Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 6

  “Indeed.”

  “And?”

  “She came to my residence.”

  “No!” Farley well knew how little Stephen cared for visitors of any sort at his home.

  “She insists she needs my help.”

  Stephen explained the nature of her problem and how he’d reluctantly agreed to assist her. He left out the reason he’d consented as that still escaped him.

  “Despite the name and address Miss Bradford provided, Vincent Simmons is nowhere to be found. No one seems to have seen or heard of him.”

  “Perhaps the police were right,” Farley suggested. “Maybe she provided false information to you as well.”

  “No. I saw the man myself in Alsatia that night. He has her worried.” The fear in her eyes had been all too real. That had been what had convinced him to aid her in the first place. Not that it had done any good.

  “I hate to burden you with other issues.” Farley tugged at the end of his mustache, a sure sign that something was bothering him.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve received a report from one of the workhouses that several of the boys there have gone missing.”

  He and Farley had a network of ‘associates’ throughout the city who kept them informed of any unusual activity. These contacts ranged from children to the elderly.

  “First it was only one, but now two more have disappeared.”

  “Did you check if Smithson or Rudley took them?” The two men, both owners of manufacturing plants, were notorious for abusing child labor laws. They’d been warned against it, but greed often took precedence over obeying the law. The small forms of children were ideally suited to fit into the narrow areas of the machines used in textile mills and the ventilation shafts of coal mines.

  “Excellent idea. I’ll send someone to make inquiries.”

  “Are they certain they didn’t run away?” Often boys took it upon themselves to obtain jobs of a less than desirable nature to earn money. Anything to help their families get out of the workhouse. But that was often where the trouble started. If they started down that path at a young age, it was difficult to pull them back onto the right side of the law.

  That was why Stephen chose to fund several workhouses and orphanages with profits from The Barbican. He also encouraged the children to attend school when possible and found legitimate places to employ them when they reached the proper age. By providing such opportunities, he hoped to keep them off the streets when they grew older. Doing so would give him less to do at night. The fewer thieves and cutthroats on the street, the better.

  In truth, the auras of those struggling between good and bad tugged at him, especially in children. If he could help prevent them from being forced to choose a life of crime so they could help feed and house their families, it eased his own torment. Aiding others couldn’t make up for the death of Professor Grisby or the injuries to his friends, but it helped chase away the shadows that haunted him at night.

  “Lawrence is the one who reported it to me,” Farley said, mentioning a lad who worked as one of their ‘associates’. “He thinks trouble is afoot. He knew one of the boys quite well, and the boy had never mentioned any plans to leave.”

  Stephen considered what other action could be taken. A niggling sense of worry came over him. “I think Lawrence could be right. Have the other lads keep their eyes and ears open for more information. We’ll make some inquiries of our own.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  “I fear additional efforts on Miss Bradford’s request will have to wait until we can track down those missing boys.”

  “As long as she doesn’t intend to come after you with her gun again,” Farley replied with a chuckle.

  Stephen nearly shuddered at the thought. “Perhaps her ghost has disappeared on its own. Then she will no longer plague me.” The idea of never laying eyes on the woman again should’ve pleased him.

  Why didn’t it?

  ***

  Please advise the status of our project.

  A.B.

  There, Abigail thought as she reviewed the message she’d penned. Surely that was secretive enough. She hadn’t revealed her identity or the nature of their association.

  Three days had passed since she’d spoken with Lord Ashbury and she’d heard nothing.

  Absolute silence.

  Infuriating silence.

  In truth, she’d expected the matter to be resolved by now. How long did it take to locate a criminal and give him a warning? Especially since she’d given him Simmons’ name and address. She hoped a man involved in a gaming hell could manage such a thing with ease.

  “Abigail? Are you ready?” Her stepmother’s voice carried from the foyer into the library.

  Abigail sighed. An afternoon spent shopping was not high on the list of things she desired to do. However, her sisters had decided that none of her gowns would do for the Mortenson’s ball. The new one required another fitting this afternoon, and the girls insisted she needed to select the proper accessories for it as well. Abigail suspected the true reason they wanted to shop was to purchase something for themselves.

  “I’ll be right there, Mother.”

  As she watched her mother, Sophia, and Olivia walk out the door, she handed the envelope to Ponsford, the butler. “Please see this is delivered as quickly as possible.”

  Ponsford read the address then gave her a long look. “Do you think it wise to contact him? I thought we agreed that you’d keep your distance.”

  She’d told both Ponsford and Thomas of her decision to request Lord Ashbury’s assistance for their problem. Ponsford, well connected to the servants’ gossip that wound its way through the city, had cautioned her. Rumors circulated as to the lord and his activities, some describing him as odd while others called him dangerous. That particular description made her uneasy, but it also made him the perfect man for what she needed.

  “We need to know if he’s taken any action. I don’t want him to forget.”

  “Very well, miss,” Ponsford said with obvious reluctance. “I’ll see that it’s delivered.”

