Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The corners of Mr Chance’s eyes crinkled. He put his hand to his chest and laughed again. He couldn’t seem to stop. “You’ve got more whiskers than your Persian cat,” he said, mimicking Eleanor’s voice. “I swear, the look on Mrs Dunwoody’s face was priceless.”
Eleanor watched him from the opposite side of the carriage. She liked the sound of his laugh. The rich, resonant notes spoke of mischief and raw masculinity. She liked that his eyes shone bluer than a tropical sea. Never had she wanted to dive inside a man and explore his hidden depths.
“What happened to remaining calm?” he chuckled.
“Mrs Dunwoody insulted you and your family. After all you have been through, I couldn’t leave without putting her in her place.”
She despised bullies. They hid behind words or the weight of their fists. Vile comments were their weapons of choice, blades sharpened to slay anyone who discovered their dirty little secret—that a weakling lived beneath the mask of aggression .
“Well, I am in your debt. You used your brains while I was seconds away from unleashing a tempest.” His amused expression faded. “I’m built to withstand insults unless they’re aimed at my family.”
“Your love for your family is to be commended. It’s clear they mean a lot to you.”
“They’re all I have.”
She nodded, but the vast emptiness inside reminded her she had no one special. “If I loved someone, I would tell them every day. I wouldn’t leave them doubting the depth of my affection.”
His gaze softened. “Did you tell your father every day?”
The question took her by surprise. “No. He was a hard man to like.” She had pitied her father and blamed herself for his misery. How could she love someone who made her feel worthless? “I have never loved anyone, Mr Chance.”
A look passed between them.
A silent communication neither dared to voice.
He breathed a heavy sigh. “When you do, I expect your love will radiate in every honest word and deed. The beauty of it will leave the recipient in no doubt of your devotion.”
Tears threatened to gather behind her eyes.
Mr Chance’s tender words were as arousing as his ardent kisses.
“Bad things happen for good reasons.” She told herself that all the time. “Perhaps I might meet a dashing American when I’m forced to flee to Boston.”
He shifted with obvious unease despite her attempt to make light of her situation. “There’s no need to leave town. Troubling times always pass. I promise you, ladies will queue the length of New Bridge Street to purchase your gowns. ”
“I wish I had your optimism. But you saw the way Lady Lucille looked at me.” Like she might stab Eleanor through the heart with a poker. “A jealous woman is as dangerous as a loon with a crossbow. She will drive me out of town by foul means or fair.”
He fell silent as he relaxed against the squab.
Was he thinking about the woman he admired?
“Do you still love her?” Eleanor said, though it pained her to think of him kissing anyone else. She had been so caught up in her own problems, she had not considered how difficult this must be for him.
“No. I admired her. It was never love.” He paused, his expression pensive. “Have you ever tricked yourself into believing something is true?”
Her heart grew heavy. “Many times.”
She had told herself countless lies. If she became a successful modiste, her guilt would dissipate as swiftly as a morning mist. Her father’s anger stemmed from love, not resentment. Loneliness was a state of mind one could overcome.
“Have you ever convinced yourself you could right the wrongs of the past?” he asked. “That if you did, you might feel whole again?”
Eleanor looked at her clasped hands resting in her lap. “Being a modiste was my mother’s dream. Trust me. Making her wish come true did nothing to banish the emptiness.”
He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly, and she loved him a little for the kind gesture. “How can the youngest of four brothers help his kin? Not with his fists. Not with his business acumen. But perhaps by elevating them to the life they were born to.”
“What are you saying? ”
“Should anything happen to Wrotham, Aaron is heir to the title. If I were to marry well, he might be restored to his rightful position. I convinced myself I could love Lucille Bowman. But she used me to force Wrotham’s hand. She reminded me I will always carry the stench of the rookeries.”
He did not smell like the impoverished.
He smelled like a thunderstorm—fresh and earthy, a man with the power to control the heavens. A voice determined to be heard.
Eleanor gripped his hand. “You used her, too. Surely life has taught you that love is the path through the darkness.”
