by Laura Beers
“I worry that there are too many variables at play.”
“You are right, of course,” Madalene said with a sigh.
Jane gave her a knowing look. “But that isn’t going to stop you, is it?”
Madalene’s lips twitched. “Not really.”
“Just be careful,” Jane urged.
“Aren’t I always?”
Jane let out a light, airy laugh. “Hardly,” she proclaimed. “You were always the first person to get into mischief at school.”
“That may be true,” Madalene replied as she returned to her seat near her friend, “but you were always right behind me.”
Reaching for the teapot, Jane poured herself another cup of tea. “That is why we will always be the best of friends.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter Five
Baldwin stared out the window, the drink in his hand long forgotten. He wasn’t able to quite decipher the irritating Miss Dowding. She appeared to be an innocent in so many ways, but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she was more than she appeared.
And how did she have the uncanny ability to unnerve him?
“Devil take it,” he muttered to himself.
A familiar voice came from the doorway. “Is this not a good time?”
Baldwin turned and saw Corbyn watching him with an amused look on his face. “Come in,” he encouraged, waving him in.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you were distracted,” Corbyn remarked as he walked further in the room.
Baldwin frowned. “I don’t like to be scrutinized.”
“I wasn’t scrutinizing you,” Corbyn contended. “It was merely an observation.”
Leaning back, Baldwin sat on the windowsill. “I was just thinking about this woman—”
“Enough said,” Corbyn interrupted. “Women have the ability to drive men to distraction.”
“It’s not like that. This particular woman is infuriating—”
“Aren’t all women?” Corbyn joked.
Baldwin shot his friend an annoyed look. “Will you stop interrupting me?” he asked. “I find it rather annoying.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“This woman, a Miss Dowding, showed up at Floyd’s Coffeehouse and went upstairs to speak to one of the tenants,” Baldwin shared.
“What did they speak about?”
Baldwin crossed his arms over his wide chest. “The gist of it was that the tenant’s daughter had gone missing and Miss Dowding had come to inquire about her whereabouts.”
“Was she successful?”
“No, but Miss Dowding did mention a constable and a Bow Street Runner were on the case.”
“Bah,” Corbyn huffed. “Both of them are useless. You might as well have a half-witted child look for the girl then.”
“Not all Runners are terrible.”
“Yes, they are,” Corbyn protested. “There is a reason we don’t consult with them when we work on our cases domestically.”
Baldwin shook his head. “Regardless, Miss Dowding was foolish enough to come unaccompanied to the coffeehouse to inform the mother.”
“I would agree with you there.” Corbyn hesitated for a moment before asking, “When did this girl go missing?”
“I don’t rightly know, but I would assume it was rather recent.”
Corbyn had a thoughtful expression on his face. “I can’t help but wonder if this girl has been abducted along with the rest of the missing girls.”
Baldwin uncrossed his arms and asked, “What missing girls?”
“About a week ago, a slew of girls went missing from the disreputable part of Town,” Corbyn explained. “It made the news because one of the girls was the sister of the man who wrote the article in the morning newspaper.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that women were snatched in those parts of Town.”
“Sadly, it would not be,” Corbyn agreed. “Women go missing from the rookeries all the time. It is a very unsavory thing to think about.”
“Who is on the case?”
Corbyn gave him a pointed look. “Who do you think?” he asked, before answering his own question. “It is those worthless Runners.”
“Why do you distrust the Bow Street Runners so much?”
“I have my reasons.”
Straightening from the windowsill, Baldwin walked over to the drink cart. “Which are?”
Corbyn stiffened. “They are mine, and mine alone.”
“Secrets, I see.”
“We both have them.”
Baldwin placed his glass down onto the cart before he picked up the decanter. Then, he topped off his drink and poured another. “No truer words have ever been said.” He picked the glasses up and walked one over to Corbyn. “May we get back to Miss Dowding now?”
Corbyn accepted the glass and took a sip. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“Earlier this morning, Miss Dowding showed up here unexpectedly and began to snoop through my townhouse.”
“She did?”
Baldwin nodded. “At least, that’s what I thought she was doing.”
“What did you do?”
After taking a sip, Baldwin placed the glass on the desk. “I confronted her and demanded to know why she was in my townhouse.”
“What did she say?” Corbyn asked.
“She didn’t say, but rather, insulted me.”
Corbyn lifted his brow. “She insulted you?” he repeated back slowly.
“Yes, repeatedly.”
“I like this girl,” Corbyn said with a smile.
“You wouldn’t if you met her,” Baldwin declared. “She is argumentative and refuses to answer even the most basic questions. It is maddening.”
Corbyn studied him, then asked, “Is she beautiful?”
“She is,” he admitted, seeing no reason to deny it, “but that is beside the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
Baldwin glanced over at the open door and lowered his voice. “Miss Dowding is a friend of Jane’s from boarding school, but I can’t help but wonder if she has been sent here to spy on me.”
