A Dangerous Lord Page 3

  “I don’t know either, but I am going to find out,” Corbyn replied.

  Eyeing him closely, Baldwin asked, “How are you handling Hannity’s death?”

  Corbyn stiffened. “I’m well enough.”

  “Are you?” Baldwin prodded.

  “I do not like to be scrutinized,” Corbyn said firmly.

  “Neither do I, but you and Hannity were rather close.”

  With a shake of his head, Corbyn muttered, “He was one of my agents, and I don’t like when anyone dies on my watch.”

  “Yes, but we both know he was so much more than that,” Baldwin pressed, “especially after that assignment in France.”

  Corbyn pursed his lips together. “I do not like to talk about that mission.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Oliver glanced between them and asked, “What assignment?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Corbyn said dismissively. “It’s not an assignment that I like to revisit. It was a disaster and resulted in the loss of an agent.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Oliver stated.

  Corbyn abruptly rose. “I just wanted you to hear about Hannity’s death from me.”

  “I appreciate that,” Baldwin said.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to try to find out who killed Hannity and left me a blasted note,” Corbyn grumbled.

  Oliver looked at him in surprise. “Are you working this case?”

  “I am,” he replied. “All of my agents are assigned to other cases, and I’m afraid Hannity’s death is personal.”

  “Would you care for some assistance?” Baldwin asked.

  Corbyn gave him a pointed look. “Need I remind you that you are retired?”

  “I would be happy to come out of retirement to assist in this case,” Baldwin responded eagerly.

  “We shall see,” Corbyn said. “For now, I am going to meet with one of my informants and see if they’ve heard anything.”

  “I wish you luck,” Baldwin remarked.

  “Luck has nothing to do with this assignment,” Corbyn stated as he walked over to the door. “I will find the person who killed Hannity and shall return the favor.”

  Baldwin rose from his seat. “Don’t get yourself killed, Corbyn.”

  Corbyn gave his friend an amused look. “The fact that I’m not already dead is a testament to my abilities.” He opened the door. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  With a stiff back, Jane sat in the coach as it traveled through the disreputable part of Town. She watched as dirty young children dressed in tattered clothing raced along, occasionally skirting the coaches in the street. She couldn’t help but wonder where the parents were, and if they were aware of what their children were doing.

  Madalene’s voice broke through her musings. “Don’t you wish you could help them all?” she asked, glancing out the window.

  “I do,” she replied honestly.

  “It is a travesty that our peers are not doing more to help the people in these sections of Town,” Madalene said firmly. “Frankly, it is a social injustice.”

  “I agree.”

  “Most likely, the parents are at work and the children have been left to fend for themselves,” Madalene explained.

  “That is awful.”

  “It is better than the children working,” Madalene remarked. “Some of the jobs that require the use of children are horrific, such as chimney sweeper or factory worker.”

  Jane frowned. “I can’t even imagine putting children in such dangerous situations.”

  “Sadly, it is commonplace here.”

  “I am glad that you opened your orphanage,” Jane praised. “You are helping all of those girls to have a real future.”

  “It was my mother’s dream to open an orphanage, but she passed before she was able to accomplish that goal.”

  “And you are carrying on your mother’s dream.”

  “It was the least I could do for her,” Madalene said, her eyes growing reflective.

  Jane smiled tenderly at her sister-in-law. “She would be proud of you and everything that you have accomplished in such a short time.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so,” Jane pressed.

  Madalene returned her smile, then said, “It was a shame that Emmeline couldn’t join us today.”

  Jane let out an annoyed huff. “She was busy entertaining Oliver.”

  “Is that an issue?”

  “Yes, it is an issue,” she declared. “Oliver was gone for three days this time. Three days! And he shows up, and Emmeline greets him warmly every time.”

  Madalene eyed her curiously. “How is she supposed to greet him?”

  “She should be cross with him!” she exclaimed. “There should be some yelling and perhaps some cursing.”

  “We don’t know that she doesn’t do that,” Madalene pointed out.

  Jane shook her head. “It baffles me that Emmeline allows Oliver to behave so despicably.”

  “Have you spoken to her about this?”

  “I have,” she replied. “At great lengths.”

  “And what does Emmeline say about his behavior?”

  Jane pursed her lips together. “She says that she is just grateful that Oliver has returned home, unharmed.”

  “They are still newly married,” Madalene remarked.

  “Still,” Jane said, “his behavior is atrocious.”

  Madalene appeared unconcerned. “We shouldn’t judge Oliver or Emmeline too harshly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Everyone has different trials, and we shouldn’t be quick to criticize others. It would be terribly unfair of us.”

  Jane glanced out the window before saying, “You are being much too sensible.”

  “Am I?” Madalene asked, amused.

