwin

  “Avoid as much as possible going out in the evening ….” —The Complete Servant

  They got a very late start the next day, so when Helen and Ned Brown arrived in London, it was already dusk. The carriage bumped over the roads, jarring every bone in their weary bodies.

  Helen’s maid yawned broadly and glanced through the window, squinting at the deep shadows streaming from every narrow alley.

  “We’re almost to your sister’s house, Miss Helen,” she said.

  Studying Ned, Helen made a sudden decision. Her cousin had married a private inquiry agent. Perhaps he could assist her and locate Mr. Brown’s family. If she lost her courage or couldn’t return to Ormsby, she might ask him to retrieve the necklace, as well. “We shall stop to let you out, Sally. Please inform my sister that I’ve gone on with Mr. Brown and will return shortly.”

  “You mean you’re going out?”

  “Just a brief errand.” Helen stared at her maid until the woman dropped her gaze to her lap, although the tightness of her mouth revealed her disapproval of Helen’s intentions. At least she only had a view of Sally’s mulish expression in brief glimpses, as they passed through bursts of light cast by the streetlamps being lit by the watch as evening edged into night.

  “Where are you going this time of night?” Sally asked, as they drew up at the Dacy residence. “Lady Dacy won’t be pleased if you run off before you even arrive.”

  “My sister won’t mind in the least. Now get down and tell the coachman to come here so I may speak to him.”

  Sally grumbled but obeyed. When the scraggy gray head of the coachman popped through the open door, Helen ordered him to drive on to Second Sons Inquiry Agency.

  “Second Sons? Whereabouts be that?”

  “How should I know?” Helen replied, somewhat testily. Every bone in her body ached after rattling around in the coach all day, like a dried pea in a bottle. “Ask. I’m sure someone can give you directions.”

  “This time o’night?”

  “Yes, this time of the night. It’s not that late, after all. Now do as I say.”

  The coachman slammed the door shut and made his way back up to his perch, while Helen surreptitiously rubbed her suddenly cold hands. Someone at Second Sons would be able to help poor Ned Brown, and he would soon be fast asleep in his own cozy bed. She smiled at him, although in the gloomy recesses of the carriage, she doubted he could see.

  “Why are we going on?” Ned asked. He rubbed his eyes with his fist and looked around blearily.

  Helen straightened, startled by the sound of his voice. “I have an errand to run. In fact, I’m hoping I can help you discover where you belong.”

  “Where I belong?” he echoed.

  She leaned over and tried to reassure him by patting his hand. Unfortunately, she only succeeded in slapping his knee. “Don’t worry. I know you must be frightened to be lost and have no idea where you’ll even stay for the night. But I promise I’ll take care of you until we can find your parents.”

  “Good luck,” he replied cryptically.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “Oh. Well, yes, but did you not indicate you thought you were going to visit your guardian? Before, or was it after, you lost your memory? In any event, we’ll simply look for him.”

  “You can try.”

  The boy’s careless replies rather irritated Helen. She was doing her best to help him find his family, and he did not seem the least bit interested in the proceedings. He ought to be a little more concerned about his future, or at least frightened of being alone in a large city like London.

  Under similar circumstances, she would have been terrified. But apparently, little boys were made of sterner stuff. Ned Brown sounded more as though he was laughing at her. Not that it mattered.

  Or perhaps he was the sort who laughed when he was over-excited or nervous. One of Helen’s dearest friends suffered from the same condition. Why, there had even been one dreadful afternoon when her friend had received news of a death in her family and had burst into uncontrollable giggles.

  She turned sideways to face him. “I thought we could hire an inquiry agent, since you don’t remember where you belong. He can help us find your family. And in the meantime, you can stay with me.” She stopped, suddenly realizing he could not remain with her if she were going to sneak back to Ormsby in search of the missing necklace. “Or rather, you can stay with my sister, Lady Dacy. You’ll adore her. She’s ever so nice and has a lovely newborn babe. Do you like babies?”

  “No.”

