It Takes a Hero (34 page)

"Rafe, you are wrong. Mr. Purcell is in Spitalfields. You must go there without delay."

Dios
, he cursed as he marched down the front steps and hailed a hackney. He was going to go to Shadwell, get her brother's haversack and return to Mayfair before the afternoon was out and deposit the blasted thing in her lap for all her callers to see.

After all, he'd spent the entire night drinking with a dull lot of fellows from her brother's regiment to locate Purcell. That's how things in his line of work were done.

Meticulous research and calls to the office of the Adjutant-General. Bah! The London offices barely knew where their units in the field were encamped, let alone where to find a solitary Scottish officer who'd sold out his commission two years earlier.

Rafe wasn't about to let his ringing head and well-spent money go to waste chasing off to Spitalfields.

Why a lady's place wasn't running after murderers and lost treasures, it was…

He ground his teeth when he realized just exactly what a lady was supposed to be doing.

Sitting in Mayfair being courted by a viscount.

He tapped on the roof of the carriage and told the driver there would be extra coins if he could make it to Shadwell and back in good time.

If only to see this Pease and send the bounder packing.

Lady Lucinda had been outside in the hall long enough to hear her mother's upraised voice.

Stop writing these
Darby
novels!

Miss Darby? That had caught her attention, and drawn her to the door in a heartbeat. And what she heard nearly sent her into a dead faint.

Miss Tate, her mother's mysterious protégée was the author of the
Miss Darby
novels? She drew back from the panel, stunned at what she had just learned.

Wait until she told Mary Mavery and Lady Penelope, and all the rest of her friends that she had the actual author of
Miss Darby
as her houseguest.

Lady Lucinda paused and glanced back at the door as she realized the true extent of her mother's intentions.

Miss Tate had been offered a Season in town to stop writing. And obviously she'd agreed to those terms. Oh, if it got out that Lady Tottley had been the instrument of Miss Darby's demise, Lady Lucinda knew very well where the wrath would fall.

"I'll be ruined," she whispered.

Oh, this had to be undone! Miss Tate couldn't stop writing. Not with Miss Darby's life in such a tragic state. She eased back from the door and went to the first landing on the stairs.

And here she had thought that her mother had summoned Miss Tate and her odd collection of friends to town, showered them with clothing and attention, as a way to jolt Lucinda out of her lethargy.

Her mother really hadn't needed to go to such lengths, for her own resolve had been starting to weaken. She hadn't considered that when she'd made the pledge with her fellow classmates that it would have meant neither dancing… nor shopping for new gowns… nor going for a ride in the park with Lord Barwick.

And it hadn't truly been a burden until she'd seen him pass the house the other afternoon with Miss Thayer beside him. The feckless girl had obviously set aside her convictions and put her attentions elsewhere.

On Lucinda's Lord Barwick!

How dare that
cit'
s daughter set her cap for the Duke of Hemswell's heir when everyone knew he was Lucinda's intended.

She glanced back at the doorway and wished she'd never made that ridiculous vow. Lucinda looked down at her dark gown and black armband and shuddered. Tugging the jet ribbon off, she tossed it behind a potted palm and raced upstairs to start planning.

Tonight was the Setchfield Ball, which she had airily told her mother she would attend, but would not enjoy. Mostly because she would be stuck in the wings with all the other Darbyites clinging to their promise of mourning like a pack of dim-witted fools.

Well, she had started this mess, and rising to her position in society, it was her duty to put a stop to it.

Rebecca followed Lady Tottley's orders to change by going up to her room and tossing on her new bonnet and pelisse, as well as catching up her dispatch box with all her notes and maps. But as she went to open her door to sneak out, she found one of the Gadbury sisters standing at the threshold about to knock.

"Oh, dear, 'tis me, Honora. Am I disturbing you?"

"Um, well, I was about to go out," Rebecca told her.

"Then perhaps later—" Miss Honora pressed her handkerchief to her lips and then burst into tears.

Rebecca glanced out the window where Rafe's hackney was now turning the corner, then heaved a sigh. Gathering Honora into her arms, she drew her into the room and gave the lady a shoulder to cry on. And Honora did, turning into a watering pot of tears and sniffles.

