Chapter Five

Charlotte was a wicked, wicked girl. That’s what her aunt would say. She would say there was something wrong with Charlotte because her mother had been a whore and she’d passed her evilness on to her daughter. It had been a constant barrage that Charlotte had learned to ignore over time.

But right now, this instant, Charlotte knew she was wicked because she was still waiting outside the gentleman’s club. Waiting for her rescuer to exit. Why? What do you plan to do when he does leave?

She was every kind of fool for standing here. It was cold. Spring pushed aside by winter’s last gasp. She was loitering under an awning of a fashionable store, and she didn’t have much time before the constable shooed her away…again. And still she stood there like the imbecile she was—or the wicked girl she was—just to get one more glimpse of him.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

Disgusted with herself, she pushed away from the doorway to head back to her cold lodgings, and that was when he stepped out of the club. But this time he was with someone. A someone Charlotte had never seen before.

The other man was as opposite her hero as one could get. Not overly tall but broad shouldered, his clothes marking him as wealthy and a bit of a dandy. Not ostentatious, but neither was his attire conservative, like her rescuer.

They were talking earnestly as they descended the steps. The other man carried a cane, but it was obvious it was a prop, for show. Her rescuer did not have such affectations.

They turned right, the other man talking away as her rescuer nodded occasionally, his mouth pulled down in a frown, his gaze trained on the path before him.

Charlotte’s new brain, the one created for survival in the rookery, recognized that he was ripe for pickpocketing. Thieves knew to look for those that were preoccupied.

She slipped out from the doorway and scooted across the street to fall in behind them, sauntering a few feet back. The other man waved his hand occasionally to make his point. Her rescuer interjected a few times. Once they laughed together, and the sound floated behind them to wrap around her. For a moment she longed for such companionship. She had Suzette, but they rarely saw each other, and never had they laughed together. Their lives were more about scraping a living and trying to find their next meal.

She thought of Sarah. Beautiful, lovely Sarah. They had been friends nearly since birth, but Charlotte had not seen Sarah since coming to live with her aunt. Aunt Martha had forbidden her friendship with Sarah. Charlotte missed Sarah almost as much as she missed her papa. So much that she would not allow herself to think about her.

The men had walked a few blocks, and Charlotte was becoming nervous, for they were entering the fashionable part of town, where shops gave way to larger homes, spaced farther apart, and governesses and nannies pushed prams through grassy parks.

She knew that just beyond those homes, a few streets away, was the rookery, but in these fancy streets such a thing could be ignored.

The men stopped at the corner and conversed for a bit. Charlotte was becoming uncomfortable. She couldn’t dawdle for much longer before someone became suspicious.

To her relief they didn’t speak for very long and parted ways, the other man disappearing toward St. James Square. Her rescuer stood quite still for a bit before seeming to come to a decision and turned right, toward Piccadilly.

Every part of her screamed not to, but she followed, curious as to his destination. Did he live in this part of town? If so, which house was his? Was there a hot meal sitting on the table in anticipation of his homecoming? Piccadilly was a well-off area where Sarah lived. If this man lived here, he was quite well-off, indeed.

Feeling like a voyeur, but unable to help herself, she continued to follow. The crowds started thinning out, and eventually, if they went much farther, he was going to notice her behind him. She supposed she could always tell him that he was the one who had saved her life and she’d seen him walking and wanted to thank him.

But he would want to know what a dirty, scrappy lad was doing in this part of town, and she would have no answer. And then he would call the constable and she would be hauled away.

He turned down another street, and Charlotte had a funny feeling in her stomach. She knew this street. Sarah lived on this street.

Charlotte searched for her best friend’s house, a powerful yearning overcoming her. If she knocked on the front door she would be welcomed inside, no questions asked. Sarah’s mother would give her a fierce hug, and Charlotte would be fed and bathed and taken care of.

But she also knew she couldn’t do that to Sarah or her family. There were too many secrets she kept, too much she knew, and if her presence were discovered she would be forced to return to her aunt’s house, and she couldn’t go back there.

…

Jacob jogged up the steps of the Crawford residence. Warm lights shined from the windows, illuminating the dreary day.

He’d debated coming here, mostly because he knew he shouldn’t involve himself in the disappearance of Charlotte Morris. However, Lady Morris’s odd behavior, coupled with the fact that Charlotte was directly related to a formidable family who refused to acknowledge her existence, intrigued him. And then there were the dead bodies.