  Abigail hurried outside to join her family, giving a nod to Thomas who held the carriage door for her. She settled in beside her stepmother, letting the chatter of the girls flow around her. The day was overcast but pleasant enough for an expedition such as this one.

  “Mother, are we going to the lace-maker’s first?” asked Olivia.

  “We’ll be back in time for tea, won’t we?” Sophia asked.

  “Wouldn’t it be lovely to use some ostrich feathers if we purchase new hats?” Olivia’s hopeful expression made Abigail smile as she knew what Irene’s answer would be. Irene doted on the girls but kept a firm rein.

  “Feathers of any sort are not appropriate for a girl of your age.” Irene shook her head.

  “What about some striped ribbon?” Abigail suggested before Olivia could protest. “Perhaps you could tie an elaborate bow with it.”

  Sophia’s blue eyes grew wide at the suggestion. “Yes, let us try that, Livie.”

  “Shall we pick up the hats first?” Abigail asked, well aware the girls would be more patient at the dressmaker’s if they’d already made their purchases.

  After several stops, they continued down Regent Street to the lace-maker’s. Olivia still pouted about not being able to use feathers but soon forgot her disappointment at the many choices of lace. The girls contemplated options as though their very lives depended on their decision.

  To pass the time, Abigail stepped outside for some fresh air.

  Then she saw him. Vincent Simmons, as bold as could be.

  Something about the way he leaned against a lamppost across the busy street caught her eye, for it was the same pose he’d taken outside their home. Her heart pounded and chills raced down her spine.

  Acting nonchalantly, she turned and studied the samples of lace displayed in the window. She kept her head tilted down, but lifted her gaze until she could see Simmons’ image reflected
in the glass. His appearance was more respectable than when she’d last seen him. His jacket seemed fitted and cleaner, his bowler hat almost fashionable. But his posture and features, even at this distance, were unmistakable.

  She bit her lip, considering what action she should take. Thomas was with the carriage at the end of the crowded street, too far away to be of any assistance. Did she dare confront Simmons herself?

  Anger washed through her. This should not be happening! She’d requested Lord Ashbury’s assistance to take care of Simmons, yet here he was. In broad daylight no less. Lord Ashbury owed her an explanation.

  Holding tight to her anger, she stepped back into the shop. “Mother? I’m going across the street to...” She looked over her shoulder to see what store she could use as an excuse. “To look for buttons. I’ll be back directly.”

  Irene frowned. “Are you in need of buttons?”

  “I thought they might have something the girls would like. I’ll only be a few moments.” She smiled brightly and gave a little wave, hoping she’d pulled off her small deception.

  Without looking in the direction of Simmons, Abigail wandered down the street, pausing to look in several of the windows. At last, she crossed to the other side and made her way toward where she’d last spotted him.

  “Abigail! What a pleasant surprise.”

  Abigail started at her name being called from across the crowded sidewalk. She caught sight of Catherine Vandimer waving and nearly groaned with dismay. “Catherine! How lovely to see you.”

  “And you as well in that rather...interesting gown.” Catherine looked up and down the length of her.

  Near Abigail’s age, she was wealthy, attractive and on the hunt for a title but apparently not for friends. Her catty comments were annoying, and she had a well-deserved reputation as a gossip.

  Catherine’s father had only recently made loads of money from a South American mine. Now that she was an heiress, Abigail had no doubt Catherine would soon be engaged to some titled lord who had no idea what he was getting himself into. In the mean time, Abigail felt a sort of kinship with her since she didn’t fit into polite society that well either.

  Catherine’s timing today couldn’t have been worse. Heart pounding, Abigail risked a glance over her shoulder to where Simmons stood.

  Or rather, where he had stood.

  Panicked, she searched the busy street but didn’t see him anywhere. With a sigh of dismay, she turned back to Catherine.

  Good manners dictated that Abigail visit with the woman when what she really wanted was to walk away. While she refused to sink to Catherine’s level, she couldn’t resist giving a subtle dig of her own. “Yes, well, we don’t all have the time to dedicate to fashion that you do.”

  “If it’s a matter of time, I’d be happy to share what I— Abigail? Whatever is wrong?” Catherine asked, as she noted Abigail looking around.

  “I...I thought I saw someone I recognized.” She knew he watched her still. She could feel his gaze on her, could feel his smile at having outwitted her once again. Blast him!

  “Who is it? Perhaps I can help you search,” Catherine offered.

  Abigail’s gaze caught Catherine’s curious expression and realized how odd her behavior must seem. She didn’t need the woman spreading rumors, not when she was trying to keep secrets from Irene.

  “You’re too kind.” Abigail forced a smile. “Never mind. It’s of no importance.” She drew a breath and tried to act naturally. She’d be damned if she’d let Simmons know how much he upset her. She gestured toward the lace-maker’s shop as she kept a vigilant eye on the area surrounding it. “Do come and say hello to Mother and the twins. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

  Catherine seemed to relax as she discussed the lace she’d found at another shop whose products were apparently far superior to the store where Irene and the girls were. Abigail listened absently, the quality of lace the last thing on her mind.

  She would not let Simmons hurt her family.

