Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
S tephen was speechless. She delivered that devastating bit of news as if they were talking about the weather. Stephen’s friends from the war seemed to constantly be in one scrape or another—duels, feuds, love affairs, kidnappings—but things had quieted down recently. Well, other than Simon’s kidnapping and consequent rescue from Barbary pirates. That, too, had been Sir Barnabas’s fault. Stephen barely knew the spymaster, but he disliked him heartily, which was something he tried not to do—judging someone so harshly. But his mind was made up, so he did the penance for his uncharitable thoughts instead.
“Why?” Hastings didn’t sound sympathetic at all. He sounded suspicious.
“How awful,” Stephen interjected, silencing Hastings with a look. “I’m terribly sorry for your trouble.” He tried to convey his sympathy with a look and his body language. He wasn’t acquainted with the lady well enough to take her hand or offer any physical comfort. She was really quite beautiful, which of course had nothing at all to do with her tragic circumstances or the help they would obviously render. But all the same, it was hard to ignore how ethereal she was with her striking features and blonde hair set off by the delicate pink of her dress. Which was rather clingy and showed an admirable amount of bosom. If he were a lesser man, he’d let it distract him. Stephen, however, was made of sterner stuff and dragged his attention back to the matter at hand.
“It is rather awful, isn’t it?” she said with a sigh, blinking big blue eyes at him while she leaned forward slightly, improving the view. She was good, he’d give her that. It had been a very long time since a pretty woman had cast lures his way. He was, after all, a poor, dedicated curate. Despite her acting skills, she had a cunning look about her, and he was confident he could resist her, no matter how delightful it was to be the recipient of her charms.
“Why?” Hastings asked again, and Stephen let the question sit there this time, awaiting an answer.
“Her father is Harry Bleecker,” Essie told them when the beautiful stranger hesitated. Stephen didn’t know what that meant, but Hastings clearly did.
“Bleecker?” Hastings asked, looking incredulous.
“Who is Harry Bleecker?” Stephen asked.
The lady sighed and fell back in her chair with an inelegant slump. “He’s a crime boss,” she told him. “In London.”
“You can’t be Bleecker’s,” Hastings said. “He’s a short, loud-mouthed little worm. Greasy hair, disheveled—in other words, there is no way he produced…” Hastings hesitated and waved a hand at her, “You.”
“We are dissimilar in many ways, you are correct,” she agreed. “But let me assure you, Harry Bleecker is indeed my sire.”
“How?” It seemed as if Hastings was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. Perhaps he was also affected by the lady’s charms.
“My mother was a gentlewoman reduced to poverty by circumstances, as things often happen. Dead parents, no relatives willing to help, no skills. My…Bleecker came sniffing around and offered to protect her. No one else came forward. So, she did the unthinkable and agreed to his dastardly bargain.”
“I say,” Stephen said, shocked. “The poor woman.”
“She was lucky,” Essie said. “She had one nasty bloke to please. I know a lot of women who have to take on a lot more than that.”
“We shall agree to disagree,” Miss Bleecker said primly.
“That still doesn’t explain why he wants to kill you,” Stephen nudged her.
“Good point,” Hastings said.
“Yes, well, there is no love lost between he and myself,” the lady explained. “As a matter of fact, other than barely keeping a roof over my head, and that was questionable at best, he ignored my existence for most of my life.” She looked away and sighed. “My mother died, you see, when I was a child, not even out of leading strings. I’m told she never recovered from my birth, and he was determined to have more brats off her. His words. He seemed to believe that their children would be able to move about in society simply because she was their mother no matter how many times she told him that was not how society worked. An impoverished young woman who took a criminal to bed to make ends meet would hardly be welcomed in Mayfair.” She looked back and Stephen and smiled wryly. “When he was unable to place me in a wealthy household after her death he realized the truth of her words. No one wanted his brat, you see. I became a useless waste of his time and resources then.”
“And so?” Hastings said impatiently.
“I’m sorry if the abbreviated version of my life and how I came to be running for it is taking too much time,” she snapped at him, and for the first time Stephen got a glimpse of the real woman.
“Get to the part where I’m supposed to care,” Hastings told her rudely. “Why does Sir Barnabas care? That’s the real question.”
“You’re supposed to care,” Essie told him with a smug smile, “because this is all your fault.”
“Mine?” Hastings asked incredulously, a hand to his chest.
“You didn’t kill him when you had the chance,” Essie said. “Back when Kitty O’Shaughnessy was trying to shop her man’s territory around.”
“For God’s sake,” Hastings spit out. “He told me I couldn’t kill anyone!” He began to pace. “Don’t kill anyone,” he muttered. “No, now I want you to kill them. Why didn’t you kill him?” He spun around to Essie. “He needs to make up his damn mind!”
“Miss Bleecker,” Stephen interrupted. He was aghast anew at what Hastings had done for Sir Barnabas, and he and Hastings would have to discuss it, but right now he needed answers. “The reason for your current situation is still not evident.” He spoke kindly. People tended to tell you what you wanted to know when you did so.
“Miss Hyde,” she corrected him. “He never married my mother, thank goodness. My name is Miss Madelyn Hyde.”
“Surely not of the Higginbotham-Hydes?” Stephen asked, scandalized.
“One and the same,” she confirmed. “My mother was from the poor side of the family. A distant younger son who was disowned many years ago, and his progeny were never welcomed back into the fold. They saw no reason to bring my mother in when she was left destitute. As her uncle said, it certainly wasn’t their fault she came from a depraved line.”
“And when she died, leaving you alone?” Stephen asked, trying to recall what he knew of the family. It was an extensive brood, very high in the instep, or so he’d heard Freddy say. They had attempted to give Anne the cut direct when she first went to London, but Freddy and Brett played the market against them, and they saw the error of their ways rather quickly when they began losing money.
“They didn’t consider me alone,” she said dispassionately. “My father, was, after all, alive, and attempting to blackmail them into taking me.”
“You said he left you alone for most of your life,” Hastings said. “So why does he want to kill you now?”
“Several years ago he took note of my, shall we say, attributes? And decided that perhaps I had some value after all.”
Stephen’s stomach dropped. Surely the man hadn’t sold his daughter? “What happened?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“He decided to polish the discarded penny,” she said, that wry smile back. “Sent me to be educated properly in the ways of a lady and began to shop around for takers. People he could use in some way. Money, contacts, whatever it might be. Marriage or not, he didn’t care, as long as he got what he wanted.”
“What do you know?” Hastings asked, clearly quicker than Stephen at figuring out the end of the story.
“Oh, Mr. Hastings,” she said with a predatory smile, “quite a lot. Quite an awful lot.”