by Amy Corwin
“It satisfies me to know that after I’m long dead, the brick walls and buildings I built, will still be standing tall. I helped to create—oh—” She stopped and studied his face, her eyes glazed with anguish. “Never mind. I know I’m not talking sensibly.” She transferred her gaze to the marble floor, and her voice grew low as if she didn’t want him to hear her. “But brick walls don’t burn.”
He felt her anguish and wanted to hold her until it passed. She was a woman, and it didn’t matter what she wore. And he understood her desperate desire for some small sense of permanence amidst the transience and violence of the world.
She seemed so alone and yet so determined to face life with her eyes wide open. An impossible combination of strength and frailty.
What could he say to soothe her fears? How could he not love her?
And in the midst of his realization, he focused on the proprieties, on Sarah’s future. “You’ll need a chaperone.”
For a long time, there was nothing but silence, intermittently interrupted by the sound of William’s harsh breathing.
Then Sarah laughed. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I simply changed into my trousers and shirt?”
“No.”
“It is awkward, isn’t it? Perhaps I should have gone…No.” She strode toward the door. “I should return to Mrs. Pochard’s boarding house.”
“You can’t,” he replied grimly. “The watch was there earlier, confirming your story. That will be the first place they go when they discover you’re gone.”
“Maybe they’ll think I’m dead. That man in the cell was barely recognizable. I’m sure they’ve forgotten all about him.”
William’s stomach tightened. She must have been terrified to spend the night with a dead man. The thought filled him with rage.
“I’m sorry.” He tried to put an arm around her.
She shook him off in a desperate show of independence. “Actually, it was a relief. I was afraid I was going to have to give my cellmate a beating so he'd leave me alone.” A wolfish smile curled her lips. “I don’t fight fair. Just so you know.”
With that, she tried to put him firmly in his place. Too bad it didn’t work.
She glanced down at her dress, pinching the folds again. “I should change. I have to go to Mrs. Pochard’s in case she realizes I’m the Samuel Pochard the police asked about.”
“You can’t.” He moved slightly to glance at the clock on the mantle in his office. “It’s nearly nine.”
“Barely the shank of the evening.” She paused before asking, “Is there any chance you have trousers and a jacket I might wear?”
“No, there is not,” he replied, revolted by the suggestion. “You’re not going to Mrs. Pochard’s. The police will certainly be watching the area.”
“Then I’d better go as I am.”
He grabbed her arm. However, she shook him off easily. The determined expression in her gray eyes promised violence if he tried to stop her by force.
“I’ll go with you.”
“You?” she asked, her voice shaking with laughter. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Either I accompany you, or you won’t go at all.”
“For such a frippery fellow, you’re certainly stubborn,” she commented. “Well, then come. The sooner I see her, the better.”
They left the house swiftly and crossed the road, dodging carriages, horses, and people on foot heading to various entertainments. To William's surprise, no one gave them a second glance. When they got to the boarding house, William stepped in front of Sarah to knock.
A sullen maid opened the door. In exhausted silence, she escorted them to Mrs. Pochard’s overdone, Oriental drawing room. Mrs. Pochard sat sprawled on a red sofa, leafing through a tattered broadsheet.
“Mr. Trenchard,” Mrs. Pochard greeted him. She eyed Sarah, who stood slightly behind William, with a frown. “And you are?”
“Miss Sanderson,” William replied. He moved aside to allow Mrs. Pochard to see Sarah more clearly.
“Miss…Sanderson?” Mrs. Pochard replied. Her heavy mouth turned down. “Is that you, then, Mr. Sanderson? What are you about? The police have been here, you know, asking after my son, Samuel Pochard. We both know I haven’t got one.”
“I know,” Sarah answered hurriedly. “That’s why I wanted to come and explain—”
“I should think you would!”
“That is, after I gave you my word, I felt I owed you an explanation.”
“You owed me?” Mrs. Pochard appeared startled at Sarah’s statement. “You felt you owed me?”
