A Secret Surrender Read online

  Harry departed the shop and turned to the left. Walking along the street, he finally saw the weaver sitting near the corner of a shop that sold crockery. She was perhaps fourteen, dressed in a pale, dingy gown of indeterminate color. Her dark hair hung limply to her shoulders as she wove a basket in her lap.

  Harry went to her. “How much for a basket?”

  She didn’t look up at him as her fingers continued to weave. “Thruppence.”

  Squatting down next to her, Harry produced a shilling. “Can I ask you about the fire that happened over there?” He glanced toward where the flash house had been.

  Her hand stilled as her gaze shot to the coin in his hand. “I s’pose.”

  “I understand you were inside the building.” He put the coin in her basket. “What do you remember?”

  Plucking up the shilling, she held it up and squinted at the coin. Apparently satisfied, she pressed it into something hidden beneath the neckline of her gown. “I was downstairs trying to wash my brother’s face. I smelled smoke, but I was too busy with my brother. When someone yelled fire, I scooped him up and carried him out.”

  “Do you know where the fire started?”

  She shook her head and went back to weaving.

  “What about who started it—do you know that?” Harry asked.

  “Everyone says ’twas the Vicar.”

  “So I understand,” Harry said wryly. “Did you see him?”

  Maggie shook her head again.

  “Do you know who the Vicar is?”

  She glanced up at Harry. “’E worked for Partridge. We all did.”

  “What did you do for him?” Harry was fairly certain he knew.

  “Usually, I pretended my brother was sick—I made ’im look really dirty, and people took pity.”

  “They gave you money.” Likely, she had a minimum amount she was to earn every day to appease Partridge’s requirements. At her nod, Harry went on. “Were you glad when Partridge died?”

  She looked at Harry, an edge of fear in her gaze.

  “It’s all right,” Harry soothed with an encouraging nod. “Do you work for Frost now?”

  She shook her head a third time but much more vigorously. “My brother does, though.”

  “Where can I find your brother?”

  Going back to weaving, she shrugged. “’E’s around.”

  “One last question, and I’ll leave you alone, Maggie. Do you know who told everyone to say the Vicar started the fire?”

  The fourth time she shook her head was the least convincing because she hesitated the barest moment. Harry wouldn’t press her. “Thank you, Maggie. I work at Bow Street. If you ever want to come and talk to me, I’d be honored. About anything. Mayhap I could even help you.” He thought of Winter’s home and how an environment like that could transform Maggie’s life. Hell, had Winter and Madame Sybila won him over?

  No. Selina had. She believed in the Home for Wayward Children, and he was starting to as well.

  Harry gave Maggie another shilling before standing and checking his pocket watch. He needed to get back to Bow Street for a meeting. He walked all the way to Holborn before catching a hack to Bow Street.

  When he got out at the Magistrates’ Court, he ran into Remy, who was also just arriving. “Afternoon, Sheff,” he said in greeting. “Where were you about today?”

  “Just came from Saffron Hill,” Harry said as they walked inside.

  “Learn anything?”

  Harry stopped and turned to Remy. “What do you know about a man named Frost?”

  Remy shrugged. “I’ve heard the name. Why?”

  “Seems like he may be in charge of Partridge’s old territory.”

  “That’s not really our concern, as close as it is to Hatton Garden,” Remy said, referring to the Magistrates’ Court that was closer to Saffron Hill.

  “I plan to go and talk to Thorpe.” He was one of the constables at Hatton Garden with whom Harry had worked.

  “I’ve got a contact over in Shoe Lane,” Remy said. “I’ll see what I can learn.”

  A surge of anticipation rushed through Harry. How he loved the hunt. “Mind if I come along?”

  “I don’t, but my informer will. He won’t talk if I bring someone else.”

  “Damn.” But Harry understood. Some of his informers were the same.

  “We better hurry, or we’ll be late,” Remy said.

  As they started toward the stairs, Harry drafted a note to Selina in his head, inquiring as to whether she would like a riding lesson. She could use his mother’s old sidesaddle, and he’d borrow a horse from a friend. All he needed was Selina to agree.

  To the lesson, but hopefully also to his proposal.

  * * *

  Rafe had been right. Selina went to his receiver shop in Shoe Lane and fenced the bracelet Beatrix had stolen for a very good price. Had the receiver given her more because Rafe had told him to? Probably. But Selina didn’t care. To her, it wasn’t the same as taking money from him for nothing.

  With the money stowed in an interior pocket of her gown and her pistol tucked into her reticule, Selina felt quite secure as she walked to her next destination, which wasn’t The Strand. Madame Sybila had met with a few clients earlier, but was now taking the afternoon to complete personal errands. Or so Mrs. Kinnon would tell those who came to inquire.

  The day before, Selina had needed to use another excuse—that Madame Sybila wasn’t feeling well—so that she could attend a meeting of the Spitfire Society at a new friend’s house. A small group of forward-thinking women, the society existed for the purpose of celebrating womanhood and independence, whatever that meant. They also hoped to do something meaningful for women, but that hadn’t been explored as the meeting had been cut short due to some sort of fracas involving a kitten.

