Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Leonard did not believe Mrs. Gillingham for one moment.
Not her claim that she stole his item simply because she was bored, or her claim that she no longer held the item in her possession.
But Leonard still wasn’t sure he was desperate enough to go to the authorities and request a search of her house.
It really depended on her standing in society.
If no one knew her, it would likely be fine.
But if she had friends in high places, his claim could come back on him and his honor as a gentleman. Especially if nothing was found.
As he sat at his breakfast table, tea piping hot with the Courier spread in front of him, footsteps sounded in the hall.
After a moment, Fitzroy appeared, holding a small silver salver with a note laid upon it. “I found this in the entryway, Mr. Stanton.”
He took the note, staring at it. “What do you mean you found it there?”
Fitzroy paused, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “I must admit I don’t know where it came from. It was just . . . there.”
What the devil? Leonard nodded. “Very well. Thank you.” He waited for Fitzroy to leave the room before slipping his finger beneath the wax seal.
Feminine writing scrolled across the page.
The blasted woman had somehow snuck this into his house.
He felt more than a bit violated. For a moment he simply laid it on the table, eyeing the paper while he drank his tea—as if it were a snake and might bite him the next time he picked it up.
Goodness, this was ridiculous. Whether he read it now or five hours from now, it would not change the contents. He lifted it, grimacing preemptively, knowing whatever she asked of him would likely be no small feat.
Mr. Stanton,
Thank you so much for your agreement to assist me in this small matter.
I do believe you will find it is nothing much.
I simply need you to come to my residence to fetch a parcel and deliver it to the address I have listed below.
That is all. Nothing more, nothing less.
Please be at my townhome no earlier than eight this evening.
—Mrs. Honora Gillingham
Leonard audibly scoffed. Honora. The woman who stole his great-grandmother’s ring was named Honora. It was almost too much to be believable.
While the idea of transferring a parcel seemed oddly simple, the time of day and the woman asking the favor made it all highly suspect.
“Fitzroy,” Leonard called out.
In a moment, his man of all trades appeared. “Yes?”
“Do you know where this address is?” Leonard held the paper out to him, which Fitzroy took and skimmed in all but a few short seconds. “Ah, yes.” He hesitated. “It is down by the docks on the lower east side of town.”
“And is the neighborhood . . . reputable?”
Fitzroy shook his head. “No. I would not recommend you go there if you can avoid it.”
Leonard chewed his lip as his eyes narrowed. “That is what I thought. Thank you, Fitzroy, that will be all.”
The middle-aged man dipped his head, then left the room.
By the afternoon, Leonard had made the decision he would not be entertaining Mrs. Gillingham’s request. Therefore, he did not need to wait until eight o’clock to go and inform her of such.
So, when he found himself bored by midafternoon, he had his horse saddled up and brought to his door.
A note would likely suffice, but he was not done with Mrs. Honora Gillingham.
She still had her actions to speak for, and he might just be desperate and angry enough to demand she give him the funds, or he takes his complaints to the authorities.
Something he should have done yesterday.
His ride was refreshing after lazing about his parent’s townhouse all day. The rhythmic pattern of his steed’s hooves was always calming, but not quite enough to put Leonard entirely at his ease.
Rounding the corner to Mrs. Gillingham’s townhouse, Leonard slowed his mount. A carriage sat just outside, and he wondered if he should have sent a card after all. He didn’t wish to have spectators during their conversation.
The front door of Mrs. Gillingham’s townhouse opened, and he was surprised when he saw a man exit first. Then, Mrs. Gillingham herself walked through the door, another man just behind her.
The arrangement was peculiar. Both men were extraordinarily large, their jackets taut on their arms and shoulders. No one spoke, and the man in front went to the awaiting carriage and opened the door while the man from behind put his hand on Mrs. Gillingham’s back.
Leonard slipped from his horse, walking closer as he watched it all happen. No one had seen him yet, but just as Mrs. Gillingham stepped up to the carriage, she hesitated. That’s when the man from behind gave her back a push, and she glared down at him, slapping his hand.
