Lady gambit, p.9
Lady Gambit, page 9
She had spent the night thinking about what she should do. Sit like a stuffed goose waiting for men to solve her problems? Or become the master of her own destiny? The latter was not without risk. But if the incident outside Miss Darrow’s shop proved anything, a thug could abduct her at gunpoint without warning. And she refused to watch another brother suffer as Theo had.
Mr Flynn stared at her as the carriage rumbled along the tree-lined drive. “Now I know why your brothers keep you prisoner in the attic. You have a man’s grasp of logic and a woman’s skill for manipulation.”
“And only your passionate kisses can disarm me. What a shame I am merely your client. You have the wherewithal to silence me, sir, yet seem loathe to bend me to your will.”
He breathed deeply and rubbed his jaw. “Don’t tease me, madam.”
“I am simply stating a fact.” One that would get them into a wealth of trouble should they dare to lock lips again.
“A fact we should put far from our minds.”
“I fear the moment will be forever ingrained in my memory. I must admit, your ragged pants and wandering hands led me to believe you were equally enamoured. I’m struggling to understand how you managed to fool me.”
He grumbled to himself, his frustration apparent. “What do you want me to say, Miss Chance? That I’m disturbed to find I’m anything but a gentleman? That the need to ruin you for any other man simmers in my blood? That it took every ounce of resolve I possess not to seek you out last night and finish what we started?”
The raw passion in his voice had heat pooling between her thighs. Mr Flynn was a strong, virile man, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. How fortunate she was accustomed to running with the pack.
“I lost my head yesterday and beg your forgiveness.” He sounded a fraction calmer now. “You have my word it won’t happen again.”
It would.
Something powerful existed between them.
Something both were too weak to fight.
“You’re forgiven, Mr Flynn. Let us not mention it again.”
She turned her attention to the passing scenery. Summer fields gave way to a quaint row of shops. A lady who rarely ventured to pastures new might press her face to the window and study the world with eager enthusiasm. But the man in the opposite seat dominated her thoughts.
He remained equally subdued.
Doubtless he was hoping Mr Daventry would squash her idea like one did an ant beneath their boot. But the master of the elite group of enquiry agents had one weakness—his love for his wife.
That proved the case when she arrived at his business premises in Hart Street and explained her dilemma. “There is some confusion surrounding Mr Flynn’s appointment, sir.”
Mr Daventry invited her to sit in one of two chairs opposite his desk in the study. “I’m not sure why? I believe my intentions were quite clear.”
She glanced at Mr Flynn, who was leaning against the wall, his arms folded firmly to convey his objection. “Your wife paid Mr Flynn’s fee. An amount he accepted to find my parents. Your need of his services in a criminal investigation is a separate issue.”
Mr Daventry leaned back in his leather chair and studied her over steepled fingers. “The suspect tried to abduct you, which—”
“May have nothing to do with me seeking my parents.” She gave a half-shrug. “If Mr Flynn can no longer take my case, he should return the fee. That way, I may hire someone else to question Mrs Haggert and Nora Adkins. I shall visit Mrs Daventry this afternoon in the hope she might recommend another man for the task.”
“You’ll find no one as capable as me,” Mr Flynn countered.
No, he was exceptional in every regard.
A confused hum left Mr Daventry’s lips. “I don’t see why we cannot tackle both cases together. I thought we’d agreed to question Mrs Haggert this morning. Isn’t that why Flynn is here?”
She cleared her throat. “I wish to assist in the investigation.”
It was ludicrous to think they would permit a woman to act as a sleuth, but Mr Daventry had employed female agents before, and she was invested in the outcome of this case.
Mr Flynn snorted. “I cannot solve a crime while protecting Miss Chance. She should remain at Mile End with her brother.”
“Am I the only one who can see that wasting my days at Mile End is illogical?” She recalled a comment Mr Daventry had made only yesterday. “The answers lie within my mind. Visiting old haunts might trigger a memory. I see no issue as long as I avoid contact with my family and stay away from Fortune’s Den.”
