Chapter 3
Bishopsgate
Ben stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to smooth down the points of hair taunting him. For the love of saints, why hadn’t he checked his appearance before sticking his head out the window.
How was I to know?
Yesterday, he’d caught a jarring glimpse of Miss Felton.
Very pretty from what he’d seen. All this time, he assumed “my Kitty” was Felton’s wife.
If this raven-haired prime article wasn’t his daughter, then Ben had misjudged the night watchman.
So today, he thought he’d get a better look.
With a sigh of disgust, he splashed water on his face and rubbed his hair before taking a comb to it.
She had hair the color of midnight, and eyes that weren’t quite blue. Violet, if he had to put a color to them. A striking combination. His belly tightened as he remembered her alabaster skin and lovely smile. And he engaged her with his hair looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed.
Well, he had, of course, which was why she was stopping below his room every morning. Still…
He’d do better tomorrow. Ben paused, wondering why he cared what he looked like to a young girl, a stranger.
He did know her father, in a way. They were acquaintances, at least.
Admit it. She’s stunning with a winsome smile. And she has a sense of humor.
Ben was intrigued. He wasn’t a man influenced by beauty, though not immune to it. She and her canine friend made a charming picture. Yes, it was a good decision hiring Miss Felton.
* * *
Chancery Lane
Benjamin stood to shake hands with Lord Tamber. “It’s been a pleasure, my lord,” he said to the earl. “I’ll prepare the contract and complete the rest of the documents for your signature.”
“Excellent. I’m fortunate to have run into Mr. Marshall at White’s and have him suggest you,” said the earl, placing his beaver hat upon his dark, wavy hair.
“I hope I don’t seem as if I’m anticipating my father’s death.
I just want to be prepared and make the transition as smooth as possible when it does happen. ”
“Unfortunately, death is inevitable. It’s prudent to plan ahead,” agreed Ben. “May I ask what ails him?”
“Heart. Our physician said my father could be around another ten years or be gone tomorrow. He had a frightening episode that left him in bed for the better part of a month.” Lord Tamber smiled. “Though he seems right enough now. Insists he’ll outlive me and my brother.”
“Let’s hope he’s with us for years to come.”
“Yes, it’s hard to imagine the country estate without him, though he hasn’t taken his seat in the Lords for several years.” The earl gave Ben a nod. “Good day, then, Mr. Cooper. Give my regards to Mr. Norton.”
“That’s right, my brother Elijah did a portrait for you. I hope you were pleased?”
“Very much so,” said the earl, stopping at the door. “In fact, I’d like him to paint my mother.”
Ben held back a cringe at those words, remembering the recent warning about the woman. Perhaps Angus had been exaggerating, or Eli’s gentle nature would win the marchioness over.
After several hours of research, paperwork, and going over client ledgers, he leaned back in his chair and yawned, his arms stretched above his head. He checked his pocket watch. Almost half past five. He was meeting Roger Lynch at the Dog’s Bone at six-thirty. Just enough time to finish up.
Ben walked along Chancery Lane until he reached Holborn and hailed a hackney.
He gave the direction to the Dog’s Bone and leaned back against the worn leather squab.
With responsibilities finished for the day, he let his mind wander.
It wasn’t surprising that flowing black hair and purplish-blue eyes soon filled his thoughts.
It wasn’t like him to be preoccupied with a woman. He hadn’t been smitten since boyhood when a neighbor girl had flirted with him. She’d given him his first kiss under the tree in the backyard. It had fueled his dreams for weeks.
Don’t be a bufflehead. She’s just a girl, probably too young anyway.
At the Dog’s Bone, Ben waved at Max, the balding barkeep and owner, and exchanged smiles with Martha. The owner’s wife had a cherubic face with cheeks that were always flushed and sandy-brown hair usually stuffed into a mobcap.
“He’s waitin’ for ye in the back,” she said, nodding toward the storeroom and Max’s office. “I’ll let Bess know you’re here. Got some hand pies left over from earlier if you want one.”