What the devil?
Leonard started forward. “Excuse me,” he yelled out. Just as he did, nearby church bells began to toll the hour, drowning out his voice.
The man in the rear moved forward, forcing Mrs. Gillingham up the steps and into the carriage, where he promptly shut the door and moved to the front. Climbing up onto the carriage, he took the reins, snapping them and starting them down the street.
For a moment, Leonard just stared. Did that really just happen?
Of course it did. He slapped his forehead.
Was the young woman under duress? It didn’t seem like a friendly encounter. But what if Leonard misread it all?
He stood in a daze, watching as the carriage grew smaller the further it went. His mind warred between telling him he was overreacting and knowing she was just the type of woman to do something that would elicit being escorted by two burly men into a carriage.
He threw his head back with a frustrated groan, then mounted his horse and set off after the carriage.
The entire time he debated with himself about what an imbecile he was.
If he had only sent a note, he would not be in this situation.
He wasn’t even sure she was deserving of his heroism. She did steal from him, after all.
For a moment, he thought he had lost track of the carriage, and he began glancing down every side street he passed—until finally, he saw where they went and turned to follow them.
They were about ten houses down when the carriage rolled to a halt, and the man jumped down from his perch on the front.
Leonard stopped his horse, trying to watch what was happening without being caught. A man walked by on the street with what appeared to be his wife.
“Afternoon,” Leonard said, tipping his hat to them.
They didn’t even slow, just smiled and returned the greeting.
He looked back to the carriage, where Mrs. Gillingham and her two muscled escorts were now at a door. The men didn’t even knock, just opened the door and nearly forced her inside.
“Excuse me,” Leonard said, calling out to the couple who had barely made it past them.
They stopped and turned. Their inconvenience at being so addressed was quite obvious. “Yes?” the gentleman asked.
“Um, could you tell me who lives in that home?”
They peered behind him, and the woman asked with curious eyes, “With the carriage out front?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“I believe that’s where Mr. Balfour lives,” the man said, his brow furrowed.
The woman beside him sighed. “No, dear. That is where Mr. Hind lives. Mr. Balfour lives two houses down.”
“Are you quite sure?”
The wife tipped her chin. “Quite.”
“Thank you.” Leonard led his horse to the other side of the street.
He would simply check on Mrs. Gillingham, find that she was completely fine, and then head home.
Slipping his horse’s reins over a nearby hitching post, he begrudgingly made his way to the front door he had seen her enter through.
And then, worry began to nag at his stomach.
It was possible she truly was in danger, and he was hardly equipped to handle such a situation at present.
His feet moved quicker with his last thought, and his hand flew to the door and knocked before he completely thought through the situation.
But no one came to the door.
He knocked again, harder this time. When still no one came, he decided more drastic measures might be necessary.
“Excuse me,” he nearly yelled. “I need Mrs. Gillingham to come to the door this instant, or I shall be forced to alert the authorities.”
This time, footsteps rumbled inside, and the door opened to reveal the second thug who had practically pushed Mrs. Gillingham.
“Can I help you?” The man was much bigger than Leonard, his jacket stretching unnaturally over his shoulders.
“Uh,” he stuttered. “Yes. As I said. I need to speak to Mrs. Gillingham.” So much for his confidence. He could slap himself for stuttering his words.
“She is unavailable at the moment.”
Leonard gritted his teeth. “No, I am afraid that is not acceptable. She needs to come to the door now.”
“Or?” The thug’s voice was threaded with amusement.
He refused to shift his feet. “As I said. I will alert the authorities.”
The shoulder man only rolled his eyes, stepping to the side to allow Leonard inside. As soon as Leonard stepped foot in the townhouse, he heard Mrs. Gillingham laugh and saw her walk down the stairs with a third man he didn’t recognize just behind her.
Mr. Hind, presumably.
“Oh, Mr. Stanton.” Mrs. Gillingham smiled as if it was perfectly natural for all of them to be in this bizarre situation. “What a lovely surprise.”