Corbyn was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowing into a frown. “Are you in earnest?”
“I am.”
“I think you are just overthinking this.” Corbyn rose and put his glass on the desk. “After all, what reason would this young woman have to spy on you?”
“Perhaps she learned that I was a spy—”
Corbyn interrupted again. “How?” he asked, his voice matching Baldwin’s in volume. “If that did happen, then we would have an even bigger problem. We would have a mole in the Alien Office.”
Baldwin ran a hand through his hair. “I just can’t seem to get a read on this young woman.”
“If Miss Dowding shows up again, then I think you might be able to make a case against her,” Corbyn remarked. “Until then, and I hate to say this, I believe it was just a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Baldwin said gruffly.
“Usually, I don’t, either. But in this case, I do.”
Walking around his desk, Baldwin sat down in his chair. “You are probably right,” he agreed.
“You will find that I am generally right,” Corbyn stated, puffing out his chest. “It makes being in charge easier.”
“I see humility is not a requirement to lead.”
Corbyn smirked. “Not in the least,” he replied. “Now, back to the original reason I came to visit you at your modest townhouse.”
“Which is?”
The smile faded from Corbyn’s face. “A tip came in,” he said.
“Is it credible?”
“I vetted it myself,” Corbyn shared. “It would appear that the Queen’s Gambling Hall has been frequented by some radicals lately.”
“How would you know this?”
“Apparently, some of them had become quite inebriated and were kicked out,” Corbyn shared, “but not before they loudly shared their views with the ot
her patrons.”
Leaning forward in his chair, Baldwin asked, “Do you think this is the group we are looking for?”
“Could be.”
Baldwin glanced towards the window and saw that the sun was starting to set. “I will depart immediately.”
“And forgo dinner?” Corbyn tsked.
“I can eat at the gambling hall.”
Corbyn placed his hand on the back of the chair. “That is a shame, especially since I have heard you employ a French cook.”
“We do,” Baldwin confirmed, rising. “My mother saw to that.”
“I would imagine gambling hall fare would pale in comparison to the dinner your French cook will serve.”
Baldwin adjusted his white cravat as he replied, “I would agree.”
Corbyn opened his mouth to respond but closed it when Jane walked into the room. Her expression was hard, but it softened when her eyes landed on Corbyn.
“Lord Evan,” Jane greeted politely. “I hadn’t realized you were here.”
Corbyn bowed. “Lady Jane. You are looking as lovely as ever.”
A barely discernable blush came to Jane’s cheeks as she smiled at Corbyn. Then it disappeared, and her face grew expressionless. It had happened so quickly Baldwin feared he had imagined it.
Jane clasped her hands in front of her as she turned her attention back to Baldwin. “Mother mentioned that you would like to speak to me.” Her words were devoid of emotion.
“I would,” Baldwin confirmed.
Corbyn tipped his head and said, “If you will excuse me, I have a meeting that I must attend to on the other side of town.”
Jane watched Corbyn leave the room before she turned and gave Baldwin an irritated look.
“I would like to compliment you on the job that you did overlooking our investments while I was gone,” Baldwin said, picking up one of the ledgers on the desk. “You did an impressive job.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “If that will be all…” Her voice trailed off.
Baldwin stared at her for a moment. “Are you angry with me?”
Jane blinked. “Why would I be angry with you, Brother?” she asked dryly. “Could it be that I have spent the past three years wondering if you were dead or alive?”
“I know that must have been hard—”
Her mouth dropped. “Hard?” she repeated, cutting him off. “No, what was hard was hearing Mother crying down the hall because she missed her son, or watching her stare out the window, wondering if he would ever return.”
Baldwin let out a deep sigh. This is not how he intended this conversation to go. “I would like to apologize—”
Jane put her hand up, stilling his words. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she stated. “Father died, and instead of staying with your family, who needed you during our time of grief, you abandoned us.” Her voice hitched. “You willingly left us.”
“I did.”
Jane pursed her lips before asking, “Where did you go?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say,” Baldwin answered regretfully.
Taking a step closer to him, Jane met his gaze unflinchingly. “You show up after three years, with no explanation of where you have been, and you expect me to just accept your apology and move on?”
“I understand that it may take time, but I am hoping we can return to the way we used to be,” Baldwin remarked as he placed his hand gently on her shoulder.
“I used to adore you,” she said, shaking his hand off. “I would follow you around and bask in any attention you gave me. Now I can’t even stand to be around you.”
Baldwin let his hand drop, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t anticipated Jane would hold such animosity towards him.
Jane took another step closer towards him. “You will not disappoint Mother again,” she asserted. “You will go to the ball in your honor and you will pretend to enjoy yourself.”
Putting his hand up in front of him, Baldwin replied, “I will do so, assuming you do not invite Miss Dowding to the ball.”
“But I have already sent her invitation.”
“Rescind it, then,” Baldwin said firmly.