What if Charlotte was one of them? Didn’t her family have a right to know? Even if her family was coldhearted and refused to acknowledge her?

But if he were to get to the heart of the matter and be completely honest with himself, it was Charlotte herself that was prodding Jacob on. He felt she needed a voice, someone to fight for her, whatever her circumstances were. Call it mad, but he wanted to be Charlotte’s voice. Maybe there was one last thing he could do before fully stepping into Society.

He knocked on the Crawfords’ door and glanced over his shoulder. There was an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades that made him uncomfortable, as if someone were watching him.

The door was opened by a pleasant-looking butler.

Jacob presented his calling card. “Jacob Baker for Lady Sarah Crawford.”

The butler nodded and let Jacob in, closing the door behind him on the chill and damp of the day. The Crawford entryway was well lit, but more importantly, it was warm. Jacob shrugged out of his coat and handed it, along with his hat, to the butler. He was admitted to a formal sitting room where the butler instructed him to wait.

He meandered through the room, looking at the paintings of past Crawfords and the knickknacks that made up the Crawfords’ lives.

He paused at the tall window that overlooked the street and peered out, that uneasy feeling following him into the house. The day was growing darker with rain clouds, and he knew he was perilously close to being past the proper time for calling on people. A steady pitter-patter of rain pelted the window, and he wished he were back at his house, in front of his fire, with his law books, researching a new case.

The door behind him opened, and through the reflection of the window he saw a woman enter. When he turned he surmised that this could not be Lady Sarah, unless Charlotte’s good friend was about twenty years older than her.

“Lord Ashland.” The older woman smiled as she glided toward him, and he presumed that this must be Sarah’s mother, Lady Crawford.

She had the latest gossip. Armbruster was correct. Everyone knew.

He bowed. “Lady Crawford, I presume?”

She nodded, her eyes curious. She was a handsome woman and, in her youth, would have been a beauty of the first water. Blond hair swept away from her face, and a lithe figure was clothed in a very becoming blue gown.

“I have come to speak to Lady Sarah, if you don’t mind.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Of course I don’t mind. She’s on her way down. In the meantime, I will ring for tea.”

“Oh, you don’t need to go to the trouble. I just wanted a few words with her.”

The smile slowly faded, and Jacob suddenly realized what this looked like. A newly minted, available earl calling on an available young miss on the spur of the moment.

He wanted to tell Lady Crawford that he was not here to court Lady Sarah, but then he realized something important. If they presumed he was here for romantic reasons they would be more willing to let him speak to Sarah.

So instead he smiled. “Tea would be nice. Thank you.”

Everything once again right with her presumption, she went about ordering the tea while Jacob tried to figure out how to get out of the mess he’d inadvertently created.

Lady Sarah appeared as the tea rolled in. She was a beautiful young woman, an exact replica of her mother, twenty years younger.

She approached him, her smile as warm as the tea was going to be.

Jacob bowed over her hand. “Forgive me for arriving unannounced.”

“All is forgiven,” she said. “Please, let’s sit.”

To Jacob’s relief, Lady Crawford took her tea to the other side of the room and let the two of them have some privacy.

After they were settled, and a sip of tea lay warm in his stomach, Jacob gathered his thoughts. “I’ve actually come to talk about Miss Charlotte Morris,” he said.

Sarah’s hand jerked, and she placed her full cup of tea in her saucer with a forceful clatter, making her mother look up with a slight frown.

Lady Sarah put her cup and saucer on the table and faced Jacob fully.

“What about Charlotte Morris?” Sarah asked in a low voice so her mother didn’t overhear.

Jacob scooted closer to the edge of his seat, closer to Sarah, but not close enough to cause concern. “I hear you two were good friends.”

“We are.”

Present tense. That was interesting.

“When was the last time you heard from her?” he asked.

“Why should I tell you?”

Protective, as well.

Jacob weighed the information he had, trying to decide what and how much to tell Sarah. The hell with it. He’d tell her what he knew and see where it went from there.

“Lady Morris paid me a visit.”

Sarah’s lips twisted in distaste.

“She asked me to locate Charlotte.”

Sarah’s gaze widened. “Locate? You mean she’s missing?”

Jacob hesitated. “She’s been missing for almost three weeks now.”

Sarah sat back, clearly stunned. Her fear-filled gaze met his. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you had some answers.”

Sarah shook her head, mute.

“Lady Morris seemed…”

“Harsh? Cruel? Unfeeling?”