He did not avert his gaze in shame but gave a humourless snort. “That’s why I like you, Miss Darrow. You always hold me to account. In truth, I thought romantic love was a fallacy. Then my brother Christian married, and the power of his love for Isabella was almost blinding. Not even Aaron could have prevented their union.”
“Love is not something you decide. It chooses you.”
He frowned. “You speak from experience?”
“Of course not. I have spent years working myself to the bone.” She had never even kissed a man until she had locked lips with him at the theatre. “When would I have had the time to fall in love?”
“Franklin would have you in a heartbeat.”
“For a lady of modest means, it would be a good match.” Though he did not light a fire in her blood. He did not steal the breath from her lungs or make her giddy. “Perhaps I would come to love him in time, but I would rather love sweep me up in a storm.”
“Franklin isn’t right for you,” he said, his tone sabre-sharp.
“He is undeniably handsome. ”
“It’s not enough for a woman with your wild spirit. He wouldn’t make you happy. Your arousing kisses would be wasted on him.”
She smiled. “Are they not wasted on you?”
“We’re kindred spirits. Two passionate people seeking solace in each other’s company.” His voice was as rich as velvet as his eyes trailed a slow path over her body. “I must be honest. No other man would make love to you like I would. You’d come hard for me. Too many times to count.”
She stared at him, stunned and quite desperate to know if he spoke the truth. But Theodore Chance would take more than her virginity. He would carve out a piece of her soul. She could survive losing her business, but she would not survive that.
“You seem so sure of yourself.”
“The kiss we shared at your shop told me all I needed to know. I’ll wager Franklin kisses like a panicked fish.”
The thought of locking lips with Mr Franklin chilled her blood. “He would make a respectable woman of me.” Mr Franklin was a good man, kind to his sister, hardworking and pious.
“You value your independence and would rather live like a spinster than have a man tell you what to do.”
He was not wrong. Her biggest fear was marrying a man with her father’s harsh tongue and critical eye. Tyrants often hid behind affable masks.
“Perhaps.” She wasn’t sure how they’d gone from discussing Lady Lucille to her marrying Mr Franklin, but they should focus on the case. “What do you make of their story? Do you believe Viscount Wrotham wanted to read The Vampyre ? ”
Mr Chance sat back in the seat, his arms folded across his broad chest. “It was obvious none of them had read the tale. There’s no way of knowing if they found the sealed message or if the note was blank.”
“No,” Eleanor mused, gazing out the window. “Let’s pray Mr Daventry has luck finding those who borrowed the other two books.”
Still, there was one glaring coincidence Eleanor could not ignore. Lady Lucille had been sending secret notes for months. Did she request The Vampyre because it contained a reply?
“We must examine every piece of evidence, regardless of how insignificant,” Mr Chance said. “I’ve heard Daventry say the same thing to his agents. Follow the leads, ask the right questions, and the truth will prevail.”
“We need to know who lives in Finch Lane, Cornhill. That’s where the recipient of Lady Lucille’s note lives, the one I failed to send.”
Mr Chance nodded. “We’ll add it to the list. The barrow boy may have vital information. Once we’ve heard from Jules, we will decide our next line of enquiry.”
Jules and his family occupied a first-floor apartment on Lombard Street, Cheapside, with an excellent view of the Mansion House. His mother, Alice, was in bed when Eleanor arrived, though she’d heard the woman’s hacking cough as she mounted the stairs .
Mr Daventry’s man—a mean-looking fellow with a squashed nose—ushered them inside, shouting for Jules from the doorway.
Jules’ eight-year-old sister, Hope, came charging into the living room, her face as warm as a sunbeam. “Mr O’Hare. Have you come to play marbles? I knocked Jules out of the circle twice last night. He ain’t stopped sulking since.”
The hulking fellow smiled and patted Hope on the head. “You know I’m paid to stand guard at the door,” he said in a broad Irish accent. “Go to your mammy and give her the medicine. You remember what I said now. She’s to take the tincture and eat that broth if she’s to gain her strength.”
The girl wiped her nose with her hand, wrapped her arms around Mr O’Hare’s waist and hugged him. “Tell me you ain’t leaving.”
The man gulped. His body might have been made of stone but his heart certainly wasn’t. “I’ll be right outside the door. Now, fetch Jules and tend to your mammy.”