  She would not let him intimidate her.

  His stalking of her and her loved ones would end.

  A visit to Lord Ashbury was now on her agenda for the afternoon. He’d better have a good reason for this delay. What could be taking him so long? If he wanted to lure Simmons into the open, all he had to do was spend some time in her company. In fact, she’d insist on it.

  Or perhaps he’d already warned Simmons, but the murderer hadn’t heeded his warning. She’d advise Lord Ashbury that he needed to be sterner and threaten Simmons with something. Anything.

  Simmons would show himself again, and when he did, she’d be ready. With or without Lord Ashbury’s help.

  ***

  Stephen stepped out the side door of The Barbican into the damp London air. A thick fog had settled over the city shortly after midday and continued to retain its hold into the late afternoon with no sign of easing.

  Another boy had gone missing from a different workhouse, bringing the total to four. Stephen intended to visit the place to see if anyone had seen anything. He and Farley’s sources had yet to turn up clues. The matter was growing increasingly worrisome.

  He glanced up and down the street only to stop short when he saw a woman alighting from a modest carriage nearby. Dressed in dark blue from head to toe, her face was hidden by a thick veil. She turned to speak with her footman, but they were too far away for Stephen to hear their conversation.

  Not that he needed to. He knew all too well the identity of the woman. The golden glow of her aura gave her away. Longing filled him as he stared, his heart thudding rapidly. He pushed aside the feelings and blamed his thundering heart on the anger that filled him. She had no business taking the risk of coming near The Barbican. If she was seen here, her reputation would be ruined.

  He strode forward, noting when she caught sight of him, her body freezing for a brief moment before turning to face him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, torn between throttling her for taking such an unnecessary risk and pulling her into his arms.

  “I came to speak with you,” she answered.

  “Have you no care for your reputation? Why on earth would you come here?”

  “Because you told me not to visit you at your home again,” she replied, her annoyance evident in her tone. “How else could I speak with you if I didn’t come here?”

  With a near growl, he glanced around to make certain no one had seen them. Satisfied, he gestured toward the carriage, careful not to touch her. Doing so would tempt him more than he could bear.

  “I’m not leaving,” she protested. “Not until I’ve spoken with you.”

  “You have spoken with me. Now go.” He had no choice but to take her elbow to urge her into the carriage. Despite his glove, his fingers tingled at the contact. Imagine what would happen if he actually held her in his arms.

  She dug in her heels and refused to budge. “I have something important to discuss.”

  “So important that you’d risk being seen at a gaming hell?” Her determination amazed him. Never had he met someone so focused on what they wanted.

  “No one will recognize me.” She paused to look back at him over her shoulder. “How did you recognize me?”

  “If I knew who you were, someone else will as well.” He hoped she wouldn’t realize he hadn’t answered her question. “Now get in.”

  “Not unless you come along as well. I must speak with you.”

  The footman cleared his throat, catching Stephen’s attention, then tipped his head toward an approaching figure of a man.

  “Very well,” Stephen reluctantly agreed. Anything to get her off the street before someone saw her.

  As Miss Bradford stepped into the carriage, Stephen turned toward the footman, noting he was the same servant who’d accompanied her into Alsatia. “Is she always this stubborn?”

  “If you only knew,” the footman whispered. “Not much can be done to stop her when she gets her mind set on something. Believe me,
my lord, I’ve tried.”

  “I would suggest you try harder. Take us around the area.”

  Stephen followed the lady into the carriage, sitting opposite of her. Her sweet fragrance curled around him inside the enclosed space. The vibrant golden light of her aura disoriented him, making it difficult to gather his thoughts.

  She pulled back her veil and tucked it into the brim of her hat. Those big blue eyes held steady on his. That didn’t help him in the least. He refused to be distracted by the slight dent in her chin, by the ache of need filling him. The power she held over him surprised him. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

  “Well?” she asked. “Have you any news for me?”

  “If I had something to tell you, you would’ve received word.”

  “I saw him earlier today, so I have to assume you’ve done nothing thus far.” The annoyance in her tone was quite obvious.

  “Simmons came to your home again?”

  “No. But he was outside the shop I was in on Regent Street this very morning.”

  “Did he approach you? Threaten you?” His blood chilled at the thought of her in danger.

  “No.”

  Something about the way she drew out the denial had him questioning her further. “But you approached him?”

  Heat crept up her cheeks even as she raised her chin. “What choice did I have? Besides, it was broad daylight on a crowded street.”

  “Need I remind you that this Simmons fellow is dangerous?”

  The lord grasped Abigail’s elbows and tugged her forward before she knew what he was about. The movement of the carriage turning a corner tipped her forward. Her breath caught as awareness rippled through her. His strength took her by surprise. It had been only nine days since he’d been shot, yet he showed no sign of weakness.

  Those green eyes bored into hers as his fresh, clean scent filled her lungs. It struck her that, for the second time that day, she’d placed herself in danger.

  “Did you not see the knife he held the last time you confronted him?”

  “Ah...” How was she supposed to think when he loomed over her? His lips were close enough to—