  His reply rather set her down, like a horse with the reins abruptly yanked back. “You don’t like babies?” she stammered.

  “No. They cry too much. And they’re ugly,” he replied succinctly.

  “They are not ugly.”

  “Yes, they are. They’re fat little beasts with no hair. And they spend all their time either spitting up on you or wailing.”

  “Ned! How can you say such a thing?”

  “Because it’s true?” He did not sound at all abashed.

  “You’re — you’re bamming me, aren’t you?” she replied, half-laughing. “You don’t mean any such thing.”

  “I do mean it. That’s why you should set me down here and send me on my way.”

  “Don’t be a goose! I won’t do any such thing, no matter how terrible you are. So you can just wipe that notion clean away.”

  It struck her that Ned Brown may — or may not — have lost his memory, but it was certain that he had run away from home. That made it even more imperative that she hire a competent inquiry agent to discover where he belonged. She eyed his shadowy form, hunched into the corner, and her heart went out to him. If he had run away because his family had mistreated him, then the inquiry agent could find that out as well.

  And under those sad circumstances, Helen hoped his family would agree to allow him to live with her instead. She had no great expectation that this, her third and final Season, would lead to an offer of matrimony. But perhaps it would take her mind off her dreary future, and she would have a younger brother of sorts to squire her around London.

  They could both enjoy themselves. And maybe Helen’s true brother, Nathaniel, the Duke of Peckham, could be persuaded to take Ned under his wing. He could send the boy off to university when the time came, and ensure he got a decent education.

  To have Ned’s future so neatly planned pleased her. Content, she sat back against the squabs and contemplated places around London which might interest a young man of eleven.

  Museums, theatres …. The carriage turned onto Clerkenwell Road, made a few more turns and then came to a lurching halt. When the coachman flung open the door and lowered the steps, Helen peeped out nervously, trying to compose her thoughts. A brick sidewalk led up to a modest townhouse with bright brass lamps on either side of the black door. An ominously black door. She stared at it, her doubts growing.

  While she stood there, gesturing for Ned to join her, the front door opened.

  “May I help you?” a plummy voice inquired.

  “I wish to see one of your inquiry agents,” Helen announced as she grabbed Ned’s arm and dragged him toward the door. What was it about butlers that made her feel like a tattered orphan with dirt on her nose? “Is Mr. Trenchard available?”

  “If you would step inside, Miss ….” The butler stepped aside to allow them to enter. “I’ll see if any of the agents are free.” His tone implied he was doing them a favor, one which he did not particularly want to grant.

  Helen called to the coachman over her shoulder as she urged Ned forward. “Wait here. Please. If you will?”

  “Aye.” He leaned against the nearest horse and stroked its flank.

  The butler ushered them inside the entryway. Helen stopped abruptly, surprised to see a man heading for an open door on their left. He glanced at them, and Helen took a step back, bumping into Ned.

  The stranger was quite the largest man she had ever seen.
As she adjusted to his unexpected presence, she realized he was not quite as tall as she had initially thought, although he appeared to tower well over six feet. His massive shoulders and limbs filled the doorway.

  The image of a huge blonde Viking, bent on ravaging a quiet English village, flashed through her mind. The only accoutrements he lacked were a few ragged furs thrown over his shoulders and a battle axe, or maybe a sword. His rough clothes and scruffy whiskers lent him a wild and dangerous air. She turned slightly and placed her arm over Ned’s narrow shoulders, drawing him against her, despite his annoyed resistance. The stranger’s pale, gray eyes raked over her in rapid assessment before he strode through the door.

  Still clutching Ned’s shoulder, she pulled him towards the same doorway. The man had to be one of the inquiry agents. From his appearance, he must have just returned from some terribly secret and dangerous assignment and was still in disguise.

  She needed someone like that, someone who could keep a secret.

  Mr. Trenchard, the agent she had hoped to hire, was married to Uncle John’s daughter. He was a member of the family, but now that she thought about it, he might not be the best agent to hire, particularly if she did not want anyone to know she had been so irresponsible. He would certainly tell his wife, and she would tell the rest of the Archers, and then everyone would know.

