Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 04] (22 page)

“That is just what she said,” Miss Abby said. “But that—”

“Before we put the problem to her, however, you must stop letting your so-called patrons come here to pursue their unfortunate activities. Only think how dreadful it would be if she should learn what you’ve been doing here.”

“Oh, but she knows,” Miss Abby said brightly, “and she don’t mind a bit.”

Stunned, Justin looked from one to the other, utterly speechless.

Mrs. Linford gazed steadily back at him.

Miss Abby nodded, setting the decorations on her hat dancing. Then, helpfully she said, “Letitia is quite French in her ways, you know, so she quite understands these things, my dear. I promise you, she did not fly into the boughs.”

“Didn’t she?” The fit of temper that had threatened him more than once during the past hour nearly took possession now. He held it at bay, saying through clenched teeth, “I shall discuss that with her. Indeed, I must go to see her at once.”

Mrs. Linford glanced toward the little Sèvres clock on the mantelpiece. “I do not think you will find her at home just now. She paid us a morning call yesterday, you see, to offer to accompany us to the Royal Horticultural Society fete, which is to take place tomorrow at Chiswick, of course, and—”

“With her dear little monkey,” Miss Abby interjected, smiling.

Justin exclaimed, “Monkey?”

“Oh yes, the dearest creature. This time he wore a red velvet collar to which she had attached the dearest silver chain. The naughty boy did not like it in the least, I can tell you, but it certainly made him less likely than last time to—”

“Abigail, you interrupted me.”

“Oh, did I, Miranda? I am so dreadfully sorry, but when you mentioned Letty’s visit, I recalled that it was entirely due to Jeremiah that—”

“Quite right, my dear, but as I was saying to you, Justin, I do not believe Letitia will be at home now. You will see her at your mama’s dinner party tomorrow, of course, but she told us that the queen is holding court today. I collect that Her Majesty did not require your attendance.”

“No,” he said, frowning. It would not do to seek her out at Buckingham Palace to discuss such a topic, certainly.

“Her Majesty desired Letty to help greet the ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary from the king of the French and his countess,” Miss Abby said. “Also, the envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary from the king of the Netherlands. Because of her skill with languages, you know, but such an honor, my dear! Indeed, Letty said that Her Majesty has been treating her quite kindly of late.”

“Has she?”

“Yes, and she confided to us that she thought she had you to thank for that. Did you speak to Lord Melbourne for her, dear?”

“I did drop a word in his ear,” Justin admitted. “I thought perhaps Her Majesty was in danger of forgetting how powerful Jervaulx is, and what powerful men he counts as his friends. He is very tight with Wellington, you know.”

“Is he?”

“How pleasant for him,” Mrs. Linford said. “And how kind of you, my dear Justin, to have done such a good deed. I fear that some people at court were not treating Letitia as courteously as they ought, so your speaking up for her quite puts me in charity with you again:”

“Does it, ma’am? I am gratified, but that does not alter my decision to put a stop to these activities of yours, one way or another.”

“Well, in the meantime, I should be very grateful if you would look for Liza. Jackson told me that she ran out of the house, looking quite distressed.”

“Liza will come back when she wants to,” he said.

Mrs. Linford frowned. “She is not—how shall I say this? Liza does not always understand things. She …”

“She is as daft as a loon, Aunt,” Justin said when she paused to choose her words again. “Indeed, ma’am, I do not know why you put up with her nonsense. For a servant girl to act as if she is the daughter of the house—”

“She is not a servant girl, either, my dear,” Miss Abby said. “That is the problem, you see. One does not know precisely how to deal with her. Once, when Admiral Rame was here—”

“That’s quite enough,” Mrs. Linford said swiftly. “We don’t name names, Abigail. I do not know why I find it necessary to remind you of that so often.”

“Admiral Rame! Good Lord,” Justin exclaimed. “Don’t tell me he is one of your so-called patrons! I won’t believe it.”

“I shan’t tell you anything of the kind,” Mrs. Linford said with lofty scorn.

“No, certainly not,” Miss Abby agreed, flushing to the roots of her hair.

Mrs. Linford said, “I ask you again, however, to show some kindness toward Liza. If you have your carriage, you could drive about the streets until you see her.”