“What of Theodore’s recuperation?” Mr Flynn challenged.
“I trust Miss Darrow to take care of my brother.” The modiste blamed herself for Theo being at her shop under false pretences and refused to leave his bedside until the threat of fever had passed. “I would rather draw the villain out than place my brother in danger. My assistance might prove invaluable.”
A mischievous smile touched Mr Daventry’s lips. “I suspect my wife would agree with you. She’s never been one to sit idly while men do her bidding.”
“Please tell me you’re not considering her outlandish proposal?” Mr Flynn pushed away from the wall. “We gave Aaron Chance our word. We swore to protect her at all costs.”
“And we will,” Mr Daventry said casually.
“I won’t be kept in the dark, Mr Flynn. I’m determined to discover the truth about my parents with or without your help.”
Instinct said it was the only way to protect the men she loved. Her brothers would die for her and she had to do everything in her power to prevent that from happening.
Mr Flynn closed his eyes briefly. “It seems I’m left with little choice in the matter. I made a vow to keep you safe. A vow I mean to honour. I have no option but to remain at your side until you have the answers you seek, Miss Chance.”
Mr Daventry braced his hands on the desk and stood. “It’s settled then. We shall venture to St Giles together.”
Not wishing to gloat or give a jubilant grin, she merely nodded. “Is there anything I should know before we leave? Anything that will help in our endeavour?”
Mr Daventry reached into his desk drawer and removed a pocket pistol, powder and shot. “Keep these in your reticule. I’m told Aaron taught you how to use such a weapon.”
“Until I could hit a bottle from ten yards.”
“Anyone can hit a target, Miss Chance. Can you fire at a villain when your partner’s life depends upon it?”
She glanced at Mr Flynn, her heart clenching as a vision of his blood-soaked body flashed before her eyes. The thought of losing him left her nauseous. “I owe Mr Flynn my life. His safety is of personal importance to me.” She would fight with her bare hands, tackle a gang of hardened thugs.
Mr Daventry seemed appeased. “Excellent. Oh, before I forget, just one word of warning. There are wolves in the hen house. Never look Mrs Haggert in the eye and call her a liar.”
Seven Dials
St Giles
The five-minute walk from Hart Street to Seven Dials was not without incident. They had stopped to help a barrow boy with a broken wheel. Ladies lingering near an alley had called to Mr Flynn, offering lewd ways to wipe the scowl from his handsome face. Perhaps that’s why he insisted she take hold of his arm as they navigated the crowded streets.
She settled her fingers above the crook of his elbow, resting them against his bulging bicep. Heavens. He was a spectacular specimen of a man, spectacular in every regard, even when in a gruff mood.
“Our working relationship will be much easier if you accept my appointment,” she said, attempting to ease the tension between them.
“You know why I raised an objection,” he whispered.
“Yes, because you’re worried you might kiss me again?” She brought him to a halt in the heart of Seven Dials, where a mob had once destroyed the sundial pillar. “There’s really no need for concern. There are more important things to consider. I doubt either of us will make the same mistake.”
While Mr Daventry spoke to a blind man begging outside the saddle shop and dropped a coin into his grubby hat, Mr Flynn wished to correct any misconception.
“My reticence has nothing to do with our mistake. Do you know how dangerous it is for a woman on these streets?”
Not wanting him to glimpse fear in her eyes, she kept her gaze fixed on the blind man, tapping Mr Daventry’s boots with his stick. Nor did she wish to look at Mr Flynn’s mouth and remember how wonderful he’d made her feel.
“I lived here for a year with Mrs Haggert.” She had no memory of the hardships she’d suffered and had likely stolen more reticules than she’d eaten hunks of bread. “And we were on the streets for two weeks before Aaron secured lodgings with Mrs Maloney.”
None of them would have survived had it been the dead of winter. Then, a mere week after they’d found a safe haven, Aaron had almost died in a fight with one of Mrs Haggert’s thugs.
“That was sixteen years ago.”
“Crime was just as rife.”
