by Wendy Vella
Come to the Hen and Duck at precisely 8:00 p.m. The matter is of the utmost urgency.
Jacob thought about the words on the note tucked in his breast pocket. It had been delivered three hours earlier, and signed by one Miss P. March. According to the missive, Miss March's former employer was in grave danger, and so it seemed was she.
The matter is indeed dire, good sirs, and I fear for my dear friend's life if something is not done soon.
Jacob and three of his friends were the Lords of Night Street. They were all noblemen who had decided to use the skills they'd learned while fighting for their country to benefit those who had fallen prey to nefarious individuals and foul play. Their endeavors had started when they had rescued Jacob’s sister from the clutches of the man intent on marrying her. Jacob shook aside the dark thoughts that night invariably conjured up inside him. Now was not the time to relive them.
Thus far, the Lords of Night Street had saved a kidnapped heir, unearthed blackmailers, and investigated supposed finance consortiums that appeared all that was good, but in fact were not. They had uncovered a Russian criminal ring, and a brothel that was selling women to rich men as slaves to carry out their sexual fantasies. Their cases were varied, and they had succeeded in solving every one.
The letter in his pocket had intrigued Jacob from the first word, because Miss March had demanded the Lords of Night Street come to her aid, not requested it. But Jacob had read something else in those words too. Fear. The desperation had caught his attention. Miss P. March was terrified; he'd bank his fortune on that.
He opened the tavern's front door; the noise was instant and seemed to come from all corners of the small room. Crammed with bodies, all speaking in raised voices, it had low ceilings that did little to dispel the thick smoke filling the room. Making his way to the bar, Jacob ordered a tankard of ale, and then headed to the rear as Miss P. March's note had directed him to do. Once there, he found a bench seat with a division in the middle that stopped him from seeing whoever was seated beside him. Sitting, Jacob sipped his ale and waited.
“Are you one of the Lords of Night Street?”
Turning at the words, he noted a small panel, no bigger than the size of his fist, about eye level in the seat divider. Leaning closer, he said, “Yes, I am.”
“Oh, thank you so much for coming.”
“My pleasure. I presume you are Miss P. March?”
“Oh, indeed I am. I suspect you wish to know more now about why I have sought your help?”
He couldn't pick up the accent, but there was something there in the woman's voice. A lilt that made him search his memory.
“If I am to help you, then yes, I believe you must tell me more.”
“I do wish you would.”
“Would what?”
“Help me.”
She sounded desperate, and Jacob fought the urge to stand and look over the divider to see what the woman looked like.
“You see, I have quite run out of options.”
“Pardon?” He was struggling to hear her with the noise from the other patrons.
“I fear for my friend. Fear even now I am too late to help her.”
He could only hear snatches of her conversation as the four men at the table closest had just launched into a heated argument about someone called Black Bottom Bill. Jacob eyed the large man with his back to him; he had fists the size of ham hocks and there was little doubt he knew how to use them.
“Why do you believe it is too late?”
He heard the sniff, and hoped Miss P. March had a head cold and was not crying. He knew many women who used tears to achieve what words could not.
“Because of that man. He is... is a heinous villain!”
Not tears then, Jacob thought as her furious hissed words reached him.
Looking up as a shout erupted, he saw ham hocks swing across the table with one meaty fist.
“I fear we need to leave, Miss March.”
“Leave? Oh no, please, you must help me! I have some m—”
“It is not the money.” Jacob got to his feet and walked around the divider. He had a glimpse of a sensible blue bonnet, one long chestnut curl, and a sweet, heart-shaped face. “It's simply that I have no wish to become embroiled in a fight to protect you.” He took her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Keep your head down.” Jacob held her small wrist as he headed for the door he had recently entered through. Men were surging toward the fight that was now well under way, and he pushed them aside and forged a path, with Miss March now at his back. He made it, and seconds later they were outside in the cold, with the door shut firmly behind them.
“If I may suggest we move away from the door, Miss March, and into my carriage, where it will be both warm and safe?”
“But you w-wish for anonymity, my lord.”
“I'm sure I'll survive. Come.” Jacob still had her wrist, and did not relinquish it until he reached his carriage. Opening the door, he urged her inside. Miss P. March took a seat, and Jacob the opposite one, after telling his driver to travel slowly through the streets until he stated otherwise. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes lowered.
“I shall not look at you, my lord. Have no fear I wish to compromise you in any way.”
“Miss March, do you walk in society?”
“No.”
“Then I'm sure my identity is safe with you, as long as you promise not to tell anyone who I am or that I am one of the Lords of Night Street.”
“I promise.”
“Then please look at me.”
Jacob turned up the lamp as she did and he got his first clear look at Miss P. March. Her eyes were brown, large and framed with soft curling lashes, and her cheeks flushed with color. Beautiful seemed too simple a term for this woman. Her face was alive, Jacob thought, looking at her lips. They tilted up at the corners, making it appear as if she was smiling. So many women of society barely moved a facial muscle. They tittered behind their hands, and spoke in well modulated tones. But not Miss P. March. Even now she had drawn her bottom lip between her teeth, and her nose was wrinkling.
