A Lady's Secret Weapon (19 page)

“Excellent point,” Helsford said. “Is there any way of confirming either of these possibilities?”

“Searching one of the boys shouldn’t be a problem.” Ethan had done far worse in the service of his country. “And I can certainly try following them again.” He paused a moment, his gaze sweeping between Somerton and Helsford, not knowing to whom he should direct his next comment. “Anything else?”

Cora cut in. “Now that you’ve found Giles Clarke, what are your plans?”

“I’m going to retrieve him tonight.”

“Without assistance?”

Ethan stopped short of snorting. Breaking into Abbingale would require little more than stealth on his part. Quite unlike other retrieval missions he’d participated in over the last two years. She had no way of knowing his experience with such things, because she had been away in France. But she had benefited from his expertise not long ago, when he and Helsford had crossed the Channel and rescued her from an active French dungeon.

Instead of snorting, he settled with a shrug. “It’s fairly straightforward.”

“Is it now.” She peered over her shoulder at Helsford, who also shrugged.

“The boys looked unharmed?” Somerton asked again.

Deep in the darkest pit of Ethan’s stomach, dread stirred. As much as he admired Somerton, his former guardian and mentor was a ruthless bastard. Ethan’s instincts screamed that he was about to feel the merciless edge of Somerton’s implacable resolve. Again.

“Yes,” Ethan said. “However, there’s a hundred different ways of hurting a child without it being visible.”

Somerton’s gaze did not waver, though his jaw appeared to be carved from raw granite. “Follow the boys tonight and report back. If nothing appears amiss, finish your original mission and remove Giles Clarke from Abbingale tomorrow night.”

Ethan’s muscles went taut, an attempt to repulse the unsavory command. He would not stop to consider that he’d thought along similar lines after learning LaRouche had left the building. Perhaps he was no better than Somerton in this regard. Even then, he had not stopped to think about the fate of the other orphans. If it turned out that Abbingale was harboring French spies, the boys’ home would have to be shut down.

Thirty homeless orphans. Some might be in a similar circumstance as Giles Clarke—forced to be there, but not without family. Others would abandon the system and strike out on their own—with no relatives or friends to help them navigate the perils of the city. And the rest? He supposed they would have to be relocated to another home for orphans.

Sweet
Jesus
. This was worse than crossing into enemy territory and facing capture around every corner. He prayed Somerton had a plan for Giles Clarke. Shuffling him from home to home would only serve to increase the boy’s anxiety and awful loss. As for the rest of the orphans, he would speak with Sydney and see if she had any suggestions. She was good at finding new situations for people. Surely, such a skill could be applied to a bunch of orphaned orphans.

“Danforth, do you understand?” Somerton asked, his expression no less uncompromising.

Always a good soldier, Ethan capitulated, though he was certain he could already feel the fires of hell consuming him. “One more night.” He did not cage the statement as a question.

“One more,” Somerton agreed.

“As for Latymer’s role in this possible courier scheme,” Ethan said, changing the subject, “Miss Hunt’s assistant has copies of Abbingale’s annual reports for the last five years.”

“How will those help us?” Cora’s voice was rough with emotion.

“The reports list the names of Abbingale’s donors and subscription holders.”

“Do you think Latymer’s name will show up in the register?” Helsford asked.

“Honestly, no.” Ethan sighed. “He’s much too careful to leave any type of trail for us to follow. All the same, I want to look at this from every angle.”

“Thorough is always good,” Somerton said. “Now, on to the second reason for my visit.” He nodded toward Cora and Helsford. “And their primary reason for accompanying me.”

Ethan had forgotten there was another reason. He had also somehow forgotten the drink in his hand. He bolted back the rest of the amber liquid and set the crystal on a nearby table. “I’m listening.”

“Someone broke into my home last night and destroyed my study and library.”

“Is everyone well?” Cora asked.

“No one was harmed.”

“Anything missing?” Helsford asked.

“Not that I found. My personal papers were strewn everywhere, and the intruder seemed particularly interested in my file on the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Melville. Rather untidy to leave the file out for me to see.”

