Chapter Fourteen
A s the next day was Tuesday, Edith wouldn’t be volunteering at the registry. That also meant she wouldn’t see Lord Harbury and couldn’t ask him if there was any progress in finding the missing veterans. She was determined not to let him forget he owed her some information after she’d spirited Alicia away from the registry yesterday afternoon.
“Does this look like a bird to you?” Louisa held up the linen towel she was embroidering.
“It looks like a rat.” Edith laughed. “Needlework is not your forte, my friend.”
Louisa made a rude noise and tossed the towel into the sewing basket on the floor beside her chair. “I can’t sing, play the pianoforte, or do needlework. I don’t think I have a forte.”
She tutted. “You can draw.”
“If it’s something I’m interested in.” She shrugged. “Like furniture or clothing.”
“And your taste is impeccable in fashion and home goods.”
Louisa raised her chin. “True.”
“You seem to be more thoughtful these last few days.” She paused. “Is something bothering you?”
The room was quiet for so long that she thought Louisa hadn’t heard her words or meant to ignore the question.
“It’s just that- With how Lord Harbury looks at you... Well, I wondered if you might become attached before long. And if perhaps, like Charlotte, you’ll soon have a family of your own.”
She blinked several times before replying. “You think I have a future with Lord Harbury?”
“I know you believe you’re in love with Lord Cecil, but the truth is, you’re not.” Louisa added in a firm voice, “Infatuation is not love.”
She let out a breath. “You’re an expert on love now as well as everything else?”
Louisa shook her head. “No, I’m not. It’s just that the viscount is not interested in you, and the baron obviously is.”
“Thank you for explaining the situation so clearly, Louisa. I would rather listen to Alicia prattle on all day than hear the truths you choose to spout with no thought as to whether you might hurt or offend your audience.”
Both women were silent. Edith couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing to Louisa. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.
“You’re right,” Louisa replied softly. “I am too free with my opinions and observations. My mother often tells me so. She said I should have been born a boy as I behave very much like my brothers.”
Edith was taken aback by Louisa’s words. Her friend, who always seemed so confident, sounded anything but. Perhaps Louisa’s prickly personality was a shield to prevent others from looking too closely and seeing the cracks in her armor.
“A boy? With your gorgeous hair and eyes? Your figure is the envy of every debutante.” She shook her head. “And you’re the most graceful dancer I’ve ever seen. Charlotte told me even Lord Wycliffe commented on your gracefulness.”
“Really?” Louisa looked far happier. “And he doesn’t even like me.”
Edith thought it best not to comment further on the animosity between Lord Wycliffe and her friend, so she merely replied, “It’s Tuesday, and you’re scheduled to volunteer at the registry office. Be off with you now and promise to give up needlepoint. That poor piece of linen needs rescuing.”
* * * * *
W ednesday afternoon , Nathaniel had his driver halt the carriage in front of the Bow Street Runner headquarters at the Bow Street Magistrates' Court, #3 and #4 Bow Street, Covent Garden, Westminster, a four-storied terrace house.
The summer was the coolest he could recall, and he missed the relative warmth of the carriage as soon as he exited the conveyance. As he walked into the building, Nathaniel wondered if the veterans were missing because of who they were or because someone wanted to harm the registry. Were the abductions aimed at him or Ashford? Or both?
Could Lord Norwich be involved? Perhaps his prospective employee was abducted so suspicion wouldn’t fall on the earl.
Nathaniel looked into the magistrate’s court but a second. His contact was one of the runners observing clerks standing at the bar below the dais of the magistrate, clerks surrounded by criminals of every sort.
The runner in question looked up and caught his eye. Nathaniel raised a hand in greeting, turned, and made his way back out of the building.
He crossed the cobblestone road to the inn at #34, the Russian Hotel, also known as the Brown Bear Inn. He ordered two pints from the none too clean barmaid and settled in to wait. Not ten minutes later, by a look at his pocket watch, his runner contact strolled into the building.
Black Jack Henley was a legend among the runners, a man who had worked his way from the foot patrol in blue coats and trousers, red waistcoats, and black felt hats up to a plain-clothes runner.
“Harbury.”
“Jack.”
The man was seated and took a long swallow of his beer. Nathaniel had managed merely a sip. It was terrible.
“I imagine you want to speak to me about the missing veteran.” The man raised a brow.
He sighed. “Veterans.”
Jack finished his drink with another long swallow. “I wondered if that was the right of it. There is a rumor.”
“There have been two disappearances so far.” He pushed his tankard across the table to Jack. “If it were wartime, I would suspect pressgangs.”
“That would be your area. The navy has no qualms in taking a man from his home and family.” The runner scowled into his empty tankard, pushed it to one side, and placed Nathaniel’s tankard in front of him.
Jack had escaped from such a pressgang. Nathaniel hadn’t agreed with the tactics of violently recruiting men for the navy, but it had been legal. He’d watched Jack escape from the HMS St. George and never said a word. Now, the man was in a position to help Nathaniel.
“Have you heard of any recent kidnappings in London? I’m not sure who would want these men. They have neither fortune nor connections, and we haven’t found a link to either gambling debts or moneylenders.”
“There have been no rumors or reports of kidnapping gangs in London. What say Lord Wycliffe? I thought he had a hand in every pie.” The man took a long pull of his beer.
“He does, but whoever is behind these disappearances is being careful. Cecil believes the RA wants to avoid the recent publicity of the incident in Hyde Park.”
Jack gulped the last of his drink before getting to his feet. “As of now, we have no leads in the disappearance of your veterans.”
“Only you can know there has been more than one.”
“The information will come out sooner or later,” Jack replied with a shrug.
He raised his brows. “We would prefer later.”
“If and when I have any information to share, I will.” Jack nodded and exited the inn.
Nathaniel really hadn’t expected the runners to know what happened to the veterans, but he needed to ask. To be sure. His next line of inquiry would be a former naval officer he knew who had been affiliated with several pressgangs. While he hoped the veterans weren’t victims of impressment, if they were, it would mean the men were alive and well.