“I give you my word I shall tell no one who you are, my lord.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Her eyebrows drew into a line. “No, I don't believe I do.”
“Then my identity is safe, is it not?”
She nodded, and he watched that long chestnut curl fall over her shoulder.
“Will you tell me your story now, Miss March?”
Her blue coat was neat and tidy, but worn around the cuffs and hem, Jacob noted. Her gloves were pale gray, and darned at the tips of several fingers, and her leather boots black and polished to a shine, but no amount of polish could disguise the worn, faded places. For all that her clothes were well-worn, she was neat, he thought. Everything about her was neat, except maybe for that curl, and those lush, soft lips. Her height was not great, but then as his was above average, many women appeared short to him.
“My employer Lady Revel is a wonderful person, my lord, and I was proud to take up the position as her companion when her husband passed away. She is a strong woman, and her husband realized this quality in her, and ensured she had control of her own finances, and continued to reside in his residences upon his death.”
Jacob knew Lady Revel, and that she was a strong woman, but he didn't know many women of nobility who ran their own finances, and his skepticism must have shown.
“Do you doubt my words, my lord? Doubt that a mere woman is capable of doing what a man can?” Miss March's back lifted off the seat as she straightened. Her brows had drawn into a fierce line.
“No indeed, I have just not heard of many who do. However, I do know Lady Revel, and if anyone were capable it would be she.”
She huffed a bit at that, and sat back.
“Well, let me assure you, that Lady Revel does everything—”
“Surely not everything.”
“Most things then.” She shot him a look to see if he wa
s deliberately annoying her, which Jacob had to admit he was.
“Please continue.”
“When he became Lord Revel—”
“He being the nephew, who if memory serves, was Mr. Peasham?”
“Yes, that is he. Do you know him?”
She had a fiery look on her face now, and Jacob thought it must be hellishly exhausting to live with all that emotion.
“I am acquainted with him distantly, but we have not conversed for some time, as the man is a fool, and I try to avoid him where possible.”
She nodded, and the fiery look changed to one of approval. “A sound notion, my lord.”
“What does the P stand for?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The P. What does it stand for?”
“What bearing does that have on the matter at hand, my lord?”
“Patience, Persephone, Petunia?”
“As I do not know your name, then I see no reason why you should know mine.”
“But I know your name already, Miss March. What I don't know is what the P stands for.”
“It matters not. What matters is Lady Revel, and my belief her nephew is keeping her prisoner in her home.”
Strangely it did matter to Jacob, but as he was very good at what he did, he would do a bit of investigating to get the answer by some other means. He nodded, which she saw as a sign to continue.
“The late Lord Revel ensured his wife would be comfortable. He left her property and a considerable amount of money, that was to be hers until her death, then it would go to his heir. His fear, according to Lady Revel, was that within a year the new Lord Revel would have spent every penny, and mortgaged all the property. If this were to happen, at least Lady Revel would be safe.”
Very possibly true, Jacob thought, knowing what he did about some of the idiots in nobility, of which the current Lord Revel was one.
“When Lady Revel started feeling unwell, she and I were both concerned, as she is rarely sick.”
“Everyone gets sick, Miss March.”
“Yes, but her symptoms were those of someone being drugged, and due to the circumstances of the will I guessed the worst.”
“You cannot be sure of—”
“Oh, but I am,” she interrupted him. “I have read books on the matter, you see.”
“What books?”
She flicked her hand at him. “It matters not. I asked Lord Revel to call a doctor. He refused, stating his aunt was merely old, and likely reaching the end of her life. Horrified, I of course told him exactly what I thought about his beliefs—”
“Now that I do not doubt.”
She gave him a curt nod. “I was dismissed, right there and then. H-he would not even let me say goodbye to L-lady Revel.”
And that distressed her greatly, Jacob could see.
“These are strong allegations that you have leveled at a peer, Miss March. Be very sure before we continue.”
Her hands clenched where they lay in her lap, and she looked anxious now. Jacob had never known a person to change her expression as easily as her gloves.
“When I called to see the staff the day after I was dismissed, it was Bidwell, who is Lady Revel's butler, that spoke with me. He said he had seen a small vial of liquid in Lord Revel's rooms, and that when he sniffed it, it made him light-headed.”
“A small vial could contain anything, Miss March.”
“Yes, but the housemaid, Anna, said she sniffed it too, and that it was arsenic, because her brother had once brought some home.”
Jacob knew the font of information that servants had at their fingertips. They were often ignored by the people they worked for, and as such, were privy to information that most were not. He and the other Lords of Night Street often used them as a source of information.