Mr Daventry called to them. He pointed to Little Earl Street and beckoned them to follow as he fell into step beside the blind man.
“I’m used to working alone,” came Mr Flynn’s next excuse.
“I’m not used to working at all. This is new to us both.”
He ground his teeth. “What part of this is hard to understand?”
“None of it. As colleagues, we’re required to show restraint.” She looked at him as they avoided the street seller, determined to sell them a broom. “It’s only natural we’re finding it difficult. You’ve not kissed anyone for years. A slimy peck from a fool with rotten breath is the limit of my experience.”
He gave a mocking snort. “I trust you’re referring to Mr Harper.”
He had remembered the man’s name.
“Of course. You taste divine and kiss like you’ve mastered the art. Indeed, you have filled my heart with hope. The law of averages says I may encounter another man who appeals to me as much as you do.”
He fell silent, which was just as well because the blind man stopped at the entrance to Monmouth Court—a passage leading deep into the warrens of St Giles. Two boys wearing smart clothes and clean caps stood blocking the entrance, looking as proud as the King’s guards.
Mr Daventry removed a pencil from his pocket and scribbled on his calling card. He shoved the card and a gold coin into one boy’s hand. “Take this to your mistress.”
While the boy scampered away down the alley, Delphine studied her surroundings. Nothing seemed familiar. Not the rowdy drunkards gathered outside the inn. Not the barefooted children clinging to their mother’s dirty skirts. Not the hungry mites with their noses pressed to the baker’s shop window, inhaling the smell of freshly baked bread.
Guilt flared as she said a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord. But for the grace of God, this would have been her home.
There were charities to help the needy. Ways she might make a difference to people’s lives instead of wasting her days tidying her armoire.
She gripped Mr Flynn’s arm a little tighter. “When this is over, I shall find more useful ways to spend my time. Aaron rescued me from a fate worse than death. I must repay the debt and help as many poor souls as I can.”
He covered her hand with his own, an innocent gesture that caused a quickening deep in her core. “Walking these streets would make anyone count their blessings.”
“You would make an excellent mentor for orphaned boys.” There were lost children all over the city. “They need hope, and a purpose that doesn’t involve stealing food to survive.”
Ideas burst into her mind. Each one of her brothers had a skill that proved invaluable. She could start a charitable foundation. First, she needed to gain her freedom by uncovering the secrets of the past.
The boy returned and beckoned them into the alley.
Fear fluttered in her chest as she entered the narrow walkway. The hairs on her nape prickled to attention. Faint memories slid into her mind as she passed the bow windows of various shops.
Look what I’ve found, Mrs Haggert.
Well. Well. Ain’t you the little magpie?
She concentrated on following Mr Daventry, putting one foot in front of the other, her sights fixed on the black paint-chipped door at the end of the passage—the gateway to hell.
“We don’t have to do this,” Mr Flynn whispered.
“There’s no other way to ensure my brothers’ safety.” She did not hide her growing apprehension. In Mr Flynn’s company, buried emotions found their way to the surface. “Though the truth will set me free, instinct says I have every reason to be afraid.”
“No one will hurt you on my watch, Miss Chance.” He spoke with a lover’s warmth and tenacity. “Colleagues, friends, whatever we are to each other, I’ll kill the first man who lays a hand on you.”
She resisted the urge to throw herself into his arms and hug him for his unwavering loyalty. “I pray it won’t come to that. I doubt my declaration will count for much, but I’d die before I’d let you risk your life for me.”
Their eyes remained locked for a heartbeat.
But then the black door creaked open, and her breath caught in her throat. Not even the heat of Mr Flynn’s gaze could chase the chill of fear from her bones.
A stick of a man beckoned them into the four-story house with one bony finger. “This way. You’ll wait for Mrs Haggert in the drawing room.” His skeletal features and sunken eyes would make any child believe in monsters.
A group of boys appeared on the landing, gawping and whispering amongst themselves. A stern voice barked at them from the shadows, and they scurried away like terrified rats.