  “You are,” she confirmed. “I had hoped that you would side with me and we could confront Oliver together.”

  Madalene smirked. “I daresay that everyone knows your feelings about Oliver and his wayward behavior.”

  “Yet no one is helping me.”

  “It is not up to us to correct his behavior.”

  Jane bit back her retort as the coach came to a stop in front of a brick building with a sign hanging above the front door that read Elizabeth Dowding School for Orphan Girls. The red bricks may have started to fade, but it was evident this building was properly tended to.

  The coach dipped to the side as the footman stepped off his perch and came to place the step down. After it was extended, he opened the door and held his gloved hand out to assist them in exiting the coach.

  Once they stepped onto the ground, the door to the orphanage opened, and the plump housekeeper, Mrs. Kipper, waved them in. “Do not lollygag or else you may be pickpocketed,” she warned. “These street urchins are always up to no good.”

  Jane followed Madalene into the building and they came to a stop in the modest entry hall.

  “Mrs. Foster has been expecting you,” Mrs. Kipper announced as she closed the door.

  “Is she with the students?” Madalene inquired.

  “Not at the moment,” Mrs. Kipper replied. “If you will follow me, I shall take you to her office.”

  As the housekeeper led them down a narrow hall, Jane couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was. “Are the girls in their lessons?”

  “They are,” Mrs. Kipper confirmed over her shoulder. “You missed the excitement this morning when one of the girls found a mouse under her bed.”

  Madalene laughed. “I can only imagine.”

  “Fortunately, Mrs. Foster trapped it and released it outside,” Mrs. Kipper shared. “But it took a few hours before the girls settled back down again.”

  Mrs. Kipper stopped in front of an open door and waited for them to enter first. Jane stepped into the square room, taking a moment to admire the woodwork that surrounded the fireplace and the bay window behind the desk.

  The silver-haired headmistress rose from her chair and greeted them. “I am so pleas
ed that you are here!” She came around the desk and embraced Madalene. “It has been far too long since I have seen you.”

  Madalene gave her an amused look. “I saw you three days ago.”

  “And that has been much too long for my tastes, my dear,” Mrs. Foster replied, stepping back.

  “If that is the case, then you can always be my companion again.”

  Mrs. Foster waved her hand in front of her. “You don’t need an elderly woman afoot when you have your handsome husband to entertain you.” The headmistress shifted her attention. “Lady Jane,” she greeted, “you are looking as lovely as ever.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Foster.”

  “The girls are incredibly fortunate to have a woman of your station instruct them.”

  “It is the least I can do.”

  With a side glance at Madalene, Mrs. Foster remarked, “We have had some trouble acquiring a new French teacher after our last one turned out to be disreputable.”

  “In what way?” Jane inquired.

  Mrs. Foster pressed her lips together, then said, “I do not like to speak ill of the deceased, mind you, but she was not who she led us to believe.”

  “May I ask how she died?” Jane pressed.

  “It is better that we don’t speak of such things,” Mrs. Foster declared as she turned towards the door. “Would you care to see where you will be teaching?”

  Jane frowned at the abrupt change of conversation. “I suppose so.”

  Mrs. Foster started walking towards the door as she explained, “I have taken the liberty of writing up lessons for you.”

  “That was most thoughtful of you.”

  “It was the least I could do,” Mrs. Foster said, speaking over her shoulder. “We have divided the girls into two separate classes. You will meet with the older girls first, but I’m afraid they are not much more advanced than the younger girls.”

  “Is that so?”

  Mrs. Foster nodded. “Some of these girls were plucked right off the street in the rookeries, and they could barely speak English correctly, much less French.

  “How awful,” she murmured.

  “That is why this orphanage is so wonderful,” Mrs. Foster gushed as she led them up the narrow flight of stairs. “It will give these girls opportunities that they would only have been able to dream of before, especially since your mother, Lady Hawthorne, has become a patron of the orphanage.”

  “She has?”

  Madalene spoke up. “Not only has she become a patron, but Harriet convinced some of her friends to donate money to the orphanage,” she said. “It has allowed us to expand and admit five additional girls.”

  “What wonderful news!” Jane praised.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Mrs. Foster replied. “What Madalene has been able to accomplish here has been no small feat.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Madalene remarked.

  “I truly doubt that,” Mrs. Foster said as she came to a stop outside of a closed door. She turned her attention towards Jane. “This is where you will be instructing the girls.”

  Mrs. Foster opened the door and stood to the side, allowing Jane to enter first. The small room had a window facing the street. There was a desk in the corner, and wooden chairs were set up in a circle.

  “You are welcome to organize the chairs any way you see fit,” Mrs. Foster remarked as she stepped into the room.