“Well, yes. I gave you my word and then disappeared.” Sarah gestured earnestly with her hands, palms facing upward. “I knew you were worried about your daughter.”
Mrs. Pochard’s florid face trembled with emotion. William moved forward, afraid that the older woman might erupt into violence.
Mrs. Pochard’s chins wobbled as she broke into laughter. “Letitia has fallen on her feet this time, the little minx.” Her eyes studied Sarah’s face with a cynical gleam. “Seems the police was told by this Samuel Pochard that my Letty was cheated out of what was due her by a wealthy gent, Mr. Carnaby. So the gent accompanied the officer here to question us.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pochard. I should never have involved you. Honestly, I never thought they would come here.”
Mrs. Pochard waved a plump hand, her gaze straying from Sarah to rest on William. The speculation in her eyes made his smile with cynical amusement. “As I said, my Letty landed on her feet. Seems Mr. Carnaby took a fancy to her the minute he set eyes on her, as they say.”
Out of the corner of his eye, William saw Sarah glance at him. Her eyes grew clouded with confusion.
“Your daughter is very attractive, I’m sure,” Sarah replied.
“Makes no never mind, now,” Mrs. Pochard replied. “For she’s run off with that Carnaby.”
“She ran off with Mr. Carnaby?” Sarah asked. “What about our agreement?”
“You’re not upset about that, are you?” Mrs. Pochard laughed until tears streamed over her broad cheeks. “I suppose that lets you out of it. Let her force Mr. Carnaby to make an honest woman of her, if he will.” She wiped her eyes. “I must say, Mr.—Miss Sanderson, whichever name you prefer, I never expected to see you again.”
“Well, I felt I owed you an explanation.”
“You’ve behaved better than any of the Pochards, I’ll say that for you. And I apologize.” She had the grace to look ashamed.
“I understand, entirely.”
Mrs. Pochard shook her head. “You almost restore my faith, you do—”
Her words were cut off when the maid knocked on the door before opening it. She announced, “Officer Clark, madam.” Then she turned around and shuffled away.
When the officer entered the room, he surveyed the inhabitants. His gaze returned twice to Sarah. He shut the door thoughtfully and stood directly in front of it as if determined to stop anyone considering escape. His damp, brown eyes gazed at them with unfathomable, hound-like sadness.
“Mrs. Pochard,” Officer Clark greeted her. “And who might you be?”
William introduced himself as an inquiry agent for Second Sons. He shook hands before gesturing toward Sarah. “This is Miss Sanderson.”
Clark eyed her suspiciously before turning back to their hostess. “Now, Mrs. Pochard, have you seen your son, Samuel Pochard?”
“How would I see him?” Mrs. Pochard answered, her breast puffing up like a strutting pigeon. “Didn’t I say yesterday that I ain’t got no son?”
He smiled and rocked from his toes to his heels, hands clasped behind his stout back. “Enough of that. We were giving him accommodations at Newgate, as you well know. Seeing as how we mentioned this small tidbit to you on our previous encounter.”
“Well, there ain’t no Samuel Pochard here,” she replied vehemently.
“I see.” He sighed elaborately. “I suppose it’s expected, seeing as how Mr. Carnaby has since chose
n to drop the charges against your son. And the gent appears to have reconciled with Miss Pochard.”
Mrs. Pochard smiled. “Indeed, yes. They had a lovers’ quarrel—nothing more.”
“So, if you was to let me talk to your son, it would not be for the purposes of arrest—”
“Then precisely what purpose would it serve?” William asked.
“Well, you see, here’s the point of confusion, we had a visit earlier. From a Mr. Archer and Lady Victoria,” Mr. Clark replied, his gaze on Sarah. “You don’t know the Archers, do you?”
William hesitated when Sarah remained silent. Clark must have been sharper than his droop-jowled, sad-eyed appearance suggested.
The Bow Street runner glanced from William to Sarah and then fixed his tenacious brown eyes on Sarah. “In fact, young lady, if I might suggest it, you look remarkably similar to the Archers.”