  Selina looked forward to their next meeting with an eye toward starting a charity that would support women. This could be the answer she’d been looking for—a way to sustain herself without having to be Madame Sybila or steal and fence. It also had the added benefit of being a real charity that would help women and perhaps children too. Yes, that was something about which Selina could nurture a drive…a passion.

  She’d been driven to find Rafe, and now that she had, she didn’t feel the triumph or elation she’d hoped for and expected. The brother she remembered was as good as dead. Eighteen years was a long time. They were adults now, completely different from when they’d last been together. The dream she’d held for so long—that she’d regain the family she’d once had—was also as good as dead.

  You have a family. You have Beatrix.

  Yes, she had Beatrix, but for how long? Beatrix was well on her way to being the toast of the late Season. Invitations had increased due to Lady Aylesbury’s influence, and yesterday, they’d met the Marchioness of Ripley, which could only help Beatrix’s cause. It was possible that Beatrix might find herself taken in by her father. He would never officially recognize her as his daughter, of course, bastard that she was, but he could ensure she was well situated.

  And give her the approval—and love—she craved.

  Where would that leave Selina? Particularly if Beatrix found herself wed to some wealthy gentleman?

  It would leave her alone without any dependencies. Selina could do precisely as she wished. Harry’s proposal, so present in her thoughts the past few days, rose in her mind. She needed to make a decision.

  As if you haven’t already.

  But did she have the courage to actually do it? Pushing the topic from her mind, as she’d done relentlessly since he’d asked, Selina quickened her pace. The dome of St. Paul’s came into view, which meant she was nearly to Ivy Lane.

  Cutting through an alley, she made her way to the back entrance of the house they were using for the Home for Wayward Children and rapped on the back door. After several long moments, it finally opened to reveal Theresa. She glared at Selina, her eyes glassy. “Why are you ’ere?”

  “You’re drunk,” Sel
ina said, pushing past her to get inside. “Where’s Luther?”

  “Upstairs. You’re lucky ’e’s still ’ere. Was about ta leave.”

  “Be a dear and fetch him, please.” Selina forced a smile. “Remember who’s paying you to take a respite from your real occupation.”

  Theresa wiped her hand over her nose, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Who says I’m takin’ a respite?”

  Bloody hell. Selina glowered at her furiously. “You better not be servicing clients here.”

  With a shrug, Theresa ambled toward the front of the house. Selina followed her, moving into the parlor as Theresa went up the stairs.

  A few moments later, Luther came in. “Selina, love.” He grinned broadly as he came toward her, his nearly ebony eyes twinkling.

  She smiled in return, releasing the tension Theresa had caused. “I hope you’re keeping a close eye on your ‘wife.’”

  Luther waved his hand. “Bah, she’s harmless.”

  “She’s drunk.”

  “I let her have gin today. Only the second time since we came here.”

  Selina doubted that. Theresa had seemed at least a bit muzzy when Selina had visited with Harry. “Well, don’t give her any more.” Selina took a deep breath and fixed him with a steady stare. “You have one more test to pass, I’m afraid.”

  “Happy to do it for you,” he said, taking her hand. “Tell me.” He guided her to the settee and pulled her down to sit beside him.

  Selina let go of his hand and angled herself toward him. He edged a bit closer, which she should have expected. He made no effort to disguise his interest in her, which he said hadn’t waned in eighteen years. She’d jokingly asked if that meant he’d remained celibate waiting for her. Blushing, he’d apologized because he hadn’t. She’d then assured him it wasn’t at all necessary, particularly since she’d married, giving him the lie she gave everyone. Except her brother, apparently. Perhaps she did trust Rafe a little.

  Focusing on the purpose of her errand, Selina said, “On Friday afternoon, Madame Sybila will bring a group of society ladies to see the home. You and Theresa, if she’s sober, will need to show them the children and discuss your plans for expansion. I suspect one of them may suggest a subscription. We don’t want that, so divert the conversation as much as possible.”

  He put his arm along the back of the settee so his hand was near her shoulder. “’Twill be no problem at all. I am pleased to do whatever I can to help you.”

  “My hope is that the visit will garner enough donations to put an end to this scheme entirely. You should be back to your regular life within the week.” She studied him a moment. “What is your regular life, exactly?”

  Luther moved closer, his lips parted in an expression of anticipation. “Why do you want to know? I’m doing well, Lina. Well enough to support a wife.” He winked at her.

  Oh hell. She didn’t want to deal with this, not today. She never should have asked about his life. “Then you should take one. And consider leaving this life behind.”

  He blinked, his long, dark lashes sweeping over his magnetic eyes. He’d always been handsome. All the girls Selina had known had fancied themselves in love with him. But he’d only ever paid special attention to Selina. She supposed she’d found him attractive, in the way an eleven-year-old girl would find a thirteen-year-old boy attractive. He made her laugh and brought her the occasional pastry he stole from a cart.

  Now, however, he was as much a stranger to her as her brother. More so really, because she hadn’t spent much time thinking of him at all during the past eighteen years. Unlike her brother, whom she’d missed and hoped to find.