“I have not got my carriage,” Justin snapped. “Moreover, if I go anywhere, it will be to find Lady Letitia. Failing that, I shall pay my idiot brother a call that he will not soon forget. In any event, your Liza, as daft as she is, is still quite capable of finding her way back to this house. If she is not safely in this room again within a couple of hours at the most, I shall own myself very much astonished.”

An hour later, returning to Jervaulx House from the palace, Letty unfolded a note presented to her on a silver salver and stared at its contents in dismay.

If you want to learn the truth about Little Liza before she disappears from London forever, you will find her at number 12 Boverie Street. Hurry!

A friend.

L
ETTY DID NOT RECOGNIZE
the handwriting on the note, but the scrawl was erratic, as if someone had snatched up the first bit of paper that came to hand and scribbled the message. A sense of urgency emanated from it, stirring her to haste. As she hurried to her dressing room, she realized that if she ordered out a carriage, it could take half an hour before it was at the door. It would be quicker to hail a hackney coach in the Strand. Moreover, a London driver would be more likely than Jonathan Coachman to know the whereabouts of Boverie Street.

Jenifry had gone out on errands of her own, but Letty did not require help to take her green velvet mantle from the wardrobe and fling it on over her afternoon frock. Finding the reticule that matched her mantle, she counted twenty pounds in coins and notes into it from her dressing-table drawer. Then, as she hastened toward the door, another thought struck her that sent her back to the wardrobe.

Reaching for a wooden box on the shelf, she took it down, opened it, and withdrew the small, silver-mounted pistol that her mother had given her before bidding her farewell from Paris. Making certain it was loaded, she plucked two more bullets from the box and stowed the lot in her reticule.

Then without wasting another moment, she hurried downstairs, out through the courtyard, and along the driveway to the Strand. Hailing the first cab she saw, she did not wait for the cabby to jump down and help her, although as she grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, he bestirred himself as if he meant to do so.

Urgently she said, “Boverie Street, do you know it?”

“Aye I do, that,” he said, shifting whip and reins to one hand and scratching his scraggly chin whiskers with the other. “Be that whither ye’re bound, then, lass?”

“Yes, number twelve. Is it far?”

“Not much, it ain’t. Near the Temple, that be, above Hawker’s Wharf.”

“The Temple? Do you mean the Inns of Court?”

“Aye, the same. Can ye manage that door, then?”

“Yes,” she replied, climbing in quickly and shutting the door with a snap. Letting down the window as the coach began to move, she called out, “As quickly as you can, driver. A child’s life may be at stake.”

“Wouldn’t be the first, not there,” he shouted back, but she heard the crack of his whip, and their speed increased. “Is that door shut tight?” he bellowed.

“It is,” she yelled back. Putting up the window again, and settling back against the shabby squabs, she noted with distaste that the air inside the coach was distressingly noisome. Still, she forced herself to relax. Learning that the address lay near the Law Institutes had slightly reassured her about the neighborhood in which she would find Liza.

She had taken the precaution of bringing the message with her, and now she took it out of her reticule to look at again. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but that, she decided, might as easily be due to the author’s haste as to any other cause. It would serve no purpose to ponder that person’s identity until she had Liza safe.

That she would find the girl she did not doubt, as long as they were not too late. The coach made good speed up the Strand to Fleet Street and through Temple Bar. Then, just beyond St. Dunstan’s West, the ancient church that over a century before had missed by mere yards being consumed by the Great Fire, the coach slowed significantly. They were now within the confines of the ancient City of London, that enclave of business and trade that frequently made its own laws and ignored those of greater London. When the coach made a wide right turn into a narrow, dirty street, Letty realized that she had misjudged the neighborhood.

Leaving the organized bustle of Fleet Street behind, they had entered the warren of crowded, narrow streets and alleyways abounding the Thames wharves. A moment later, the coach drew up with a lurch, and the coachman called out, “Here ye be, lass. That’ll be one and six, if ye please.”

Taking two shillings from her reticule, Letty got out of the coach unaided and handed them up to the jarvey. “Wait here for me,” she said. “I shan’t be long.”