“Two, please,” Ben said, giving her a forlorn look.
“Those beggin’ tawny eyes get me ever’ time.” She pushed him toward the back, and he maneuvered his way through the evening crowd.
The back room was dark, only a small hearth providing light, and looked much like it probably had two hundred years ago.
Shelves lined the stone walls, and overhead, low charred timbers from years of smoke forced most of patrons to duck whenever they entered.
Ben’s heels clicked on the flagstone as he joined Roger Lynch at the table in the center of the room.
A fire in the hearth crackled cheerfully behind him, and bread and cheese sat on a table along one wall.
The far wall was an alcove with the best of Max’s brandy and ale.
“You look tired,” said Roger, his grayish-green eyes teasing.
“Thank you, and you look like the cat who ate the canary.” Ben sat down across from Roger. “Good news, I hope?”
Roger was the second latecomer to the O’Brien clan.
Harry Walters had come across the lad being set upon by footpads a couple years back.
Roger had valiantly held them off from plucking his mother’s rent money but was fast losing the fight.
Harry assisted in making the odds a bit more even, then brought the lad to the O’Briens to get him fixed up.
He’d been working for the family ever since.
Newly eighteen, he was a handsome young man with a thick mane of black curly hair and a wicked punch that had earned him respect with Paddy’s Peelers.
“I’m on the trail of Eli’s father. Got a good lead today from one of my more trusted sources.” Roger grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “I think we’ll keep it to ourselves, though, until I get closer.”
“I’d hate to disappoint Eli,” agreed Ben. Eli’s father had married Eli’s mother when he already had a wife. After confessing, he’d left them both, and Eli had never seen him again.
Clayton Pierce burst through the door, green eyes blazing. “Hey ho,” he cried, slamming a bumper of ale in front of Ben, the contents slopping over the side onto the scarred oak. “Bess is bringing your pies. Did I miss anything?”
Ben rolled his eyes while Roger repeated the news. He was closest to Clayton out of all his brothers, and he envied the man his natural vivacity and charm. He hated to admit it, but Ben had been relieved when Clayton had found Genie, his fiancée. They would marry next month.
“That’s demmed excellent!” Clay pulled the cap from his auburn hair. “Well done, Lynch.”
Roger beamed at the praise. “Eli’s left Bow Street, and I started last week.”
First a man of all jobs for the O’Briens, he was now part of the investigative team. One of the requirements to be a Peeler was experience as a Runner. Ben knew Roger would shine. He was clever, hardworking, and loyal.
“How’s Miss Chapelle?” asked Ben. “I assume she is making her own dress?”
“Miss Chapelle?” Clayton rolled his eyes.
“I’m still on solicitor manners. How is Genie, then?”
“I don’t know how a woman can spend so much time with a needle,” said Clayton, shaking his head.
“Because she’s a modiste, and it’s how she earns a wage?” asked Ben, arching one brow. “Will she continue running her shop with her aunt after you’re married?”
“Can you imagine me telling her no?” A sheepish smile covered Clayton’s face. “She’s already said that, even when she’s with child, she can still wield a needle and thread.”
Ben slapped his brother on the back as the three men laughed. Clayton was another reason Ben had decided to consider marriage. He’d never seen Pierce this content, this satisfied with his life. Ben envied him—and Sam and Harry.
“I’ve been lurking,” began Clayton, waving the old wool cap in the air to indicate part of his disguise. “It seems with The Vicar’s top men falling from grace—or the gallows—there is some fighting over who will move up.”
“With the way he’s losing trusted men, I’d think they’d run the other way,” said Roger. “The odds don’t seem to favor being next to the boss.”
“Exactly what the problem is. No one wants to be the next martyr. A couple of them are even trying to find a way out.” He paused as Bess entered with Ben’s meal. The pretty barmaid scanned their faces, disappointment on her face. “Sorry, luv, Gus isn’t coming tonight.”
She shoved a brown curl into her mobcap and thrust her chin out.
“Why should I care whether he comes or goes?” Which they all knew was a big fat whisker.