“Really?” Sarah said. She moved closer to William.
He shoved his hands into his pockets to restrain his longing to touch her. Their situation was complex enough without compromising her in front of witnesses.
“You also appear remarkably similar to Samuel Pochard, from all descriptions. It is truly amazing—the resemblance.”
Sarah’s painful attempt at a laugh made William’s jaw tighten.
“Is this important?” William asked, diverting attention from her. “Surely if Mr. Carnaby has decided not to press charges against this mysterious Samuel Pochard, there is no need to pursue this matter further.”
“You might think that, indeed. However, there’s still the matter of that curious incident at Newgate, isn’t there? I am, at present, investigating. This isn’t the first time we’ve entertained Mr. Archer. It’ud relieve my mind considerably if I could report this entire affair as the result of a wager.” Once more, he began his habitual, rhythmic rocking from his toes to his heels, all the while staring at Sarah. “Mind you, I wouldn’t approve such a thing. But my superiors might find it amusing.”
“And not blame you. Is that it?” William asked, letting out a long breath.
“Well, sir, that be a consideration.” He smiled, revealing several missing teeth.
William drew Sarah’s hand through his elbow and kept it in place with his palm. Even through the thin gloves the Archers supplied, he could feel the stiff chill of her fingers.
“Obviously, you are acquainted with Mr. Archer,” William said. “This is his wife’s niece. I’m afraid they played a bit of a joke. I trust it didn't have any unfortunate ill effects on you.”
The officer’s grin widened with relief. “No, sir. None at all. It's precisely as I predicted when they sent me on this wild-goose chase. The Quality, now, they have their little ways. As you must know, being a working man like myself. So long as I report this situation to everyone’s satisfaction, there won’t be none of those nasty ill effects as you mentioned. And thank you, sir, for clearing up that small matter. I suppose you're in the pay of this young lady, then?”
William caught the silvery-gray flicker of Sarah’s glance.
He smiled blandly at Clark’s remark about their similar careers and subsequent social standing. “Yes. They had me quite fooled, as well, and requested I recover a stolen object. All part of their wager, I suppose.”
“And there don’t be any such object?”
“Not that I’ve discovered.”
“Well, right then. I’ll be off, Mrs. Pochard.” Clark eyed their hostess in such a suggestive way that William found himself watching Mrs. Pochard and waiting for a firm set-down.
To his surprise, Mrs. Pochard smiled flirtatiously. She fanned her hand over her ample bosom as if flattered by the officer’s attention. “Mr. Clark, I must say you've astounded us all by your ability to see into the very heart of the matter and so astutely. I am exceedingly impressed by your professional shrewdness—how you deduced this entire affair—well! I must say, if you should ever find yourself on our street again, I do hope you shall visit. Police work is so fascinating, I always say.” Mrs. Pochard held out her hand to Mr. Clark.
He bent over it and kissed her knuckles with more fervor than grace. “Indeed, dear lady, I shall. Never fear.” He turned and took his leave, apparently relieved to have a logical story to explain the last twenty-four hours of confusion.
After the door closed, Mrs. Pochard let out a deep breath. She folded her hands on her broad lap and fixed them with her shrewd gaze. “There. Now I suppose that be settled.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pochard,” Sarah replied, her voice soft.
“Well, after the difficulties… And then you coming here and whatnot—I felt you deserved a bit of a chance. As we all do.”
“And I’m sorry about Letty, Mrs. Pochard,” Sarah said.
Mrs. Pochard shrugged. “She’s made her bed. I wish her luck of him.” She shook her head, her lips twisted with cynicism. “Perhaps this time she’ll listen to her mother and get him to take vows, seeing as how he’s to be a father and all. Well, it were well out of my hands.”
“I’m sure it’ll turn out for the best.” Sarah pulled on William’s arm.
“Did you ever get your box back?” Mrs. Pochard called as they went through the door.
