Chapter 4
Adrian stalked through the park in search of something — anything — that could offer some clue as to what had become of Lady Edwina. He needed a place to start, information besides the details provided by Wrengate.
“Perhaps we should take a moment to review the facts,” Murry suggested while keeping pace with Adrian. “It feels like we’re walking around without purpose.”
Adrian huffed a breath and immediately stopped.
After insisting Samantha not be involved in the active search for Lady Edwina, he’d taken her advice and asked Murry for help.
The trusted valet had served in Adrian’s employ for more than a decade.
During that time, he’d improved his education and speech dramatically, due to his constant interaction with Adrian.
He’d become not only a close confidant but also a man upon whom Adrian knew he could always depend.
Even when it came to doing away with those who threatened the Crofts.
He'd been present when Adrian kicked the stool from under Clive Newton, and had later helped hang his corpse from Saint Bartholomew’s church steeple. He’d also assisted Samantha when she’d planned Adrian’s prison escape, and had nearly died last year while trying to protect her.
There was no man Adrian would rather have by his side when there was a chance of facing danger.
“You’re right,” he told him. “Maybe reviewing the facts would help us discover a detail we’ve not yet considered.”
“We know she left home the day before yesterday at some point between two-thirty and three in the afternoon,” Murry said. “While Wrengate was honing his boxing skills at Reed’s.”
“She snuck out without informing the servants of her departure,” Adrian added. “However, her lady’s maid recalls seeing her in the library at two-twenty. When the maid went looking for her later, to ask if she wished to go for her daily walk, she was gone.”
The hour was what had prompted them to come to Hyde Park first. According to Wrengate, his sister had always enjoyed walking. It gave her a chance to reflect, he’d said.
It was this remark that caught Adrian’s attention since it suggested she might prefer walking by herself, unaccompanied.
“She always does so at Faintree Hall,” Wrengate had told him, “but she knows it isn’t safe to do so in London. I made that clear when I insisted she always have a chaperone with her.”
And yet, there was nothing to suggest Lady Edwina had been abducted from the house. The absence of her pelisse, a reticule, and one pair of walking shoes was clear indication that she had gone out alone.
“We also know she’d not been herself since Orwell’s murder,” Adrian told Murry.
A thoughtful nod and then, “You said she met him the same evening during the Moorland House ball and that they danced?”
“Exactly so. My wife says Lady Edwina was smitten with Orwell but that she feared her brother would not approve of her setting her cap for a tradesman.”
“As much as I wish I could fault Wrengate for being a condescending prick, his stance on this is the norm within the peerage.” Murry sighed. “Thank Christ I’m not one of them. I’d likely hang myself on account of self-loathing alone.”
“Hmm…” Adrian scanned their surroundings while scratching the back of his neck. “This park is vast. She could have taken any path. Or she might not even have come here.”
“I reckon she did,” Murry said.
“Based on what?”
“A hunch.” When Adrian snapped his attention back to Murry, he simply shrugged. “Does she have any close friends here in Town?”
“I don’t think so. If she does, Wrengate failed to mention them but…” Adrian considered. “This is her first visit to London as an adult, and since she arrived about two months ago, she’s hardly had enough time to form such relationships.”
“Meaning she had no one but her brother and the servants in whom to confide her thoughts and feelings,” Murry pointed out.
“Which she did not.” Adrian frowned. “She suffered alone, and that could have made her feel trapped.”
“For a woman struggling with shock, and used to walking alone at Wrengate’s estate, I figure she longed to escape to a place that was big enough to contain her emotions. Without bringing company with her.”
“Foolish.”
“Agreed,” said Murry, “but if we’re right about her state of mind, she might not have been thinking clearly.”
“We’re making assumptions,” Adrian muttered. He hated that. Speculating was one sure way of ending up chasing a false lead. “What we need is a witness. If we can find someone who saw her, we might have a better sense of what happened.”
Unfortunately, Wrengate had dismissed the idea of publishing news of her disappearance in the papers and requesting information from the public. In the event she’d run off, whether alone or with someone else, he hoped to find her before the debacle turned into a scandal.
“Maybe we should return in a few hours, around the time she would have come. Just in case someone else has a habit of walking at three in the afternoon, in which case their paths might have crossed.”