“Please don’t tell me we’re back to the damned list,” Ethan said. Sophie Ashcroft nearly lost her life because one of the Nexus’s enemies believed Somerton had written the names of all his secret service agents on a very dangerous square of paper. Anyone who knew the former chief would know he would take his own life before placing his agents in danger.

“Either the list,” Somerton said, “or something else entirely.”

Ethan sent him an exasperated look. “Well, that narrows things down.”

“If the intruder was searching for the nonexistent list,” Cora said quickly, “we must assume Lord Latymer is still in the area.”

“Yes,” Helsford said. “Finding the former under-superintendent’s weakness is of vital importance now.”

“Weakness?” Cora asked.

“Helsford’s right,” Ethan said. “Latymer is an intelligent man. He must know by now that, if there ever had been a list, Somerton would have destroyed it the moment he sensed his enemy’s interest.”

“If he knows there is no list, then why the search?” Cora asked.

“A very good question.” Somerton glanced between each of them. “One thing I do know is that Latymer is running out of time.”

“Why do you say that?” Ethan asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

“Twice, he has failed to deliver for the French,” Somerton said. “The first time involved my assassination and the second was the agent list. Rather than achieving his goals, he lost his associates in the battle and disappointed the French. Whoever is manipulating his strings won’t tolerate a third failure.”

“Where do we go from here?” Helsford asked.

Somerton straightened. “Danforth continues his investigation. Follow a few boys, check for packages, and see what the annual reports uncover.”

“What about us?” Cora asked.

“There is no
us
.” Somerton’s features hardened. “As I mentioned at the end of our last mission, you’re on leave.”

“But—”

“Helsford,” Somerton cut in, “on the other hand, can look into Sophie’s former governess’s background. I want to know how Lydia Clarke got caught up in Latymer’s scheme, which resulted in the boy’s stay at Abbingale.”

The mutinous look on Cora’s face did not bode well for her ability to follow Somerton’s directive. Ethan lifted an eyebrow in Helsford’s direction. His friend’s lips thinned in resignation.

“Send me updates as they occur.” Somerton nodded and then left.

Cora made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. “Does he not realize that keeping my mind active is far better for my recovery than sitting for hours, with nothing to do but remember?”

Distracted by his own thoughts, Ethan said, “He feels a fair amount of guilt over your imprisonment. Keeping you out of harm’s way is as much for his sanity as it is for your safety.”

Ethan caught the astonished look on his sister’s face, but he paid it no mind. She would do as she pleased, with or without Somerton’s approval. As for him, his focus had shifted to the chief, or rather former chief. Even though Somerton’s new position gave him ultimate authority over the Nexus’s activities, Somerton respected the chain of command, and he would want Helsford to be successful in his new role. Instead of deferring to Helsford, he had handed out orders as if he were still leading the Nexus. Why?

“As much as I appreciate the gesture,” Cora said, interrupting his internal debate, “I cannot sit at home and do nothing.” She glanced behind her. “Guy, you must take me with you.”

Helsford smoothed his knuckle along Cora’s jawline. “I hadn’t planned on doing anything else.”

“Shall we reassemble tomorrow?” Ethan asked.

Cora stood. “Yes, I look forward to hearing about what you discover tonight.”

“Do you need assistance?” Helsford asked.

Ethan shook his head. “I don’t foresee any problems.”

Striding forward, Cora laid her hand on his forearm. “Invite your nosy proprietress to join us tomorrow.”

“She knows nothing of the Nexus.”

“Nor should she,” Cora said. “She knows you’re investigating a missing boy, right?”

He nodded.

“Then there is no problem.” She stepped away and Helsford offered her his arm. “You can simply tell her we’re helping with the search.”

“You will find there is nothing
simple
about Miss Hunt.”

Her smile was slow and knowing. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Cora—”

“Come along, Guy. We mustn’t keep my brother any longer.”

Helsford murmured, “Showed your hand, old man.”

Ethan gritted his teeth as he followed the couple from the room. Helsford’s pronouncement clattered inside his head like a badly tuned violin. One question surfaced, again and again.