Hope released him and skipped out of the room, calling for Jules.
Mr O’Hare turned to them. “Ah, that child kills me, so she does.”
Mr Chance laughed. “I suspect Daventry knew what he was doing when he ordered you to guard their door.”
“The longer it goes on, the harder it will be to leave.”
“You may be here for another week,” Eleanor said.
Pursuing all lines of enquiry would take time. Indeed, her heart echoed Mr O’Hare’s sentiment. The more time she spent in Mr Chance’s company, the more it would hurt to let him go.
“I have a feeling I’ll be taking this job home,” Mr O’Hare said, smiling at the empty doorway. “Father Branagan says when a man feels the glory of heaven on earth, he knows that’s his calling.”
“All things happen for a reason,” Eleanor said, feeling the heat of Mr Chance’s gaze upon her face. Had he not stolen her box, she never would have kissed him. “Though during times of trouble, it’s hard to be optimistic. Perhaps this is your life’s purpose.”
Jules appeared. His face was clean, his brown hair combed and tucked behind his ears. He eyed Mr O’Hare cautiously. “Daventry pays you to mind the door. I don’t need you here. Wait outside while I speak to Miss Darrow.”
Mr O’Hare did not clip the insolent boy’s head but nodded. “You call if you need me.”
As soon as the Irishman closed the door, Jules grumbled, “I’m sick of him sticking his nose where it ain’t wanted. I ain’t no fool and can take care of my family. When can we leave this place?”
“When we know your life is not in danger.” Eleanor motioned to the chairs beside the hearth, and they all sat. “You’re safe here. Mr Daventry told you what happened at my shop. Stock ruined. Cupboards broken. The devil will stop at nothing to keep his secret.”
Jules noticed the minor cut on Eleanor’s forehead. “Mr Daventry said you tripped down the stairs, but I know you ain’t that clumsy.”
“Someone pushed me. I hit my head and remember very little. Mr Chance thought I had fallen and didn’t know to check the rooms upstairs.” If he had, they’d be closer to discovering the truth.
Jules set his distrusting eyes on her companion. “You’re that gent what was shot outside the shop. You’re the devil who stole her box and left her sobbing for days. ”
“I am,” Mr Chance said with some remorse. “But I am doing everything in my power to make amends.”
“I ain’t never seen her so afraid.” The bite of anger in Jules’ voice was unmistakable. “Do you know how hard she works? Sometimes she ain’t got time to eat and sleep. Then you bring trouble to her door.”
“Mr Chance is not entirely to blame,” she said.
Mr Chance exhaled deeply. “I give you my word. I’ll not hurt her again.” He looked at Eleanor and added, “When this is over, I’ll cook dinner and sort buttons. I’ll take care of all the menial tasks until you’re back on your feet.”
“Can you cook?” She tried not to picture him sitting beside her hearth, drinking wine and reading poetry, a kiss leading to a passionate romp on the fireside rug.
“I could rustle up a simple bill of fare.”
“I bet he ain’t never cooked a thing in his life,” Jules mocked.
“I was younger than you when I slept on the streets,” Mr Chance said, giving Jules a lesson in how not to judge by appearances. “Have you ever roasted a rat over a brazier?” He waited for Jules to wince. “Neither have I, but I have witnessed such desperation. Let me offer you some advice. Never refuse a helping hand when it’s offered.”
Jules glanced at the closed door. “I ain’t good at trusting folk.”
“Daventry would never hire an untrustworthy man. Besides, Miss Darrow can sniff out a liar from twenty yards. I think she’d know if O’Hare was a scoundrel.”
A brief silence ensued.
Eleanor avoided meeting Mr Chance’s gaze. After hearing his thoughtful words, the kindness in his eyes would overwhelm her tender heart .
“We need to ask you about the notes you delivered for me.” Eleanor had lost count of how many she had sent. Without her diary, she had no way of remembering the different locations. “To your knowledge, have you ever been followed?”
Jules scratched his head. “I don’t wait around long enough to notice. Not when the jobs are across town.”