“I had thought . . .” He glanced about the room before thinking it better not to accuse all these men of some crime while in their own residence and while he was very much without any sort of defense.
Taking the last step to the main level, Mrs. Gillingham tipped her head to the side. “I thought we were going to meet at eight.”
“Yes.” He bent his head, scuffing a foot on the floor. “I suppose I got the time wrong.”
“And the location.”
“Apparently,” he said, mumbling beneath his breath before he cleared his throat. “Might I escort you home?” He held an arm out to her, which she took with a look of great enthusiasm.
“How lovely. An afternoon stroll sounds like just the thing.” She turned around, addressing the man she had walked down the stairs with.
“I will not be needing the carriage, Mr. Hind. I appear to have other means of transportation.” She spun her head back to Leonard.
“Better means of transportation at that.” Her lips quirked into a grin.
She might change her mind upon seeing his horse, which only fit one passenger.
“Are you ready to go then?”
“Yes, let us go.” She waved a hand over her shoulder. “Thank you for the visit, gentlemen. Until next time.”
When the door was safely shut behind them, Leonard pulled his arm back, causing Mrs. Gillingham to scowl.
“Ma’am—”
“Honora,” she corrected.
Leonard gained his patience before answering. “Honora.”
She smiled, giving him a nod. “Yes?”
“What was all that about?”
She glanced up at a window in the townhouse, her smile tightening. “Perhaps we should put more distance between us and this location before we speak.” She glanced around, clearly looking for something. “Where is your carriage?”
“I brought my horse.”
“Horse . . .”
“Yes. Unless you would prefer to go back to Mr. Hind and request to use his carriage.”
She sighed. “I suppose a walk will suffice.”
Leonard pulled the reins off the hitching post, clasping them around his hand. “So, do you care to explain what all that was about?”
She took his free arm, which he had not offered. “Only a simple misunderstanding.”
“Nothing about what just happened seemed simple. I watched you get whisked off into the carriage.”
“That’s how you found me,” she said, turning to him with a lifted brow. “I had wondered.”
“The gentlemen escorting you seemed to be doing so rather forcibly.”
“Yes, Percy was not thrilled with my hesitance. You see, I was not enthusiastic about the idea of speaking with Mr. Hind. But they were rather convincing.”
Leonard’s hand tightened around the reins. He understood this woman was frustrating and clearly gray in her morals, but forcing a woman into a carriage was too far. “They did not hurt you, did they?”
“Goodness.” She put a hand to her chest. “I am flattered, Mr. Stanton. A girl does love a bit of attention now and again.”
When he didn’t smile, hers slowly melted away from her face.
For the first time since he’d met her, her countenance seemed genuine.
Nothing haughty or flirtatious or assuming about it.
“Thank you, sir. That was rather gallant of you to come and check on me.” She took a slow breath as she looked at the ground. “And no. They did not hurt me.”
“Good.” He gave a single nod.
“Warming up to me, are you?”
“Hardly.”
“But perhaps one day.”
“If I have my way, I will never see you again after today.”
“What do you mean?” She stopped walking, letting go of his arm. He walked ahead a couple steps before turning to look at her.
“I do not wish to transfer your parcel. After seeing all the shady things that seem to follow you every moment of your existence, I do not wish to be a part of what you have planned tonight.”
“But your six hundred pounds,” she said.
“Are not worth me going to jail.”
“But you won’t go to jail,” she insisted.
“Mrs. Gillingham,” he continued, “you stole from me, bribed me, snuck into my father’s townhouse, and then I saw you being forcefully escorted into a man’s home. Do you think I would trust you to be honest with me?”
Her mouth pulled to the side as her gaze fixed in thought. And then, after a moment of deliberation, she said, “Can we speak privately?”
He shook his head.
“Please,” she begged, clasping her hands together and taking two steps toward him. “I will meet wherever you prefer. I will give you a quick explanation, and then you can decide what you wish to do with what I say.”
Leonard narrowed his eyes on her, trying to judge her authenticity. “I can choose where we speak?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
He jerked his head, beckoning her to follow. “Let us go on, then.”