"What is wrong?" Rebecca asked.

"Everything," she gulped, trying to catch her breath beneath spates of tears. "Oh, just everything."

Rebecca led her to the small sofa in the corner of the room. "How can I help?"

"Oh, why did I ever come to London?" This statement brought a new round of tears.

Rebecca thought for a moment she was only suffering from a bit of homesickness, for she never could have imagined the real reason for Honora's despondency. "You didn't want to come here?"

The lady shook her head, still sobbing too hard to talk.

"You can go back to Bramley Hollow today if you are so unhappy here. I'll see to it immediately." Rebecca rose from the sofa, but Miss Honora caught her arm and towed her back down.

"No, I can't leave," she wailed.

"Why I am surrounded here with perfectly acceptable—"

She shook her head furiously. "I can't go. And not because of you," she said, hiccupping a few times. She drew a deep breath, composing herself. "If I were to tell you something, would you promise not to share my confidence with anyone?"

Rebecca swallowed. Oh, she wasn't very good at these things. It wasn't that she couldn't keep a secret, it was just that she feared she wouldn't know how to help the lady with something so obviously troubling. "Perhaps Lady Tottley or Miss Alminta would be a better—"

"No! Especially not Alminta. Why if she ever found out, she'd be despondent. I fear I need help, the type of help Mr. Danvers is capable of providing."

"Rafe?"

Miss Honora cocked a brow at her forward use of his given name, and then smiled. "He is a capable gentleman, don't you think?"

Capable of driving a woman to madness
, Rebecca wanted to tell her. "What is it that you think Mr. Danvers can do for you?"

"I fear I've lost something," Miss Honora fussed.

Thinking the lady might have misplaced a broach or an earring, Rebecca tried to hold back the impatience in her voice. She really did need to catch up with Rafe before he ruined everything. "What is it? What have you lost, Miss Honora?"

"Oh dear, this sounds quite silly, and Alminta is going to be quite cross at me, but I fear someone has stolen our fortune!"

"Oh my," was all Rebecca was able to manage.

Twenty minutes later, Rebecca slipped out the servant's entrance. She had listened to Honora's entire story and was still trying to make sense of it.

She'd promised the lady she'd gain Rafe's aid in tracking down the sisters' missing money. She had her own suspicions where the money had gone, starring with Sydney Kitling. Though Honora had said they had helped Sydney from time to time, and she wouldn't hear a word that he might have stolen from them—why he was like their very own son!

Rebecca held her tongue on that matter. Rafe would get to the bottom of it and with evidence in hand, Miss Honora may find that their "dear boy" was nothing but a fortune hunting bounder.

But first and foremost, Rebecca needed to get her own future well in hand.

Once she'd slipped out of the house and through the mews to the street, she made a beeline for Rafe's assistant who was lolling about the corner. She took him by the elbow, steering him down the block and out of sight of the Tottleys.

"Miss Tate!" Cochrane protested, trying to shake her loose.

"Cochrane," she replied, hanging on for dear life. "Nice day for a walk, don't you think?"

He muttered something she chose to ignore.

"Fancy meeting you out here," she said. "What a coincidence, don't you think?" It wasn't a fluke by any stretch of the imagination. She'd spotted him every day for the last week watching the Tottleys' town house and keeping notes on the comings and goings. She also knew from asking the maids a few subtle questions that the handsome young man was staying at Bridwick House, the towering pile of white stone on the corner which belonged to Colin, Baron Danvers, Rafe's oldest brother.

"Yes, miss," he said. "A fine coincidence. Now let me take you back to Lady Tottley's afore you get lost." He tried to turn her around, but she planted her feet with resolute determination. "Ah, miss. It isn't proper for you to be out like this."

"Proper indeed!" she shot back. "Where did Mr. Danvers go in Shadwell? I want the address and I want it now."

Cochrane's eyes narrowed. "I don't know where."