  “Wait, please,” she stepped through the door after him. “May I speak to you?”

  “Me?” His voice surprised her with its gentleness.

  “Yes.” She stepped forward, dragging Ned with her. “I beg your pardon for coming here so late, but may we speak to you in private?”

  “I’m not —”

  Helen pressed past him and took rapid stock of the room, before steering Ned towards one of the chairs facing the desk.

  “I’m sorry. I realize this is dreadfully inconvenient,” she said, aware that she was babbling, but unable to stop. “I suppose you must have just returned from your previous case. You must be exhausted, but I beg of you to listen to us.”

  When he moved away from the door, Helen took the opportunity to shut it behind him. Then she quickly took the seat next to Ned. The man moved round the desk to the only remaining chair and seated himself, clasping his hands atop the leather writing mat centered in front of him in the middle of the polished cherry-wood desk.

  “You’ve made a mistake,” he said.

  Helen held out a hand. “Please, I realize this is sudden, but I beg of you to listen.”

  She glanced at Ned, who was leaning back with his head draped over the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. Unable to stop herself, she looked up. A large mural of naked cherubs and women — presumably angels — encircled the central chandelier. She blushed, shook Ned’s shoulder and focused intently on the man in front of her, who had also glanced up, following her gaze.

  After a second, he grinned at her and sat back. “I’m listening.”

  “Mr. Brown is lost.” She patted Ned’s shoulder. He glared at her. “That is, Ned seems to have forgotten where he belongs. We really must find his family before they become unduly alarmed.”

  The man turned towards Ned and studied him, before asking, “Is this true?”

  Dragging his gaze away from the naked ladies on the ceiling, Ned shrugged.

  “And your surname is Brown?”

  Again, the boy shrugged, his mouth set in a thin, obstinate line.

  “There are a great many families named Brown, Miss — what did you say your name was?”

  Flustered by the question, Helen sat up straighter. The man facing her was virtually a stranger, and they hadn’t been properly introduced. Her older sister, Oriana, would be appalled.

  “Miss Archer,” she said. “I’m Miss Archer. And I’m sorry, but I did not catch your name?”

  “Mr. Cast — uh, that is, Mr. Caswell. Now, Miss Archer, there are a great many families hereabouts with the last name of Brown. It’ll be extremely difficult to find one with a boy missing. There are hundreds of runaways in London, and I suspect Mr. Brown remembers quite well where his family lives. I encourage you to save your money and take him home with you until he decides to admit the truth —” He was cut off by the door opening.

  A dark-haired man stood in the doorway, his black brows furrowed. “May I help you?”

  “Oh, no,” Helen replied immediately. During the past five minutes, she had impulsively decided she liked the rather scruffy blonde gentleman sitting opposite her. He seemed trustworthy and kind, and his quiet manner encouraged confidences. “Your associate is quite satisfactory. Thank you very much,” she added.

  “My associate?” he asked, his voice edged with what sounded like sarcasm. Sharp black eyes scanned each occupant in the room, finally focusing on the man seated behind the desk.

  She had the distinct impression that a message flashed between the two men.

  However, the internal affairs of Second Sons did not interest her. Finding Ned’s family and her necklace were her only concerns.

  She felt confident that she had found the right agent to help her.

  Chapter Ten

  “If you expect to have confidence placed in you, be sincere in all your expressions ….” —The Complete Servant

  After a long carriage ride from Bath, Hugh had arrived at the Second Sons Inquiry Agency and handed Petre’s letter of introduction to Knighton Gaunt, the agency’s owner. Given Hugh’s chosen disguise, it seemed necessary and he was relieved that Petre had thought of it.

  Unfortunately, neither Petre nor Hugh had imagined one of Mr. Gaunt’s clients would mistake him for an inquiry agent the minute he entered the townhouse.

