Chapter 3
Tilda surveyed herself in the mirror in her bedchamber that evening. She’d donned her father’s old garments—from his youth—so she’d be able to move quickly. Her gowns would not allow such freedom. “Thank you for working so quickly, Mrs. Acorn.”
“I’m pleased to help,” the housekeeper, a lovely, supportive woman in her sixties, said as she picked up her sewing basket.
Mrs. Acorn had just finished hemming the sleeves of the oversized coat.
“Now, be on your way. If you hurry, you may make it outside before your grandmother sees you,” she added with a wink before departing.
Clara, Tilda’s maid, had coiled and pinned her hair up tightly so that it would fit beneath the hat, which Tilda grabbed from the dressing table and pulled onto her head. It fit snugly because of her hair.
Tilda rotated her left shoulder. It was still stiff from her injury the other day when a piece of pottery had lodged into her flesh after the thief they’d been after had shot a large pot.
She had a few stitches that would need to be removed in a couple of days.
Dr. Giles, who’d placed them, had offered to call on her here to complete the task, for which she was most grateful.
Hastening down the stairs, Tilda stopped short as her grandmother walked into the hall from the sitting room at the back of the house. In her seventies, Barbara Wren was petite with snow-white hair and bright-blue eyes. She regarded Tilda with a slight frown.
Blast. So much for avoiding her grandmother’s almost certain disapproval of Tilda’s costume.
“You can’t go out dressed like that,” her grandmother said. Thankfully, she couldn’t see Tilda’s father’s pistol, which was tucked into a holster beneath the coat.
“I need to be able to move quickly tonight, Grandmama,” Tilda explained. “My voluminous skirts would not allow that.”
Grandmama pursed her lips. “Surely you could find something more feminine to wear.”
Tilda quashed a smile. They weren’t going to a Society event—her grandmother didn’t even know that Tilda and Hadrian were now courting. Tilda needed to tell her, but she’d only just decided that afternoon, and today had moved at breakneck speed. “No one is going to see me, Grandmama.”
“Lord Ravenhurst will. Isn’t he fetching you for this investigative activity? I still don’t understand what that means. It sounds dangerous, especially since you have to move fast.” Her brow puckered. “What on earth is this new case about?”
Tilda often didn’t reveal the specifics of her investigative duties to her grandmother because she would worry, but the truth was she did worry, as she was now.
“It isn’t dangerous.” Probably. “I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.
Things are progressing quite rapidly with this matter, and I really must be on my way. ” Hadrian should have arrived by now.
In fact, Tilda walked into the entrance hall just as Vaughn, their exceptionally tall yet hunched butler, opened the door to admit Hadrian. Tilda’s grandmother followed her and addressed Hadrian.
“Ravenhurst, do make sure my granddaughter is safe this evening,” she pleaded.
“That is always my primary objective,” he said warmly.
His gaze swept over Tilda, and surprise flickered across his features.
She hoped her grandmother hadn’t caught it.
The last thing she needed was the two of them finding common cause in questioning her costume.
Though, Hadrian likely wouldn’t take issue with it, since this was not the first time she’d dressed as a man in his presence.
Tilda bussed her grandmother’s cheek. “Try not to worry, and don’t wait up, as I will return very late.” Or perhaps very early.
“You should understand by now, my dear, that you cannot order me about,” her grandmother scolded gently. “I won’t rest peacefully until I’m sure you’re back home.” She perused Tilda’s costume—with a faint frown—once more. “Looking like yourself.”
Tilda resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she smiled at her grandmother. “You’re right. I can’t order you about. Do as you must.” She turned and preceded Hadrian from the house, hurrying to the coach.
Leach, to his credit, did not appear to register Tilda’s clothing as he held the door for her. “Evening, Miss Wren.”
“Are you ready for tonight?” Tilda asked. She and Hadrian had briefed Leach on the plan after leaving Scotland Yard. Hadrian had then shared the details with Brian, who, Tilda noted, was perched on the driver’s seat.
The footman inclined his head toward Tilda. “Good evening, Miss Wren.”
“Good evening, Brian,” she replied. “Thank you for your help with this endeavor.”
He smiled at her. “Pleased to be of assistance.”
Tilda climbed into the coach. Hadrian sat beside her, and they were quickly on their way.
“It’s been a while since you wore men’s clothing,” Hadrian said with the hint of a smile.
