Introducing Miss Joanna

by Andersen, Maggi

  And if this ended badly? Would Joanna forgive him? She seemed to put so much faith in him. That he would care so much, he would never have believed a few short months ago. He allowed himself a pleasurable thought that they might come to mean more to each other. Joanna in his bed. Smiling at him every morning. Fool! He did not deserve such a woman. With a pat on Ash’s glossy neck, he left the stall. He’d been fooling himself. He would never sink so low as to involve her in his life. That would be the worst thing he ever did.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jo waited in the parlor for her father to come home. He smiled as he entered and drew off his gloves. He seemed very much a man about Town these days. “Did you enjoy your ride in the park, Jo? Mrs. Millet and I spent the afternoon at the museum. There’s a splendid display of silver inkpots.” He took a chair beside her and described some of the exhibits.

  She didn’t mention meeting Reade because he would only disapprove. To keep a secret from him made her uncomfortable. “It sounds wonderful, Papa. There’s something I need to ask you.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “Remember when Sally said the man who abducted her smelled of licorice? You went to ask the butler about it.”

  He nodded. “Spears confirmed my view of absinthe. Some men prefer it to whisky or brandy. It’s expensive. Sally thought the man was a gentleman, did she not?”

  “She said so. Lord Reade should be told.”

  He frowned. “Absinth is not uncommon. And what might the baron have to do with this?”

  “I think he works for the government, Papa.”

  Her father raised his eyebrows. “What area of government?”

  “An investigative agent.”

  “An agent for the Crown? Has he admitted as much?”

  “No. I don’t expect he would admit it. I’ve asked for his help to find Charlotte because Mrs. Lincoln refuses to contact Bow Street. She fears a scandal.”

  “Forget the baron. Agents are a disreputable lot. They kill people. And I’ve heard unsavory things about Reade.”

  Reade was a good man. If he weren’t, she would know it in her heart. “Lord Reade would not have done what Mrs. Millet accused him of, Papa.”

  “Mary told you, did she? I can’t imagine what reason Mrs. Millet would have to lie to me, can you?”

  Jo shook her head miserably.

  “You are susceptible. These men hold a certain fascination for many women. I’ve seen how they watch him at balls. I insist you avoid him.”

  “But, Papa…”

  He stood. “If he finds your friend, Miss Graham, well and good, but he does not need your help.”

  He walked out the door.

  Jo stared despondently after him. This was most unlike her father. He was usually good-tempered. But once he made up his mind about something, he seldom changed it. He would never accept Reade as a son-in-law. Not that a proposal was forthcoming.

  A half-hour passed while she sat deep in thought, plucking at the fringe on a cushion. It worried Reade when she told him about Charlotte. He considered her friend’s disappearance a serious matter worthy of investigation. But there was no reason she couldn’t do something herself. Neither Reade nor her father need know about it. While she wouldn’t discover her whereabouts, she might unearth some clue, and she must at least try. Jo rose and went in search of Sally.

  “I plan to do some shopping tomorrow, Sally. I’ll ask my aunt to join us.”

  Sally looked up from folding some of Jo’s clothes. “Very good, Miss Jo.”

  “I thought we might go first to Soho Square.”

  Sally turned to stare at her. “Soho Square, Miss Jo?”

  “Yes. You mentioned passing it in the hackney on your way home after that terrifying ordeal. Returning there might jog your memory.”

  “I’ve been going over it again and again, and nothing comes, but I’ll try.”

  “Good girl. Think carefully, is there anything, apart from the smell of licorice, that might point to the gentleman you saw in the hall earlier, Mr. Ollerton, as the man who abducted you?” While Jo didn’t suspect him, she felt she should at least inquire.

  “Oh!” The scarf dropped from Sally’s fingers. She put her hands to her cheeks. “Perhaps if I heard his voice again…”

  “It was merely conjecture, Sally. I am being unfair to the gentleman. Before we do our shopping, we’ll have the jarvey drive around the streets. Perhaps we’ll discover where the woman helped you and can continue our search from there.”