  “Like you have left your past behind?” he teased softly.

  For years, she’d told herself she’d done exactly that. But how was that really possible when she was still engaged in criminal acts? Disgust rose within her, and she swallowed a sense of panic. She stiffened her spine in an effort to regain control of her emotions. “Forget I said anything.” She stood, eager to be on her way.

  He also rose, standing close and towering over her. “I’m glad to know you care.” He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek.

  A vision of a normal life flashed in Selina’s mind. It didn’t include Luther, but Harry. He worked as a constable while she kept their house and did charity work, helping women and children better themselves through honest means. Not like what she had done. What she continued to do. How much longer could she go on like this? More and more, it seemed there would be a reckoning—and soon.

  “Selina?” Luther’s brows drew together as he stroked her face.

  She wanted to tell him there would be no future between them, but Luther could be volatile, and she needed him through Friday, at least. How she couldn’t wait for this entire scheme to be over.

  She summoned an appreciative smile. “Thank you for helping me. Truly.”

  Pivoting, she hurried from the parlor as quickly as she dared, then went out through the front door onto Ivy Lane. Too late, she realized her foolishness. She rarely made mistakes, but when she did, they were often quite large.

  This was certainly no exception, for standing across the street staring at her was Harry Sheffield.

  Chapter 13

  Harry blinked, wondering if he was seeing correctly. But of course he was. He wouldn’t confuse Selina for any other woman. Her face and form were too familiar to him. He saw them even when she wasn’t standing across the street from him.

  What the hell was she doing there?

  He crossed Ivy Lane, and she met him with a smile.

  “What a coincidence to meet you here,” she said. “I just came to deliver another donation. I’m afraid I couldn’t wait until you paid another visit. I was quite moved by their endeavors.” She tipped her head to the side. “What are you doing here? I can’t believe you’re making a donation. I’m still not sure you believe they are a legitimate charity.”

  “I’m not making a donation. I came to keep an eye on things because I was not yet convinced of their legitimacy.”

  “What do you expect to find?” she asked. “That they’ve left? I assure you, Mr. Winter is just inside. Would you like to speak with him?”

  Harry shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I think you may have changed my mind.”

  “Have I? You still sound a bit skeptical.”

  “My mother plans to bring some friends to see it—on Friday, I think she said. She invited me to come along, but I declined. I don’t want her knowing I’ve already been here.”

  “Because then she’d know you’re spying on her activities.”

  Harry offered her his arm. “Shall we walk?”

  “Please.” She curled her hand around his sleeve and moved next to him, instantly reminding him of why she’d been ever present in his mind since Saturday evening. And before that, really.

  “I’m not spying. I’m investigating. Because I care about her.”

  “Also because your father asked.” When Harry exhaled sharply, she laughed softly. “You’re trying to be a good son. That’s hard when your parents are at odds. Perhaps you should tell your father to conduct his own investigations. Indeed, perhaps he should accompany your mother on Friday.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Harry should have thought of it himself. “I’ll mention it to him at dinner on Thursday.” He looked at her profile, admiring her beauty—and her heart. “What prompted you to take another donation to Mr. Winter today?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, as if she were choosing her words. “As an orphan, I suppose their plight affects me more deeply than most.”

  “Surely your situation was different, though.” He felt her stiffen.

  “I prefer to leave the past where it belongs—in the past.” She briefly turned her head and flashed a faint smile. He saw the sadness behind it, however.

  Placing his hand over hers as they walked, he said, “Selina, I would like to know everything about you. I hope that someday, you’ll tell me about
your experience.”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  Perhaps. That wasn’t a refusal.

  Harry decided to change the subject in the hope that she would relax a bit. He could feel the tension running through her. “I learned some things about the fire.”

  “You have new information?”

  “I do. After you left Spring Hollow, I met with the informer. He told me everyone in Saffron Hill was told to say the Vicar had started the fire.”

  She paused briefly. “That’s—that’s astounding. Who would be able to get everyone to say the same thing?”

  “I had the same question, so I went to Saffron Hill yesterday. I spoke to a cobbler I interviewed four years ago. He was rather skittish, but he gave me a name—the man who’s probably head of the gang there now. Frost.”

  Selina stopped again and turned to face him. “Do you know who this man is?”

  Harry shook his head. “No, but I’ll find him.”

  “You think he told everyone to say the Vicar started the fire?”

  “It’s possible. If he became the leader after Partridge was killed in the fire, he may know something. And he definitely had something to gain from Partridge dying.”

  “So it seems,” she murmured, and he sensed she was thinking. She started walking once more.

  “What?” he asked

  She sent him a sidelong glance. “May I help with your investigation in any way?”

  “I don’t know how. My friend, Remington—he’s a constable—has a contact in Shoe Lane, so I’m hopeful he can learn something useful.”

  “Well, if you can think of any way I can help, I’d be happy to. I know this is important to you.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  She looked about. “Where are we going?”

  Harry smiled. “We seem to have a habit of just walking together, which I rather like. Where should we go?” He paused and turned slightly to face her.

  “I don’t know.”