It was no secret that Bess held a torch for Gus, who could think of no other woman except Nora.
But the triangle did not close since Nora only loved Gus as a brother.
Once they were alone again, Clayton continued, “I suspect the two who want to try a different path will soon be floating in the Thames. No one walks away from The Vicar’s congregation.”
“What a lovely thing to look forward to,” groaned Roger. “I heard he knows about the Peelers being involved.”
Clayton nodded. “Afraid so. We’ll have to be more careful. Seems our friend Rowlands wants to be the next napper to replace Mason. Harry will be indispensable with his talent for disguises. I’ve actually run into him before and not recognized him.”
Ben licked his fingers and finished the first pie.
The crust was flaky with just the right amount of crunch.
The steak and kidney mixed into the rich brown gravy dripped onto the plate.
He dipped the corner of the second pie into the brown puddle and took another bite.
“The sooner his identity is discovered, the safer London will be.”
Later that night, lying in bed, Ben wondered about the villain the Peelers had chased for so long.
They knew he had his fingers in several pots, the largest—that they knew of—was counterfeiting.
The forged banknotes had surfaced outside of Great Britain, returning to the London banks from India.
A place where the Crown had interests and investments.
But who had received them first and from whom?
Angus discovered the payees on the notes were difficult to track down, so they were most likely aliases.
So a man accepting the counterfeit notes had to have an accomplice within a bank in order to cash them.
Had those taking the notes known they were counterfeit?
Or were they given as bribes for some reason?
His eyes drooped close, and soon, he was dreaming of a beautiful Indian girl with black hair and deep-violet eyes. She wore a colorful sarong that clung to her body, dancing in slow undulations, her long graceful arms beckoning. There were bangles on her wrists that clinked as she moved.
Woof!
He peered on either side of the beautiful woman, looking for a dog. Was it part of the performance?
Pop!
Woof!
He opened his eyes with a smile on his face, then realized the sound had come from the window. He threw back the counterpane and dashed to the window, throwing up the sash just as the little terrier let out another bark.
“You were sleeping sound, Mr. Cooper,” said Miss Felton, smiling up at him. “I thought I might have to ask the landlady to knock on your door.”
Gazing down on her, Ben’s mind redressed her in the clothes she’d worn in his dreams. Heat rushed through him, both desire and embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I was in the middle of a dream, but the dog’s bark was misplaced. I think it’s what woke me up.”
“Are you feeling well? Do you usually sleep so hard?” she asked.
Ben shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But I’ll continue to pay you the extra just in case it happens again.”
He knew he wore a ridiculous grin on his face, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Then he noticed her eyes were darting from his eyes to his hair and back. She chewed her bottom lip as if holding back a laugh. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes.
Not again. Why did he have such bad luck?
“I must insist we meet during the day at least once. So you’ll know what I look like without disheveled hair.” Then the absurd smile returned. He needed to end this conversation before he made more of a fool of himself. “I swear I own a comb. Here, I’ll show you.”
He ducked from the window and grabbed the horn comb next to his basin and waved it at her.
So much for quitting before he made a fool of himself. Miss Felton only smiled placatingly, probably wondering about the numbskull man who had just hired her. If she was an intelligent girl, she’d run as fast as she could. Who knows what imbecile things he would do or say tomorrow.
Terry barked, his tail wagging furiously as his mistress tried to quiet him. At least the dog liked him.
“I don’t expect anyone to look their best when I’m waking them,” she said, mischief in those purplish-blue eyes. “I’m sure you’re a swell once your day has begun.”
“But not handsome?” Why did he just put her on the spot like that? Yes, he was well-dressed for his clients, but swell didn’t include his face.
She laughed, and the sound put the grin back on his face. “I’m sure you’re that too. Good day, Mr. Cooper.”
Then she whistled to her dog and practically ran down the street.
He should go back to bed and stay there for the day. Wait for her to come again tomorrow and try again. Or leave the poor woman alone before he frightened her off, and he was left to the devices of his landlady.