  Sally bent her head over a spencer. “Very well, Miss Jo.”

  “There is no need to be frightened, Sally, I shan’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

  Sally shrugged. “They didn’t want me. But they might want you, Miss Jo.” She glanced up, her expression grave. “I’ve been talking to the maids belowstairs. They’ve heard horrible stories.”

  “I imagine so. And some might be true. But we must not allow our imaginations to run away with us and do our utmost to find Charlotte.”

  “Yes, Miss Jo.”

  Black came to see Reade again the next morning as he drank coffee in his dining room. “The sun is barely over the yardarm, Black.” Reade folded his paper. “What do you have for me?”

  “I spoke to Richards, sir. He tells me he followed Virden in the carriage to Hyde Park with the young lady. But Virden outwitted Richards on the way home.”

  “Bloody hell! He lost him? How the devil did he do that?”

  “Richards admits he expected Virden to take the same route home. He feared he’d been spotted, so he rode ahead of him. Virden turned off somewhere. Disappeared into thin air, so to speak.”

  “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

  “He didn’t report it. Said he thought it unimportant because he found Virden again two hours later at his home.”

  Reade stared thunderously at Black. “Who recruited this fool?”

  “I did, sir,” Black said despondently. “As he’d been a Runner, I thought he’d be good.”

  “Why did he leave Bow Street?”

  “There was some trouble. I only discovered it this morning after I spoke to him.”

  “Never mind that now. Where did Virden disappear? Does Richards know that, at least?”

  “A few blocks from Soho Square. Somewhere near a graveyard.”

  “Richards isn’t cut out for this work. Find a replacement. Vet the next one more carefully, Black. There are enough good men looking for work after the war to choose from.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reade picked up his cup as the door closed. Soho Square. Hadn’t Joanna’s maid, Sally, mentioned passing near it on her way home? He’d have to pay a visit to the brothels. Soho was full of them. Not how he wished to spend the day, but there it was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hackney approached Solo Square. “We didn’t go to the square,” Sally said to Jo, her face pressed against the window. “We passed the sign.” She tapped the window. “Turn there.”

  Another few turns, then the air became thick with rancid smells. People crowded into the Berwick Street markets, moving between the livestock pens, the piles of cabbages and potatoes, and stalls selling an odd assortment of wares. “Yes. I remember this market. Keep on this road.”

  They continued down. “Where to next, Sally?” Jo asked, considering it wise to leave the maid to feel her way.

  Sally moaned. “I don’t know…”

  Aunt Mary held a handkerchief to her nose. “Sally may never remember, Jo.”

  “Go left!” Sally yelled to the jarvey. “That peddler on the corner with the dog, he was there before. I remember him.”

  A hunched-over old peddler in a tattered coat sat with his dog on a low wall, his array of goods arranged before him.

  The road they followed ended in a smelly ditch.

  “I must have made a mistake,” Sally said dispiritedly. “The houses were better than these. And there was a big oak tree.”

  “Well, it was wo
rth a try,” Jo said, disappointed. For one exciting moment, she believed they were close.

  With a muttered complaint, the jarvey turned the horses. They passed the old man again and continued on toward Oxford Street.

  Jo had decided to give up and return to the shops when, at the next cross street, a curricle approached them, drawn by a pair of thoroughbred gray horses.

  Reade, in his dark greatcoat and beaver, drew up beside them. A boot on the footboard, he reined in his horses close to them. His expression was thunderous.

  “Oh my,” Aunt Mary said faintly. “Your father won’t be happy about this, Jo.”

  Reade’s stern gaze sought Jo’s. He raised his hat and offered a brief greeting. “Have you lost your way? May I assist you?”