“Why would Lady Revel allow this? She is not usually one to take a back step, and indeed is quite vocal. I cannot imagine she would be unaware of her nephew’s intentions, if indeed those intentions are to poison her.” In fact, she was an old tartar who never failed to cast an opinion even if it was not welcomed. He knew her through his grandmother. The woman was outspoken to the point of rudeness. She was also intelligent and did not suffer fools.
“She had a fall one month ago and damaged her leg, and so has been bedridden. Therefore, her nephew has been able to contain her, and I suspect, has been administering the poison in the tonic the doctor prescribed for her recovery.”
Silence settled around them while Jacob thought about her words.
“You don't believe me, do you?”
She was sitting on the edge of the seat now, her body tense, almost as if she was ready to flee.
“I neither believe or disbelieve, Miss March, and will not do so until I have more facts.”
“How dare you call me a liar!” Indignation now radiated from her.
“I don't believe I did, nor do I know you, so I will dare to question you.”
“Then there is nothing further to say. I shall find someone else to help me. Someone who will not question my word.”
She went to brush by him, and he grabbed her and placed her back on the seat, with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.
“Good God, woman, will you just sit and let me process the information you have given me! I have known you for a mere handful of minutes, and you expect me to believe your word without further questioning? I am an investigator, and the key word in that sentence is investigate!”
“B-but you said you didn't believe me, and I have no time to waste.”
“I did not, and for pity’s sake, do not cry.”
“I am not crying, and don't be so rude.”
“Now I'm rude, when it is you who has insulted me? You are an exhausting woman, Miss March.”
Like a hot air balloon, she seemed to deflate.
“Actually, you are not the first person to say that.”
“Imagine my surprise,” Jacob muttered. “Now, back to the matter at hand, if you please.”
She nodded.
“You said you believed your life was also in danger.”
“I should not have said that, because that does not matter. What matters is that you help poor Lady Revel.”
“Of course it matters if someone is intent on harming you, especially if the two issues are related. Now tell me what happened.”
She thought about that briefly, her hands making little fanning motions on her skirts.
“Two days after I was dismissed, I tried to sneak upstairs and into Lady Revel's rooms, but that heinous cur saw me.”
“For the purposes of this discussion, please call him Lord Revel.”
“If I must,” she muttered, and Jacob had to swallow a laugh.
“He threw me out of the house and I told him I would not stop until I found out what he was about. He then said I had better take care, as he would not want an accident to befall me.”
“And then an accident befell you?”
She nodded. “I was pushed in front of an oncoming carriage.”
“Good God.”
“I'm quite agile, so I managed to run in front and it only clipped my boot.”
“Hardly the point.”
“I was then grabbed and dragged into an alley, but I'm also quite handy with my fists for a small person, and managed to escape.”
“Good Lord.” Jacob had never felt faint in his life, but right at that moment he thought the timing would be perfect.
“The third incident—”
“There's a third?”
“It happened when I went to visit Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, who are dear friends of mine, even if their son is somewhat of a nuisance.”
Her face was like an ever-moving collage of expressions; now it was screwed up in concentration.
“Nuisance?” The topic was dire, but he had to admit to enjoying himself now. She was an entertaining woman.
One gray-gloved hand flicked at him.
“Silly fool believes himself in love with me, and p
resents me with dreadful poetry.”
“Pauline?” he asked, almost desperate now to know her name. She shook her head.
“I was leaving Mr. and Mrs. Hardy's house after taking tea, and as I walked along beside the Thames, hands lifted me up and threw me over.”
“Into the water?”
She nodded.
Dear God. Now he really did feel faint.
“Luckily, even though I had on my thick coat, I am a good swimmer, as my parents ensured all of us could swim well because we lived beside a river.”
“And where are they?”
“Who?” She cast her large eyes his way again.
“Your parents.”
“At home, I should imagine, in Kent.”
“So that's the accent.”
She nodded again.
“So you swam to safety?”
“Actually, I was struggling, and had gone back under the water a few times, but as luck would have it two men saw the fiend throw me in, and came to my aid.”
Her eyes looked clear, but that could be a trick of light. He wondered in fact if she was unbalanced, and this entire story was made up.
“Do you not believe me, my lord?” She leaned forward, searching his eyes, and obviously she was not happy with what she saw. Her shoulders drew back and her chin rose. The glare coming from her now was fierce.
“As to that—”
“No, please say no more.” She raised a hand, then started for the door before he could stop her. “I have no time to waste on someone who believes I would lie, which, by the way, I never do. I was raised a vicar's daughter, and let me assure you, my lord, that I was forced to read from the bible so many times when I was caught in the act of misconveying the truth, that I no longer do so.”
She had the carriage door open now.
“Lie that is, not read the bible. Of course I do that, should I need to... which I don't, as I know it near word bloody perfect.”
She spun to face Jacob, looking horrified.
“Forgive me, I had not meant to curse. It seems the circumstances have distressed me more than I had realized.”
“Miss March, please just—”
“There is nothing further to say, my lord. I can see you do not believe me; therefore, I shall find someone who does.”