He tipped his hat and settled back on the box.

Seeing a number of unsavory characters who lounged nearby watching the pedestrians like feral cats watching a parade of tasty mice, Letty hoped he would not change his mind. Still, thanks to her childhood fondness for exploration, she had been in worse neighborhoods. Some areas of Paris that she had visited would doubtless have shocked her parents more than this street would.

The house before which she stood was three stories tall and quite narrow. Its neighbors abutted it without an inch between them, and its unimpressive entrance consisted of a single grey stone step leading to a wooden door. At one time the door might have been white, but presently it was a dingy color somewhere between grey and mud brown, the result of age, the general filth of the area, and chipping paint. Two panes of its fanlight were missing, there was no knocker, and when she pulled the bell, the cord offered no resistance. It hung swaying when she let go of it.

Undaunted by these details, she applied her knuckles, rapping three times loudly, then stepping back to wait. She had to repeat the action twice before it got results; but at last she heard the spat of footsteps on tile or wood inside. A moment later, the door opened.

A burly man with bushy red hair, wearing a suit of drab clothing that was none too clean, stood glaring at her. He said gruffly, “Wot d’ye want?”

“I am looking for a girl called Liza,” Letty said. “I believe she is here.”

“Wot if she is?”

“I want to speak with her.”

The man looked her up and down, smirked, then glanced past her to the street. “Ye’ve come alone?”

“Except for my driver,” Letty replied.

A scornful look flitted over his face that told her he did not think much of her driver. He looked her over again, and she believed that in his mind he was measuring her slight frame against his own much larger one. Again the smirk flitted across his lips, and he shrugged. “Come ye in, then, but step lively.”

A shiver shot up her spine as she crossed the threshold, telling her at once that she ought to turn tail and run. Instead, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and fixed a firm, unblinking gaze on her host.

“Ye be a lovely little mort,” he said, smiling. The smile was not pleasant. Not only did it reveal blackened, broken teeth, but there was little humor in it.

“Take me to Liza now, please,” Letty said briskly.

“Oh, aye, I’ll take ye.” He gestured toward the narrow, rickety-looking stairs, adding, “Up the dancers, then. She’s above.”

Holding her skirt up out of the dust with one hand, she followed him up, listening for any sound that might indicate the presence of others on the premises. She heard nothing of the sort, but the hairs on the back of her neck seemed to twitch. Taking advantage of the fact that his back was to her, she managed to open her reticule without losing her grip on her skirts, and took out her pistol. Concealing it in the folds of her mantle, she sent a prayer heavenward.

At the landing, he moved toward a closed door, took a keyring from his coat pocket, and plunged one of the keys into the keyhole. A moment later, he removed it and pushed the door open, saying, “She’s there. Go right in, then, me lovely.”

“I think we will go in together, if you don’t mind,” Letty said quietly.

“Now that’s where ye’re wrong,” he said, returning the keyring to his pocket without looking at her. “Ye’ll be wantin’ a nice long visit with the lass, I expect.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, pointing the pistol at him and taking care at the same time that she did not aim it at the open door. “Liza, stay where you are!”

He looked at her then and stiffened. “What the devil? Give me that popgun!”

“No.”

When he stepped toward her, she pulled the trigger. He jumped back again, unharmed. “Damnation! It were loaded!”

“Of course it was loaded,” Letty said. “Moreover, it still
is
loaded. This pistol holds more than one bullet, and the only reason you are not lying dead on the floor is that I did not choose to kill you. I can hit anything I aim for at nearly any distance that a bullet will travel. I have shot all manner of guns since childhood, because my father and mother believed I should learn most of the same skills that my brothers learned.”

“Then ye had damned unnatural parents,” he said with feeling.

“You are entitled to your opinion, of course. No, do not move. I am feeling rather more nervous than is customary for me, so my finger may twitch on the trigger, and it’s set for very little pressure. Liza, you can come out now!”

“Be that you, my lady?”

“It is,” Letty said, noting with satisfaction the stunned reaction of her captive to her title. “Come out at once. Why did you come here?” she added, when Liza emerged warily from the shadowy depths of the room, looking tired and untidy.