What exactly had he shown?

Dear Madam,

The bearer hereof, Miss Lucy Prickett, is a young lady of honesty and obedience and has a strong sense of duty. She has served our family well for the last three years. It is with great confidence that I recommend Miss Prickett to you.

Madam, your most humble servant,

Diana Pinthorpe

Sydney read over the false letter of recommendation once more before passing it on to Amelia for distribution. No matter how many times she scripted recommendations, she always experienced a certain amount of angst. The same mantra filled her mind upon completion—did she manage the right tone? Provide enough information? Select the best words? She knew each recipient would read the letter with a certain amount of prejudice and expectation, making the whole process subjective and highly volatile.

So much depended on her getting it right. Livelihoods hung in the balance and hope teetered on the edge. She rubbed her tired eyes. “Any more?”

Amelia shook her head, folding the letter. “This was the last one.”

“I admit to being relieved by your answer.”

“You’ve been at this for two hours, and the shadows are moving in.” Amelia stood. “Shall I light another candle?”

Nodding, Sydney said, “Please summon Mac and Mick. We need to discuss our plans for this evening.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Her assistant sent her a wary glance. “Why not wait until tomorrow night, when you’re better rested?”

Sydney dropped her pen in its holder. “Finding the link between Latymer and Abbingale has taken too long already. Every day that goes by feels like an eternity. Tonight, I will have an answer, one way or another.”

Amelia was silent for a long second. “Perhaps a swift resolution is best. I fear we will not be able to fool Lord Danforth much longer.”

“Nor I.” Amelia started to walk away, then paused. “Do you have a moment? There’s something I need to speak with you about.”

“Of course. Please sit so I can see you better.”

Her assistant strode around the desk and perched on the edge of a guest chair, with her hands clasped in her lap. “Four years ago, you gave me an opportunity, even after Mac uncovered my dark past.”

“Mac never revealed what he found. And he assured me that whatever it was would have no negative impact on your duties here.”

Amelia glanced down at her hands. “That was kind of him—and you. I shall never forget it.”

Not liking the direction of their conversation, Sydney leaned back in her chair and strove for calm. “What is it you’re trying to tell me, Amelia?”

“I must go.”

Sydney closed her eyes for a brief, heartbreaking second. “Why?”

“After all you’ve done for me, you deserve to know.”

“But you won’t—or can’t—tell me.”

A battalion of conflicting emotions swirled in Amelia’s eyes. “I couldn’t bear your hatred, too.”

“Hate you? What do you mean?” Sydney asked, confused. Then it hit her. “Mac does not hate you.”

“He does. And I can’t blame him. What I did in my youth is too much of a bitter reminder to what he endured as a boy.”

Mac never spoke of his youth. In fact, he avoided it like a disease. “I can assure you that my good opinion of you will not change—no matter what you reveal.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Sydney sent her a gentle smile. “Because I know you, Amelia. Whatever you did, you did it for the right reasons or because it was the best option you had at the time.”

A tear tracked down Amelia’s pale face, and Sydney’s throat prickled in reaction.

“I bore a son and then gave him away.”

“Oh, Amelia.” Sydney’s throat tightened. “I’m so very sorry.”

Clearing her throat, Amelia said, “I never lost track of him, despite the Foundling Hospital’s protocol for changing the foundling’s name upon arrival and then fostering the babies out to families in the country. My son will celebrate his fifth birthday next week. After which, his foster family must return him to the Hospital for the remainder of his care. When that day comes, I will reclaim him.”

“How wonderful.” Sydney had always thought Amelia was an extraordinary woman and amazingly talented. But this tale left her stunned and awed. “I’m so happy for you both. This is the reason you must go? Because you have a child?”

Amelia nodded. “This is a place of business. You cannot have a five-year-old running about, disrupting your meetings.”

“We could hire a nurse to help watch over him.”

“Thank you, Miss Hunt. Yours is a kind offer.”

“You’re still leaving me.”

“I must. The disruption my son would cause is only one reason I must sever my employment.”

“The other?”