The drawing room was like Mrs Maloney’s sitting room, a cosy place with a stoked fire, dark walls and comfortable velvet chairs. A portrait hung above the mantel. The young, dark-haired woman looked almost regal in bearing.
Nothing seemed familiar until she noticed the iron fire tools with the gold ormolu handles.
Whine again, and I’ll take that shovel to your bare arse.
The door opened, and an old woman with white curly hair appeared. She wore a fashionable black dress, red rouge on her cheeks and lips, though it failed to warm her pale complexion or soften her stern features.
The woman took one look at her, and though her wide mouth formed a grin, her black eyes were as cold as glass. “Well, well. What have we here? Foolish chit. Have you learnt nothing? No one returns to the coop. You know that, Caterina.”
Chapter Eight
Mrs Haggert captured Miss Chance’s chin between her gnarled fingers. “You always were a pretty little thing. As dainty as a spring bud. I knew this day would come, though I never thought Aaron Chance would be stupid enough to let you set foot in my house again.”
Dorian froze.
The air crackled with tension.
He’d known this was a mistake.
Like the gorgon Medusa, Mrs Haggert looked at Miss Chance through unforgiving eyes. “Where is he? Aaron? He ain’t dead. And he ain’t the sort to hide in the shadows. Don’t lie to me now.”
Miss Chance’s bottom lip quivered. “Aaron doesn’t know I’m here.” Her voice carried a childlike quality, as if she instinctively knew how to appease the crone. Before Mrs Haggert could bombard her with questions, she uttered, “You called me Caterina. May I ask why?”
Mrs Haggert cackled. “Ain’t that your name? I know you took a knock to the head—happen that’s why you don’t remember—but when Davey found you, that’s what you said.”
“Davey?” Miss Chance looked baffled. “May I speak to him?”
Mrs Haggert released her. “The clodpole got caught swindling the chandler on Tower Street years ago. Good riddance. I’ll not have a grubby little thief disturbing my boys’ education.”
The woman liked her victims to think she had a charitable heart.
They soon discovered it was rotten to the core.
“One of your boys is locked in a cell in Bow Street,” Daventry said.
“And the rotter can stay there.” Mrs Haggert clicked her tongue. “I try to run an honest house, and that’s how these ungrateful mites repay me. When a boy is hungry, it’s hard to tell if he’s the Lord’s child or the devil’s spawn.”
Daventry gestured to the sofa. “May we sit? We’re here on an official police matter, though whatever we discuss today won’t be relayed to Bow Street.”
“Always the gentleman, Mr Daventry. You know just what to say to win a lady’s heart.” Mrs Haggert rubbed her bony hands together, thrust two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. “But nothing in life is free, sir. You know that better than anyone.”
Upon hearing the shrill sound, two men burst into the drawing room. Their necks were as thick as the average man’s thigh. Their squashed noses said they were used to taking punches. They stood like marble statues, blocking the doorway.
“It’s like paying the boatman,” Mrs Haggert continued with a mirthless chuckle. “If you want information from the underworld, you must show me the blunt.” She gestured to Daventry’s onyx cufflinks. “A man used to rolling up his shirt sleeves don’t need fancy adornments.”
Daventry stiffened. “My wife bought me these cufflinks as a wedding gift. I would rather slay everyone here than part with them.”
Mrs Haggert met his challenging stare but knew not to provoke the devil. “Perhaps it’s best I hear what you want before we negotiate a price. I’ll not have blood on my new rug.”
Miss Chance wasn’t listening.
She was studying the room, staring at the men, trying to remember.
A knock to the head might affect a person’s memory temporarily, but not for sixteen years. Dorian wondered if she had unwittingly chosen to forget the traumas she had suffered before becoming Delphine Chance.
“Let’s hear from you, Mr Flynn.” Mrs Haggert’s soulless eyes were upon him, boring through his defences. “Happen you’ve been scouring the shadows, looking for boys who ain’t lost. I’m surprised you’d show your face here. You know we shoot dogs that come sniffing around the coop.”