Rebecca pulled him to a stop. "That's a bouncer and you know it. You always know exactly where Rafe is and I must know where he's heading." She stepped off the curb and waved for a passing hackney. "I mean to stop him before he completely ruins this investigation."

"Miss!" Cochrane stammered. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Tell me or I will tell him that you've been doing more than going out walking with Lady Tottley's upstairs maid. Neglecting your duties rather shamefully, I'd say."

"That's blackmail," he complained.

"Call it what you will," she said. "But you will tell me where he's gone or I will do worse." Rafe and Cochrane weren't the only ones with a talent for investigations.

"And that would be?" the lad challenged as the hackney stopped beside them.

"I'll tell the young lady you've also been stepping out with Lady Danvers' scullery maid."

Rafe stepped out of the hired carriage and looked at the tumbledown, abandoned warehouse before him.

"Are you sure this is the correct address?" he asked the driver.

The man heaved a sigh. "Aye, sir. 'Tis what the man said down the way and the fellow at the pub up the road. This is it."

"
Mierda
," he cursed.

"Pardon, sir?" the driver asked, spitting over the side of his box.

"Nothing," Rafe said, pacing in front of the abandoned warehouse. All that money on liquor for those fools and they'd given him a false address. He didn't even want to consider the smug satisfaction it would give Rebecca that his superior sources had proved him false.

Still, he wasn't willing to give up. There were still several businesses and a questionable house across the street that may have some information on Purcell.

But his inquiries proved unsuccessful and about a half an hour later he was about to give up completely, when a second carriage rolled around the corner and Rafe eyed it with suspicion.

She wouldn't have dared.

Rebecca got out and strolled up to his side.
Oh, she had
.

Rafe's jaw worked back and forth. "What are you doing here?" he asked more to a sheepish Cochrane who was skulking behind her, than to the smug lady herself.

Cochrane glanced away, but Rebecca wasn't so shy. "I would think that is obvious," she replied. "Assisting you with your investigation."

"But I told you—"

"Mr. Danvers, while we haven't known each other for very long, even you must realize that I am not easily naysaid." She tipped her head sideways and gazed at the dilapidated building before them. "Hmm," she mused. "Do you suppose Mr. Purcell is taking callers this afternoon?"

Rafe cringed.

"It appears to me that he may be out," she said. "Shall we go to Spitalfields now?"

"Oh no, you are going back to Lady Tottley's," he said, shaking a finger at her. "You have no business out here—"

"If you insist," she said, pushing his wagging hand aside. "But I would imagine that Lord Pease would take me to Spitalfields if I asked him."

Rafe took a deep breath and counted to ten.

Cochrane came up to his elbow. "She caught me much the same way. Mr. Pymm always said education makes 'em treacherous."

Rebecca only smiled, twirling her reticule in her hands. "My carriage or yours?" she asked, before flouncing back to her hackney, her dainty hemline swishing back and forth over the dirty cobblestones.

Rafe tossed his driver the money he owed the man and followed her to her carriage. "What are the directions?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "You'll not gull me so easily, sir. I have taken the precaution of already giving them to the driver and tipping him handsomely to forget them if I am not included in the party. So, are you coming along or not?" She patted the seat next to her.

Damn the little minx! Why did she have to be so sharp-witted? He was starting to think Pymm had been right about mixing females with a liberal education.

He took the seat opposite her, while Cochrane, having obviously already suffered enough at her hands for one afternoon, climbed up next to the driver. That, or he sensed the brewing dispute about to break out between them.

As the carriage started toward Spitalfields, neither Rafe nor Rebecca spoke.

He stared out the window, pretending to ignore her. But it was demmed near impossible when she sat there grinning like Ajax atop the wreckage of Lady Tottley's best chair.

"We haven't found the man yet," he pointed out.

She shrugged. "We will. Patience and meticulous research always works, Mr. Danvers."

"Rafe," he told her. "I thought we were past such formalities."

"So did I," she said, the accusation all too evident in her voice.

Tell her
, he could hear his brothers urging.
Tell her you were a fool
.

He shifted in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs and in the process, tangling his boot in her skirt. He reached down to free it, as did she, and they came face to face.