Adrian nodded. “In the meantime, we should visit the nearby teashops and bakeries. Anywhere she might have gone for refreshment. We’ll ask the employees if they can recall a woman of her description stopping by.”
The pair headed back toward the park’s front entrance.
As they approached, Adrian spotted the flower girl who’d sought his help last year when she’d warned him about the mistreatment of children she knew.
Thanks to her, he’d been able to save them all, including Isak, the street urchin Samantha had used as a lookout and messenger boy before she and Adrian married.
Back then, she’d been working against him on Harlowe’s behalf, her directive being to find proof of Adrian’s criminal ties.
Chest tightening with the reminder, he paused for a second and took a deep breath.
A great deal had changed since then. Samantha had proven her loyalty to him several times over.
He loved her and knew without doubt that she loved him in return.
No sense in letting emotions linked to the past overshadow that.
He relaxed his posture and glanced at Murry. The valet raised a brow, in response to which Adrian shook his head. It’s nothing.
Returning his attention to the flower girl, he continued onward. Rose was her name, if memory served. She must have arrived recently, for she was still in the process of putting her bouquets in order.
Adrian cleared his throat. “I wonder if I might purchase a couple of those.”
She raised her gaze to his, her eyes instantly widening with recognition. “Mr. Croft.”
“Indeed.” He smiled to assure her all was well before saying, “You’ll be happy to know that Isak is in good health and thriving. Thanks to you.”
“I’m glad, tho’ I’m sure that’s more to yer credit than mine.” She pulled two pretty bouquets consisting of yellow and blue flowers from inside her basket and offered them to him. “These ’ill brighten up yer home. A penny a piece.”
Adrian retrieved a pound and held the coin toward her.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve no change fer that amount. Maybe later, when I’ve sold some more flowers.”
“That’s all right,” Adrian told her. “I’m not requesting change in the traditional sense. To make up the difference, I’d like you to answer a few of my questions.”
When he extended his hand farther toward her, insisting she take the coin, she snatched it up and pocketed it as though it were the rarest of gems. “Go on.”
“I’m trying to locate a woman who went missing the day before last,” Adrian told her while Murry remained a few paces away, quietly waiting.
“It’s my understanding she went out alone, without a chaperone, and never returned.
In the event she decided to go for a walk, I’m inclined to believe she came here since the park is close to her home. ”
Rose twisted her lips and tilted her head. “You’re wantin’ to know if I saw a woman who should ’ave been with a maid but wasn’t?”
Adrian nodded. “Exactly. She’s four and twenty years old with dark brown hair. According to what I’ve been told, she was wearing a lavender blue pelisse over a light pink dress and a straw bonnet with ribbons to match the pelisse.”
“She would have arrived here at around three in the afternoon,” Murry added without stepping closer.
Rose glanced his way, then said, “In that case, I’d not ’ave seen her as I was busy fetchin’ more flowers. Always do before the fashionable hour begins.”
In other words, Rose couldn’t help. Sighing, Adrian shoved his hands in his pockets and started turning away. “Thank you anyway.”
“I didn’t say I don’t know anythin’.” She waited for him to return his attention to her before saying, “Could be Alfie ’as more to say. Accordin’ to Hewie, that is.”
“Who’s Hewie?” Adrian asked, unsure of where this conversation was going.
“A newsie.” She shrugged. “Keeps me company when ’e’s able.”
“And what did Hewie say to make you think Alfie” — whoever he was – “will be able to lead me to this missing woman?”
“Well… Alfie was braggin’ to Hewie about the five pounds ’e made on a lark, ’elping some toff play a joke.”
“And?”
“It involved snatchin’ a lady’s reticule so the toff could play ’ero. Might be unrelated, but maybe it’s not. Could be the woman you’re seekin’ ran off with the fellow.”
Adrian glanced at Murry and spotted the interest that shone in his eyes, then asked Rose, “Any idea where Alfie is now?”
“It’s still early, so… Probably at Saint George’s, waitin’ for the parishioners to leave.” When Adrian arched a brow, she explained. “Crowds make for easier pickin’s.”
“Of course.” Adrian scanned the area surrounding the park entrance. Only a few other people were about. Later in the day it would be overcrowded.
He checked his pocket watch for the time. Church service would end in another ten minutes, which was more or less the time it would take for them to reach Saint George’s.