  Before he knew it, he was seated behind a desk, his knees bumping the drawers, listening uncomfortably to Helen Archer’s story.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” Hugh replied, when Mr. Gaunt opened the door. Gaunt, though surprised, showed remarkably astute judgment. He bowed and exited in silence.

  Miss Archer stared at him, frowning, indecision clear in her eyes. Apparently, she was not accustomed to enlisting the aid of an inquiry agent and wasn’t sure how to go about it, or perhaps whether to pursue it at all. Something about her seemed familiar to Hugh. Certainly, she was no great beauty, despite the golden curls peeping out from under the brim of her fashionable bonnet. Good cheekbones, but a rather longish nose and a very square, determined chin. Her eyes were her best feature. They were deep blue and sparkled with humor and warmth. He frowned, but a sense of déjà vu continued to tease him. On the whole, however, he decided he liked her. She seemed to be the precise opposite of his erstwhile fiancée, Miss Peyton. He could not imagine her concerned enough about a little boy to take him to an inquiry agency.

  There was no doubt as to Miss Archer’s good nature or her concern over the boy at her side. As for the boy, his mutinous expression told Hugh that he was not precisely lost. A runaway, no doubt, who’d given her a false name, hoping to take advantage of her sweet disposition.

  Unfortunately, Hugh could not claim the moral high ground. He had also taken advantage of her naivety when he did not correct her false impression of him. Mr. Caswell, indeed! His collar itched. He slid a finger inside to pull at the stiff fabric.

  In the silence, the tension around her eyes increased and she glanced worriedly at Mr. Brown. She really was lovely, and kind, in a quiet way. He wished he could ease her concerns. And he wished he did not want her to look at him and ignore the child. The feeling was not particularly noble.

  Normally, he ignored the diminutive lasses, preferring women built along more Junoesque lines, who could stand next to him without looking like badly-nourished children. Delicate porcelain women made him feel like a clumsy, overgrown oaf one step away from shattering them like a fragile, antique vase.

  “We must find his parents. Or guardian.” Miss Archer smoothed the boy’s collar and smiled when he wriggled away. “I cannot just keep poor Mr. Brown. His guardian will be overcome with worry.”

 
Was there a limit to her good nature, then?

  “Why can you not keep him?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid I must go on a rather lengthy trip to Ormsby—” She halted abruptly, her hand covering her mouth. “That is, I’m afraid I have previous plans.” She glanced apologetically at Mr. Brown. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave you with my sister, Oriana — that is, Lady Dacy. Oh, dear, this is so awkward. I do wish you’d remember where your family lives, Ned.”

  Ned gave her an angelic smile that made Hugh long to reach over the desk and box his large ears.

  Instead, he returned to her previous, unintentional declaration. “You mentioned Ormsby, Miss Archer. Have you business there?”

  She blushed, her hand touching the base of her neck with a fluttering motion. “Yes — that is, no. Not precisely.”

  “But you are planning to go there?”

  A nervous expression flowed over her face, swift as the tide. Her mouth trembled. Luminous blue eyes stared at him with that peculiar intensity which indicates someone struggling to control tears. After a few rapid blinks, she leaned forward, resting her hands on the edge of the desk.

  “I trust you, Mr. Caswell. Please, please do not tell anyone else. But I’m afraid I, I misplaced something very valuable on a recent visit to Ormsby. I simply must get it back.”

  “That is easy enough, is it not? That manor belongs to the Earl of Monnow, if I am not mistaken. Write to him.”

  “Oh, no, I cannot!” Her gaze intensified again. She touched the corners of her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. “Everyone thinks I’m shatterbrained and this proves it, doesn’t it? If I write to him, everyone will know that I lost the — the, well, I lost this very valuable item. No. I simply must go and find it. Somehow.” She brightened and her grip on the desk eased. “I thought I might temporarily disguise myself as a maid. No one notices a maid, and I could search for it in that guise.”

  He laughed, but when he realized she was perfectly serious, he stopped. She stared at him, her deep blue eyes brilliant with hope.