  “We are going to Golden Square,” Jo said weakly, deciding she may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, for she had broken her promise to him. “We want to see the statue in the park there. Some believe it is King George II, while others say it’s of King Charles II.” She was glad she’d listened to her father discussing this very thing with Mary some days ago.

  Unconvinced, Reade eyed Jo skeptically. “Parts of Soho are not safe. You are quite a distance from Golden Square. I assume your jarvey knows the way?”

  Fortunately, the jarvey, who was apparently losing patience, took umbrage at Reade’s suggestion that he was lacking. “I do, as it happens,” he said in a heavily ironic tone and slapped the reins.

  “Entirely unnecessary, but thank you for your concern,” Jo called as their hackney moved away from him.

  Reade did not try to follow them. Jo breathed a sigh of relief but expected to hear more of this when she saw him again. She frowned. Must she be made to feel guilty and have to explain herself? He was overbearing. It was a good thing he didn’t want to marry her. She sighed and looked back, but he had ridden on.

  “Fancy meeting Lord Reade here,” Aunt Mary said. “If he says it’s not safe, I am sure he must be right. We should return to the shops in Piccadilly.”

  “And we will, shortly. Forget Golden Square, please, jarvey. Turn around if you please,” she instructed.

  She could not make out his reply, but she suspected it was disrespectful.

  How odd to meet Reade. Did he think Charlotte might be here somewhere? Or was he seeing to some other matter?

  “We shall go back to the old peddler with his dog,” Jo shouted. “And this time, jarvey, turn left.”

  The road they took was busy with wagons and drays traveling up and down. “I remember this,” Sally said. “If it’s the road we came down, we traveled a long way.”

  They continued for about twenty minutes, crossing Oxford Street. Just as Jo decided they were on a wild goose chase, Sally swiveled on the seat. “That graveyard we just passed. I remember it.” She pointed to a narrow road veering off to the right. “Go down that lane!”

  Jo gave instructions, and the jarvey obeyed without comment. The lane led them to a cluster of houses set in gardens.

  “There’s the tree,” Sally yelled.

  A gigantic oak grew at the side of the road. “Are you sure, Sally?” Jo asked. “One tree might look like another.”

  “I am. The lady who helped me came out of that house over there. Should I thank her, do you think?”

  “One can’t just call, it would be bad manners,” Aunt Mary said, peering at the two-story house which sat at the end of a short drive with stables behind it. “Only fancy, Jo. That house has yellow-painted shutters and white flowering camellias in pots beside the front door, just like Mrs. Millet’s.”

  Jo stared at the dwelling. Surely, it was too much of a coincidence. Was this Mrs. Millet’s house?

  “Did you see Mrs. Millet when she came to our house, Sally?”

  “No, Miss Jo.”

  “What was the lady like who helped you?”

  “I was so distressed I remember little about her. She wasn’t young and had fairish hair.”

  “Did you give her our address?”

  “She asked for it. She wanted to pay the jarvey.”

  “We’d best go home.” It suddenly occurred to Jo that someone inside the house might see them.

  Jo looked back as the hackney pulled away from the curb. Surely it couldn’t be. If Mrs. Millet had assisted Sally, she would have mentioned the episode to her father. Jo must ask him. And she needed to speak to Reade.

  It was the fifth brothel Reade had visited and the last for the day. He was weary and short-tempered when the madame, a drunkard with dyed red hair, tried to entice him to go with one of her girls. “I am looking for a tall, fair-haired young woman on the slim side.”

  “Skinny girls ain’t always so popular love,” she said, eyeing him doubtfully. “Not much up top. We have some curvaceous beauties.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes took on a wary look. “Can’t help you then, sir. Best you take your business elsewhere.”

  A bruiser bestirred himself from a chair and stalked over, adopting a menacing attitude.

  Reade pulled back his coat to reveal his pistol. “If the girl is here, I will find her and throw you both into Newgate,” he said. “Your choice. If you give her up and keep your mouth shut, I’ll go easy with you.”