Intent on finding the only possible witness to Lady Edwina’s disappearance, he told Rose briskly, “Describe Alfie to me.”
* * *
It wasn’t hard for James Murry to spot the ten-year-old boy Croft’s flower girl had described. Black hair, scrawny appearance, scruffy clothes, and most telling of all, the foreign features suggesting he was at least half gypsy if not entirely so.
“Do you want me to grab him for you?” James asked Croft without letting Alfie out of his sight for so much as a second.
“We can do it together. I’ll approach from—”
“Devil take it, I think he’s spotted us.” Indeed, the boy was staring straight at them. A heartbeat later, he was dashing toward the opposite side of Hanover Square.
Not waiting for orders, James went in pursuit. The boy was young and nimble, but James’s legs were longer. Plus, he knew Alfie’s goal would probably be to reach Saint Giles and disappear into the slum.
This suspicion was quickly confirmed when the boy dodged a carriage while sprinting straight across Oxford Street. James followed, heedless of those who cursed the reckless behavior.
Deciding to try and cut Alfie off, James veered left at the next intersection instead of following him through it. He quickened his pace, counting on the fact that there were no alleys the youth could slip through before he reached Tottenham Court Road, and praying he wouldn’t think to double back.
Three side streets later, James sprinted right and halted, his back pressed into the wall of the building behind him. He drew a ragged breath and ignored the almost painful pounding of his heart against his chest.
Alfie would have to come this way since the road he’d taken had no other exit. Resisting the temptation to look around the corner, James waited while trying to isolate the sound of approaching footfalls.
Hearing nothing but silence, he’d almost given up when the boy emerged, carefully stepping out of the street and producing a terrified yelp when he realized he wasn’t alone.
Before he could pivot and flee, James snatched him by the front of his jacket. “I’m in no mood to chase you all over creation, so the next time you try and run, I’ll take you straight to the nearest workhouse. Is that clear?”
Instead of responding, Alfie glared at James as though he were the cause behind his wretched existence.
“I want information from you, that’s all.”
A disbelieving snort followed along with a sneer. “Ye’re a toff who saw me pick another toff’s pockets. Only thing I sees ye doin’ is ’andin’ me over to Bow Street.”
“Tempting, that’s for sure. But I think I’d rather talk to you. More use in that. I’ll even give you five pounds for the trouble. Same as you got from that other fellow a couple of days ago, as long as you tell me what happened then.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Alfie replied.
He tried to shake himself free from James’s grasp, only to end up dangling with his feet off the ground when James hoisted him upward. The boy began wheezing, then coughing.
James leaned in, his patience so thin it was dangerously close to snapping. “Was the woman you stole from wearing a lavender-blue pelisse?”
“How’s I supposed to know?” Alfie squirmed like a fish on the end of a hook. “It was just blue.”
“And her dress?”
“Pink, like her reticule.”
James lowered Alfie back onto his feet but didn’t release him. “What about the man who paid you to steal from her?”
“He was ’avin’ a bit of sport is all. No ’arm done.”
“Since the woman in question has since disappeared and you may have helped him abduct her, I disagree with you, lad.” He dug his fingers more firmly into the front of Alfie’s jacket. “Any idea who the man was?”
“That information will cost ye another five pounds.”
“Or,” James suggested, “I take you back to Croft House with me, lock you in the basement an—”
“Marsdale.” Alfie spat the name as though it were the key to his very survival.
A shiver rolled over James’s shoulders. Surely he must have misheard. “Marsdale?”
The level of terror on Alfie’s face was more appropriate to someone being dangled over the side of a cliff. “That’s what ’e said when I asked ’im ’ow I’d be sure not to get in trouble for doin’ as ’e asked. I swear it. Just please…let me go.”
James stared at the boy. “Are you certain that was the name he gave?”
“Yes. He was a bit shorter than you, slimmer too, and with lighter ‘air. You can check the callin’ card he gave me if ye don’t believe me. It’s in me pocket.” Alfie jutted his chin toward his left, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.
James reached inside the specified pocket and pulled out a cluster of items the boy had collected. Still holding him in his grasp, James sorted through all the bits and bobs as best he could until he found the card.
Edward Pryce, Earl of Marsdale, Number 2 Berkley Square.
Incredulous, he released a slow breath. “Well, I’ll be damned.”