Sydney watched the other woman’s chest rise on a deep inhalation.

“I have developed inappropriate feelings for Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Mac?” Sydney clarified.

“Yes,” Amelia whispered. “After hearing about how their mother, without warning, shipped them to a home for orphans in London, my heart opened to him.”

“Dear God. Why would she do such a thing?”

“You didn’t know?” Amelia asked, her eyes rounding.

“No. Mac has never spoken of his childhood.”

“Do you know about Mick’s bones?”

Sydney nodded. “They’re something of a precursor to danger, I believe.”

“Yes, but they do much more than ache, at times. One morning, I found him writhing on the floor and that’s when he told me their story.”

She was missing something, and she knew it. Sydney stopped to consider the O’Donnells’ mother and why she would abandon her children. That line of thought led her to their Irish heritage and how they would react to a boy who could forecast danger. “Please do not tell me that their mother sent them away because of some ridiculous superstition.”

“Their mother’s side of the family called it a curse.”

“Of all the stupid, ignorant—” Sydney stopped her unladylike rant. It was pointless at this juncture in time. Somehow the O’Donnell brothers had survived their mother’s betrayal and had become fine men in the process.

“Because of my past, Mac will never love me as I love him.”

“Do not underestimate him, Amelia. I see how he looks at you.”

Amelia bit her bottom lip. “Even if you are right, his attraction could never transform into love. How could it?”

“Tell him what you’re planning to do.”

“It will not change the decision I made in the past.”

Sydney stared at her assistant, unable to come up with the persuasive words to change her mind.

“You have been kind enough to allow me to stay here without contributing to my room and board. Because of your generosity, I’ve managed to save most of my wages for the last four years.”

“It won’t be enough to live on your own and raise a child.”

“Your statement would be true if I had not managed to invest a portion of my savings.”

“Investments? Who is assisting you?”

“Your father.” Amelia’s pale face regained some of its color. “Not long after I started, you asked me to sit in on a meeting, where your father advised you on money matters. After several days of thought, I approached Mr. Pratt and asked for a recommendation on who I might speak to about investing my meager savings.”

“He never said a word to me.”

“You are surprised? Was it not your father from whom you learned the art of keeping confidences?”

Sydney’s head was spinning. “Where will you go?”

“I found a little house just outside London, far enough away for my son to play with abandon and close enough for me to visit regularly.”

“I should have known you would have it all worked out before you approached me.” Sydney swallowed around a building lump in her throat. “I miss you already.”

“And I you.” Amelia swiped her fingers over her cheek. “I have much to do before next week, including finishing my research on Abbingale. Perhaps now would be a good time to collect the O’Donnells.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Once the door closed behind Amelia, Sydney buried her face in her hands. What would she do without the sure, anchoring presence of her assistant? They had worked together perfectly in every way, and Amelia had been with her since opening the agency’s doors, as had Mac. It wouldn’t be the same without her. Not only would she be losing her assistant, but in some way she would lose Mac, too. Despite what Amelia said, Mac had come to care for her—albeit it reluctantly—but he did care and was likely trying to figure out what to do about it.

Now she had this to worry about on top of managing Lord Danforth. She lifted her head and stared at the ceiling. Every conversation, every lingering look, every tangled feeling circled through her mind like the waterwheel of a gristmill. Images, words, and a vibrant, pulsing need to kiss the man senseless made her tired eyes grow heavier. Not with fatigue, but with a mixture of yearning and helplessness.

Earlier today, they had worked well together. Very well. While searching for Giles Clarke, they had communicated with little more than a brush of their gazes. Each time his beautiful eyes had settled on hers, lightning arrowed straight into her core and quivered upon impact.

Now that he had found the boy, she wondered if she would see him again. The possibility that she would not did ghastly things to her body. Not the least of which, a blinding headache. Sydney squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to stifle the oncoming pressure.

She recalled Amelia’s prediction, and her faithful assistant’s logic sawed through the pain of her loss. The more she was around Ethan, the more he might learn about her operation. She could not afford such exposure. She could
not
.