“Have you ever been curious enough to wait and discover who came to collect them?” He had been curious enough to open one. Surely he had lingered in the vicinity, spying.
Jules did not reply.
“You’re not in trouble.” Mr Chance spoke like a concerned parent. “If it were me, I would want to learn everything I could. It’s the only way to protect Miss Darrow.”
Jules looked at him with a sense of camaraderie. “Miss Darrow helped put food on our table. The extra work she gave me paid our rent. It’s only right I look out for her welfare.”
Mr Chance agreed. “A man cares for those who matter most. You wanted to know she wasn’t unwittingly involved in criminal activity.” When Jules looked blankly, Mr Chance said, “That she wasn’t helping thieves and crooks.”
Jules puffed out his chest. “She shouldn’t have to deal with them things, not on her own. A lady needs someone to take care of her.”
Eleanor’s heart swelled. It explained why Jules asked her to dine with his family. Not wanting to waste their precious food, she’d used work as an excuse to decline his invitation.
“And so you watched to see who claimed the notes.”
Jules nodded. “Wait here.” He left the room and returned with a bent silver notebook. “I found this tossed in the gutter. There ain’t no name inside, or I’d have given it to a constable. I couldn’t sell it else I’d be dragged off to Newgate, so I used it to record what I saw.”
Jules sat and flicked to the first page. Eleanor could see no words written inside, only small pencil drawings.
“What did you discover?” Eleanor said, feeling a rush of pride. Jules couldn’t read but had overcome his disadvantage.
“I delivered the letters with the leaf seal to a doctor in St Martin’s Lane, hidden in a pair of nice new gloves. I followed him to a coffee house in Long Acre. He spoke to a woman sitting alone, and they both disappeared upstairs.”
“Yes. That would be Mrs Langdon. Hers is the laurel seal.”
“I asked about,” Jules continued. “They say the doctor cures mad women by looking under their skirts. He makes ’em scream till they can’t scream no more.”
Mr Chance looked at her and grinned. “He’s paid to banish the devil and leave her in a state of bliss.”
“Whatever he’s doing, the manager said he does it on the first Wednesday of every month,” Jules informed them before moving swiftly on. “I leave the notes with the rose seal with the landlord of the New Inn.” He consulted the odd array of drawings in his book. “A respectable gent from Berwick and Masters Land Agents collects them, though I don’t know more than that.”
The rose meant it was the letter the Duke of Farnborough’s daughter sent. The land agent likely worked for the duke.
Suspecting her other clients were doing nothing more than conducting illicit affairs, Eleanor was keen to discover more about Lady Lucille. “What about the notes with the green seal?”
Jules flicked through the dirty pages of his notebook. “That’s an odd one. I’ve sent four notes, but all to different places.”
“Yes, I recall one was to a baker’s shop on The Strand.” That had been the first note Eleanor had agreed to deliver. Lady Lucille had stressed the need for secrecy.
“I’ve delivered to a bookshop in Highgate, a perfume shop in Covent Garden. The last one was to the coffeehouse in the Bull and Mouth coaching inn. It’s always too busy to see who collects them. When I went back and asked the baker, he gave me a clip around the ear.”
Being a man who always rose to a challenge, Mr Chance rubbed his muscular thighs and said, “Then the baker’s shop will be our next call.”
“And we must visit Emily.” Eleanor wouldn’t rest until she knew why the girl had helped herself to the material. She turned to Jules. “Emily arrived with her father and removed bolts of silk from the shop. I pray her actions were not self-serving.”
The corners of Jules’ mouth sagged. “It ain’t her father. He’s dead. I saw Emily at the burial ground on Shoemakers Row, weeping at her mother’s grave. She said her father fell off a barge and drowned in the Thames.”
“When?”
“A year back.”
How odd. Emily spoke about her parents often. A few weeks ago, she took work home so she could have supper with them. Why would she lie?
“Who does she live with?”
And who had helped her remove the silk from the shop ?
Jules shrugged. “I asked her as she walked away, though she mumbled something. I ain’t sure I heard right.”
Eleanor sat forward, unable to shake a deep sense of trepidation. “What do you think she said?”
Jules paled. “I thought she said she lived with the devil.”