Jane tilted her head as her words came out slowly, deliberately. “We both know that you have no real power here. If you fail to attend the ball, then you would intentionally embarrass Mother in front of her friends and Society.” She lifted her brow. “And you wouldn’t be as cold and unfeeling as that, now would you?”
Baldwin frowned, knowing that she had called his bluff. “No, I would not.”
“I am glad to hear that. Madalene will come to your ball, whether you like it or not,” Jane announced as she turned to leave.
Staring at her retreating figure in disbelief, Baldwin couldn’t help but admire the woman his sister had become. Unfortunately, she hated him quite profusely, and he wasn’t sure how he could fix that.
Dressed in a pale green muslin gown with a square neckline, Madalene descended the stairs of her townhouse with light steps, being mindful to avoid anyone’s notice, especially Mrs. Foster’s.
Her butler met her at the base of the stairs with a frown on his face. “I don’t like this, Miss.”
“Please do not fret over my decision,” she said.
“How can I not?” Graham asked. “Are you sure I cannot accompany you?”
Madalene shook her head. “There is no need. Besides, I believe I already explained my reasons for visiting the Queen’s Gambling Hall.”
“You did,” Graham replied, “but why not just send a footman to do your bidding?”
“Because I want this matter resolved as quickly as possible,” Madalene replied. “I will speak to the men in charge and petition for Edith’s release.”
Her butler sighed. “Is there anything that I can say to change your mind?”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid not.”
“Then I shall be waiting up for your return,” Graham said. “If you aren’t home by midnight, I will send for the constable.”
“Thank you.”
As Graham went to open the door, he remarked, “Mrs. Foster will be furious when she discovers you went out this evening.”
“Most likely,” Madalene agreed, “but I choose not to dwell on that.”
Graham held open the door. “I took the liberty of speaking to the driver and footmen. I informed them of the clandestine nature of this errand and ordered them to remain vigilant.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you, Graham,” Madalene said, hoping her voice conveyed her sincerity.
The lines around his eyes crinkled. “Let’s hope we never find out, shall we?”
With a parting glance, Madalene exited the townhouse and headed for the waiting coach. She stepped inside and smoothed out her gown. The coach jerked forward, and she took a deep breath to soothe her growing nerves.
She didn’t know why she was particularly nervous. She would go into the gambling hall, speak to the man in charge, and pay Edith’s debt. Then Edith would be released, and everything would be as it should. So why did it feel too easy?
Glancing out the window, Madalene watched as they started driving through the unfashionable part of Town. The buildings darkened, men in tattered clothing were loitering on the pavement, and the pungent smell of excrement grew increasingly stronger.
Reaching into her reticule, Madalene removed a handkerchief that had been doused with rosewater. She brought it up to her nose and took in the scent. Problem solved, she thought. Now, on to the next problem.
The coach came to a stop in front of a nondescript brick building. There was no sign hanging above the door identifying the establishment, and the front windows were dark, making it appear as if the building were empty.
The footman put the step down and opened the door. “We have arrived,” he informed her as he assisted her out of the coach.
“This is the Queen’s Gambling Hall?” she questioned.
“It is,” he confirmed. “You go through the main door and y
ou will come to another set of doors that lead to the gambling hall.”
“I understand.”
“Would you like for me to go with you?”
Madalene met his gaze. “Are women generally escorted by men in the gambling hall?”
“No, Miss,” the footman acknowledged. “But they are usually here for a very different reason.”
Squaring her shoulders, Madalene said, “I will do this on my own.”
“We will remain here until you return,” the footman informed her.
Madalene acknowledged his remark with a tip of her head before she approached the main door. She reached down and turned the handle. The door opened, and she stepped into a dark entry hall. The sound of men’s voices could be heard drifting down the hall.
She followed the noise until it grew increasingly louder. Stopping outside of a set of double doors, she placed her hand on the handle and turned it.
As Madalene stepped inside, she was astonished to see that the hall was filled to capacity. Round tables were set up strategically throughout the room with solemn-looking gentlemen surrounding them. The acidic smell of cigar smoke dominated the space as women, wearing gowns with scandalously low necklines, walked around the room delivering drinks.
No one gave her any heed as she stayed by the door. Her eyes scanned the room as she looked for someone who appeared to be in charge.
The door opened, bumping her further into the room.
“My apologies,” the man muttered as he entered, not bothering to spare her a glance.
Madalene knew she couldn’t stay by the door for the entire evening, so she started walking between the tables. The men glanced up at her, eyeing her with approval, but their focus returned back to the cards in their hands.
A serving woman approached her with an empty tray in her hand and asked, “Are you lost, dear?”
“Why do you say that?”
The woman gave her an amused look. “You aren’t the type of woman we usually cater to.”
“Oh,” Madalene replied. “I was hoping to speak to the man in charge.”
“May I ask why?”
Madalene took a step closer to the woman so as to be heard over the boisterous noise in the hall. “I have some business I need to discuss with him,” she asserted.