But a tiny seed of the forbidden had nestled itself in the depths of her heart. Would it be so bad if he discovered what truly happened at the docks? Given his work with the Nexus, did she honestly believe he would jeopardize her agency’s more covert affairs?

A resounding no blared between her ears, and Sydney was warmed by the revelation. But, within seconds, her mind shied away of putting so much faith in someone she barely knew, someone who used people to obtain information. Someone who could so easily tempt her into setting aside years of caution and an obsessive need to protect her privacy.

The sound of approaching footsteps forced her to redirect her energies. She squeezed her eyes once, as if to blast away her dangerous musings. Releasing the bridge of her nose, she rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

Amelia entered first, followed closely by Mac and then Mick.

Restless, Sydney stood and strode around her desk, being careful to keep her inner disquiet hidden from her companions. “Amelia, do you still have Abbingale’s annual reports?”

“Yes.”

“Did you come across Lord Latymer’s name on the donor or subscription registers?”

“No. Latymer does not appear anywhere.”

“What about his family name?”

“I did not think to search for his surname.” Amelia frowned. “My apologies. That’s an inexcusable oversight.”

“Don’t apologize. We cannot each of us think of everything. We’re in this together. If you would, please scan the lists again, searching for any variation of his title and family name. Something tells me he’s there, merely hidden beneath our noses.”

“Of course.” Her assistant made a note. “I’ll locate our copy of
Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage
and look up Latymer’s surname as well as other familial connections he might have used.”

Sydney glanced between Mac and Amelia. “Have you uncovered anything on the staff at Abbingale?”

Mac deferred to Amelia. She said, “I met with one of our informants today—Lizzie Ledford.”

“The seamstress?” Sydney clarified.

Amelia nodded. “Evidently, her sister is good friends with a maid at the Markham Boardinghouse.”

A number of boardinghouses came to mind, but no Markham. “What is Markham’s relevance?”

“It sits across the street from Abbingale,” Mac said.

“Go on.”

“The maid, Annie, witnessed an altercation there not long ago.” Amelia’s fingers clenched the stack of papers to her bosom. “The skirmish occurred between their tenant William Townsend and someone named Roosh.”

“Roosh?”

Amelia shared a look with Mac. “After some discussion, Mac and I believe the name she heard was LaRouche, rather than Roosh. She was listening through the ceiling of the room below Mr. Townsend’s.”

Excitement stirred in Sydney’s chest. “You’re sure?”

“Not as much as we would like, but enough to recommend that we turn our attention to the schoolmaster.”

“Anything else?” Sydney asked.

“Only that LaRouche wants something from Townsend,” Amelia said. “But, as Mac pointed out, that’s a given, considering the type of visit he paid the lodger.”

Amelia’s use of Mac’s name for the second time distracted her for a moment. Could it be the two had formed a sort of truce over the last few days? A truce could lead to friendship, and friendship to love.

Mick spoke up. “While waiting for you today, I spied a gentleman slipping inside the same boardinghouse. I couldn’t see his face, but the sight of him set my bones on fire.”

Sydney sensed, rather than saw, Mac go rigid.

“William Townsend, do you think?” Sydney asked.

“Possibly.”

Her gaze touched on Mick. “See if you can track down Cameron Adair. He might know of Townsend.”

“The thief-taker’s information won’t come cheap.” Mick’s tone was grim.

“I’m well aware of the price of Mr. Adair’s cooperation. But since my tour of Abbingale has proven mostly fruitless, I fear our options are rather limited.”

Sydney understood Mick’s distaste about working with Cameron Adair. The government paid the thief-taker a handsome reward for apprehending the city’s most heinous criminals. In addition, theft victims—and no doubt victims of other lesser crimes—paid him a fee to locate their stolen property. She had also heard whispers that Adair wasn’t opposed to charging an anti-prosecution fee to some of London’s petty criminals so they could stay on the streets.

“What if he doesn’t have intelligence on Townsend?”

“Then hire him to amend the deficiency.”

Mick’s handsome face scrunched up, as if he were trying to swallow a foul-tasting insect, only the insect was clinging to the back of his tongue.