“Nearly,” Sarah replied over her shoulder. Then she glanced up at William. Her gray eyes darkened by sadness. “We nearly had it.”
Chapter Seventeen
As they crossed the busy street and headed toward Second Sons, Sarah kicked the awkward skirts of her dress and tried to avoid a fit of the dismals. It was not easy to stop worrying. Her mind raced like an unbridled horse. Despite the soft April night settling around them, she felt chilled, tired, and utterly miserable.
The miasma of death had seeped deeply into her skin during those hours in Newgate. Even the fresh air blowing in her face did nothing to dispel the odor. The wretched scent clung to everything, including the gown Mrs. Archer had given her. Every time she moved, she could smell the foul stench of decay.
She felt she would never be free of it as long as she was Sarah.
As Sam, she had felt strong. Capable. Now, she just felt lost. And she was tired of the mysterious past. Her head ached when she thought about it. However, she couldn’t seem to avoid going over and over what little she remembered, searching for anything she might have missed—or could have changed. The results remained nothing but confusion and despair.
At least she had faced Mrs. Pochard, although the more she thought about Letty and Mr. Carnaby, the more she wondered. Had Letty known Mr. Carnaby before any of these dreadful events spun out of control? The rapid onset of Carnaby’s affection for the girl suggested that the two might have met before.
The situation was confusing, and her companion only increased her tension. Her gaze drifted to William as he climbed the steps to Second Sons ahead of her and opened the door. He was not the one she’d wanted to help her, and yet he had. And he had surprised her despite his golden, frippery appearance. Apparently, intelligence was not the sole province of the plain and bespectacled.
And he had managed to get her out of Newgate, which was no mean feat. However, he had the Archer's help, and there was still the lost box.
Sarah stopped in the hallway, her foot poised on the bottom stair. “What about my box?”
“Box?” William asked, throwing his hat on a settee. “What about it?”
“Have you forgotten everything? We need to find it.” She smoothed a fold of her cumbersome skirt. “How shall I pay you if we don’t?”
“My fee is the least of my concerns.”
He took her elbow and escorted her up the staircase. They reached the first landing before he evidently realized the impropriety of accompanying her to her room now that she was Sarah and not Samuel. Glancing around the hall, he started to move back in the direction of the stairs.
“Don’t be a gudgeon,” she said. “We can talk here if you’re not comfortable accompanying me to my room.”
“Well, you’re a fem—that is—”
&
nbsp; “I’ve changed?” she asked, raising a brow. “You were perfectly comfortable taking care of my most intimate needs when I was wounded. I fail to see why a simple discussion in the privacy of my room is so dreadful now.”
“That was different,” he said, clearly annoyed.
She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. “The only difference was that I wore trousers and a smock. I assure you, I’m quite the same regardless of my apparel.”
“We ought to go downstairs. To my office. I don’t know why I didn’t consider this earlier.”
“Because you’re tired?” she replied in a straightforward manner. It was always easier to tease Mr. Trenchard than to talk about her disastrous life.
As soon as she said it, his broad shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly. Even his handsome face showed a fine network of lines across his broad brow and bracketing his mouth. Unfortunately, they only made him more attractive, rather than less.
“Then we’ll wait until morning to discuss what to do. Don’t worry, Sarah, I’ll find your box.”
She turned toward her room, only to stop and rub her forehead above her nose in thought. She sighed.
William stopped at the sound. He glanced over his shoulder, studying her.
“Tomorrow is Sunday, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes, I believe so. If you wish we can attend my church, it’s—”
“No, no, that wasn’t my concern. The final banns are to be read tomorrow.”
“Banns? What banns?”
“Mine. Mine and Miss Hawkins.”
William laughed. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“This is not in the least bit amusing. Mr. Hawkins wants me to marry his daughter so he can open a London branch. I’m to be in charge.”
“Yes, but—does she know about you?”
“Of course not.”
“You can’t possibly have considered going through with it.”