  “No need for that.” She lurched over and clutched his lapel, eyeing him owlishly, breathing gin in his face. “Who says I got ’er?”

  “A hunch.” He stepped back and pulled his pistol from his breeches, cocking it. “A thorough search will prove it either way.”

  The bouncer’s eyes widened, and he shuffled away, while the madame staggered over and sank down on her chair, folded her arms, and glared at him. “Upstairs, end of the hall on the right. If she’s the one you want, I expect payment.”

  “You’ll be lucky not to be in jail by nightfall.”

  Reade took the rickety stairs two at a time. At the end of the hall, he found the door locked. He put his shoulder to it and heaved, bursting inside the dim room. They’d pasted brown paper over the window. The room smelled of slops and rancid food. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he made out the still form huddled on a grubby mattress on the floor. He ran over and kneeled beside her and eased the long blonde tresses away from her face, which was pale and dirty.

  “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

  “I’m here to help you,” he said gently. “Are you Charlotte Graham?”

  She raised herself on her elbows. “I am. Who are you, sir?”

  “A friend.”

  How did you find me?”

  “A guess. Now let’s get you out of here. Have they been feeding you?”

  “Forcing me to eat,” she said shakily, leaning heavily on him. “They planned to send me somewhere.”

  “We’ll talk later. Can you walk?”

  An arm around her waist, Reade helped her out into the corridor. She stumbled on the stairs. Reade picked her up and carried her down. A shambolic group of women waited in the hall below.

  A woman in a grubby dressing gown leered at him. “Miserable thing she is. I can give you a better time, love.”

  Reade turned to the madame. “I know who brought this young lady here. If he learns she’s gone, I’ll come and deal with you. You may not make it as far as jail.”

  He shouldered his way outside and filled his lungs with fresher air.

  “Who are you, kind sir?” Charlotte asked. “How did you…”

  “My name is Reade.” He tucked her into the curricle and covered her knees with a rug. “But you must thank your friend, Joanna Dalrymple.”

  “Jo,” she gasped out. Her shoulders shuddered, and she covered her face with both hands. “How good she is.”

  “Yes, indeed.” He took up the reins. Jo. It suited her. He was feeling a good deal better as he drove the curricle out of the ramshackle streets. If he’d blown the investigation and they lost the leader of the gang, so be it. This young woman was going home. He glanced at her sitting quietly beside him. “Are you all right?”

&
nbsp; She dropped her hands and gave him a lopsided smile. “I am. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “No need.”

  “Mr. Virden left me there.”

  “I know.”

  “Will you arrest him?”

  “In due course. He doesn’t act alone. You might help us.”

  “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want.”

  “We’ll talk about it later. I’m taking you home, but I don’t want anyone but Mrs. Lincoln to know you’re there. We’ll keep it a secret for now.”

  She shivered and cast him an anxious glance. “Do you think they’ll come to find me?”

  “I’ll place a guard to watch the house.”

  He handed her his handkerchief. Charlotte dabbed her eyes and fell back against the seat, exhausted, silent tears running down her face.

  Reade clamped down his jaw and prayed for the opportunity to take his fists to Crispin Virden.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After luncheon, Aunt Mary retired to her bedchamber, complaining too much excitement gave her a headache. Jo guiltily sent for Feverfew and left her aunt to sleep.

  As Jo paced the parlor, a note arrived from Reade. She left the house and flew down the steps to catch the man who’d delivered the missive into the butler’s hands.

  “Wait!” she called as he walked away up the street. “I want you to take a message back to Lord Reade,” she instructed him. “Please wait in the hall for a moment.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Spears stood poker-faced at the door, but Jo still felt his displeasure as she ushered the man inside. She hurried into the empty library. This was her father’s favorite room, his pipes arranged on the leather-topped desk, but he had gone out again with Mrs. Millet. Jo had been waiting impatiently for him to return.