“I don’t make a habit of it.” Tilda glanced down at her father’s garments. “This costume is not as attractive as what I wore on that one occasion,” she added.
Hadrian grinned. “Our visit to a gentlemen’s club with you dressed as a man was a memorable event.”
Tilda cocked her head. “And yet you seemed surprised by my appearance tonight.”
“I hadn’t considered you would dress this way, but it makes perfect sense.”
“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it together. Thankfully, Mrs. Acorn altered some of my father’s old clothing.”
Hadrian’s brow arched as his gaze flicked over her again. “Those garments belonged to your father?”
“When he was younger.” Recently, Tilda’s mother had visited, and she’d found a box of items that had belonged to Tilda’s father in the attic. Tilda had since gone up to look for more of his things and found a crate of old clothing and books that had belonged to him as a young man.
“It’s probably best you aren’t dressed as you were that other time. These garments are looser, and I will not be tempted to stare. Much.” He slid her a heated look.
Tilda hadn’t expected he would find her costume alluring. “Are you saying I look attractive in this ensemble?”
He regarded her once more, his gaze lingering on her legs. “I’m certainly not disappointed by it.”
“I see,” she murmured, aware of the charged current between them. They’d shared several kisses now and would again. She looked forward to that, she realized, as well as whatever might come after that, such as if their courtship led to marriage.
“How is your head?” Tilda asked, seeking to change the topic to something safer and more…pertinent.
“Much improved, thank you. I took a lavender bath, which is always the most helpful.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You need to be more careful with overdoing things. And I need to stop asking you to try to see memories when you’re already overtaxed.”
Hadrian grinned.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Tilda asked.
“Because I like that you care so much about me,” he replied, still grinning.
Was he flirting again? She’d told him they couldn’t do that whilst they were working. And yet, she’d probably inadvertently flirted with him during the discussion about her costume.
She grasped for yet another topic. “We’ve talked before about my obtaining a smaller pistol. We must make that a priority.”
“Don’t you have your father’s Adams with you?” he asked with alarm. Earlier, they’d discussed the need to bring weapons tonight.
“I do. It’s beneath my coat,” she said.
“We’ll procure a new, smaller pistol for you as soon as possible,” Hadrian said. “I’m armed with my Tranter. Leach and Brian also have revolvers.”
Tilda hoped they wouldn’t need them, particularly after assuring her grandmother that tonight wouldn’t be dangerous. Hopefully, the kidnapper was only concerned with money. He would show up tonight, eager for his prize, only to be captured. They would recover Miss Chadwick, and all would be well.
The use of Spring-heeled Jack as a disguise still bothered Tilda. This kidnapper wasn’t following the legend. Spring-heeled Jack was not known for kidnapping. He attacked young women and terrorized people with his strange physical attributes and abilities.
Apparently, the legend had recently undergone a revision. Spring-heeled Jack could now also potentially be a hero of some kind. But what could possibly be heroic about taking a young woman from her family for ransom?
Tilda was curious to see if someone who looked like Spring-heeled Jack would even appear that evening.
They picked up Detective Inspector Teague at his house, along with Sergeant Wycombe and Constable Mercer.
The constable had crammed himself onto the driver’s seat with Brian and Leach, whilst Teague and Wycombe joined Tilda and Hadrian inside the coach.
A van driven by two constables, which Teague had borrowed from a furniture remover, without explaining to them why, followed behind.
“You look very well,” Hadrian said to Wycombe, who was garbed in Hadrian’s clothing.
“It was kind of you to send your valet to make a few alterations,” Wycombe said.
“Mr. Sharp assured me the garments would be easily returned to their former state.” The sergeant, who was a year or two older than Hadrian’s thirty years, had a bit of color in his cheeks.
“I will feel terrible if any damage comes to them.”
Hadrian gave the sergeant a reassuring smile. “I’m not concerned about the condition when they’re returned. Our goal is to catch Spring-heeled Jack, and if that results in a tear to the coat you’re wearing…” Hadrian shrugged. “A small price to pay.”
Wycombe appeared to relax and nodded. He didn’t look like Chadwick, save their similar height, but the bespoke clothing would signal wealth and contribute to the disguise.
The sun had set shortly after they’d fetched Teague and the others, and now, as they reached Hampstead, the sky grew darker. They traveled along the Spaniards Road for a short while before the van behind the coach pulled off at an inn to wait.