“Stern. Rigid.”

Sarah twined her fingers together. Her knuckles were white. “You’re far nicer than I am regarding that witch.”

Jacob shot a glance at Lady Crawford, but she was intent with her needlework.

“You don’t hold a high esteem for Lady Morris?”

“She’s a miserable woman whose goal is to make everyone around her just as miserable.”

“Charlotte didn’t like living there?”

“Charlotte hated it.”

“Did Lady Morris abuse her?” Jacob found a hard kernel of anger at the thought of Charlotte being beaten.

“Maybe. Probably. Charlotte never said. But there were other things. She called Charlotte’s mother a whore and told Charlotte that she was a whore, too. She made Charlotte pray for hours on end, on her knees, on a rough floor. Sin to Lady Morris is worse than, well, there is nothing worse than sin in her eyes, and everything is sinful.”

Jacob absorbed this new information.

“She’s not a nice woman, my lord.”

“No. It doesn’t sound like it.”

“I’m not surprised Charlotte ran away.”

He looked at her sharply. “Do you think she ran away?”

“Well of course. What else… You don’t think…” Her eyes widened. “Do you think Lady Morris did something to her?”

He thought of the dead women but refrained from mentioning them. It was a delicate subject, not appropriate for mixed company. But more than that he didn’t want to worry Lady Sarah unnecessarily.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to Charlotte.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “You said Lady Morris asked you to locate Charlotte. I’m assuming she’s paying you?”

“Yes. No. What I mean is that yes, she offered to pay me to find Charlotte, but I turned the offer down.”

Sarah grinned. “I’m sure she hated that. So, if you’re not being paid, why are you here asking about Charlotte?”

Jacob looked down into his empty teacup he was still holding and carefully put the cup and saucer on the table next to Sarah’s. “I don’t know. I’m intrigued by the whole thing. I’m curious about what might have happened to Charlotte. Where did she go? Where is she now?”

Sarah contemplated him for some time, as if she were weighing a decision. “Charlotte and I became friends when we were younger. Her father rented some acreage from my father. Just a little land to farm so he could feed himself and his daughter. Nothing much. He loved Charlotte to distraction. My mother had been friends with Charlotte’s mother when they were younger, and my mother checked on Mr. Morris and Charlotte occasionally. My mother tried her best to be a mother figure to Charlotte, but then Mr. Morris died, and Charlotte was forced to live with her terrible aunt. Lady Morris refused to let Charlotte visit us or us to visit Charlotte. We communicated through smuggled letters.”

“What could Lady Morris possibly have against your friendship? You obviously come from a well-off family.”

“Who knows? She never needed a reason for anything. Maybe she surmised that someone in my family committed some sort of sin.”

“When did you last hear from Charlotte?”

Sarah seemed to think about it. “Maybe a month ago. It’s not unusual for us to go weeks or a month without communicating. It was difficult to get letters smuggled in. There was a maid in the Morris household that Charlotte could trust. Her name was Penny. But she disappeared around the last time I heard from Charlotte.”

“Disappeared?”

“As you can imagine, Lady Morris can be a difficult woman to work for.”

“I’m beginning to get that impression. After Penny left, your line of communication was cut off?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

They fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Sarah poured more tea, but Jacob was beginning to realize that it wasn’t tea that was going to warm his insides. After hearing about Charlotte’s less-than-ideal life, he was chilled for other reasons.

“Do you think Miss Morris ran away?” Jacob asked.

“If she was smart she would have.”

“But she had nowhere to go, and I would think she had no money. Do you know where she could have gone?”

“No,” Lady Sara said with reluctance. “She has no one. But Charlotte is smart. She would have figured that all out. I’m just a bit miffed that she didn’t contact me.”

Lady Crawford coughed delicately, and Jacob realized by the very dim light coming through the windows that he’d overstayed his welcome.

“My apologies. It’s time for me to go. Lady Sarah. Lady Crawford.” He stood and bowed to Sarah, then to her mother. “Thank you for entertaining me this gloomy afternoon.”

“Our door is always open to you, Lord Ashland,” Sarah’s mother said.

Sarah turned her back to her mother and gave Jacob a sympathetic look as if saying what can I do?

Jacob smiled at her and headed to the front door where the butler was waiting with his coat and hat.

He said his goodbyes and stepped out into the chill, wet evening. The sun was already setting, causing him to shiver against the cold. He wondered if Charlotte was warm, wherever she was.