  Jane walked over and placed her hand on the back of a chair. “I believe I shall leave the chairs as they are for now,” she said.

  Mrs. Foster stepped over to the desk and held up a few pieces of paper. “When you have a moment, you are welcome to review the lessons that I wrote up,” she encouraged. “Today, they are reviewing their colors and shapes.”

  “That sounds easy enough,” Jane remarked.

  “I cannot thank you enough for doing this,” Mrs. Foster said. “You are doing these girls a tremendous favor.”

  “May I ask who has been teaching the girls up to this point?” Jane asked.

  Mrs. Foster placed the paper back on the desk. “I have, and I’m afraid I’ve done a terrible job.”

  “I can’t imagine that to be true,” Jane replied.

  The headmistress huffed. “I can’t hear too clearly in my right ear, so I only heard half of what the girls were saying.”

  Madalene gave her a concerned look. “Have you spoken to the doctor yet?”

  “I have not,” Mrs. Foster replied, “but I am not too worried. I am just growing old.” She turned back towards Jane. “The girls aren’t scheduled for their lessons with you for another hour, so you are welcome to adjourn to the library and select a book to read while you wait.”

  “I believe I will do that.”

  “Do you remember where the library is?” Mrs. Foster asked.

  “I do.”

  “We don’t have too many books for you to choose from, but I do hope you find a book that will pique your interest.”

  “I am sure I will.”

  The headmistress turned her attention towards Madalene. “If you have a moment, I would like to discuss the budget for this month.”

  Madalene nodded her approval. “I do, assuming it is all right with Jane that I leave her.”

  With a smile on her face, Jane said, “I am perfectly content being on my own for the next hour.”

  Jane watched as Madalene and Mrs. Foster departed, then walked over to the desk. She picked up the paper with the lessons and reviewed what Mrs. Foster wrote. It didn’t appear too difficult of a task, and she had no doubt that she could instruct the girls with ease.

  She stepped closer to the window and looked out at the bustling street. As she watched the men and women walking purposefully along, a familiar person suddenly appeared in the crowd.

  Oliver.

  He was dressed in a brown jacket with matching trousers, his cravat was slightly skewed, and his brown hair was slicked to the side.

  Where was he going? And what was he doing in this part of town? Well, there was only one way to figure that out.

  Without fully thinking through the repercussions of her actions, Jane raced out of the room, down the stairs and through the main door. She stepped off the stoop and started following Oliver as he continued down the street.

  Chapter Three

  Dressed in an unassuming grey jacket with dark trousers, Corbyn sat in the hackney as it rolled towards the docks. A pungent odor drifted off the sticky floor, but he didn’t pay it much heed. A foul-smelling coach was the least of his concerns at the moment.

  He intended to meet with one of his informants, and he hoped Miss Polly had heard something about Hannity’s death. Miss Polly was a lady of ill-repute who ran a brothel by the docks. She was in the unique position of garnering information from a wide assortment of men, and he paid her handsomely for it.

  Corbyn had met Miss Polly when he first started working as an agent and she had just opened her business. He had discovered a suspect was frequenting the brothel and approached Miss Polly for help in apprehending him. From there, a friendship of sorts formed, and he was quick to recognize that this could be a mutually beneficial relationship.

  The hackney came to a stop and Corbyn stuck his hand out through the open window to open the door. As he stepped onto the road, his eyes scanned the darkened buildings, and he smelled the strong odor wafting off the Thames.

  Corbyn turned his attention towards the driver and extended him a few coins.

  “Thank you, Mister,” the driver said as he accepted the coins. “Would you care for me to wait for you?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he replied.

  “Are you sure?” the driver asked in a wary voice. “This is hardly a place for a gentleman such as you.”

  Corbyn tugged down on his grey jacket. “I assure you that I will be fine, but I thank you for your concern.”

  “I wish you luck, then.” The driver tipped his head and flicked the reins. As the hackney merged into traffic, Corbyn
headed towards a dilapidated brick building.

  A muscular man with fading black hair was standing guard at the front of the building, and his eyes tracked Corbyn as he approached. Donnelly was responsible for ensuring the girls were not hurt by any of the patrons, and he took his job very seriously.

  “Good afternoon,” Donnelly acknowledged.

  Stopping in front of the guard, he replied, “Good afternoon, Donnelly.”

  “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks, Bryan.”

  He smiled at the use of his alias. “I’ve been busy.”

  Donnelly chuckled. “I have no doubt that Miss Polly will be happy to see you,” he said. “After all, you are one of her favorite clients.”

  “I am pleased to hear that.”

  Donnelly opened the door for him. “I hope you have an enjoyable time.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  He stepped into the dimly lit entry hall and was greeted by a woman and her scandalously low neckline. She had a smile on her face, but it appeared strained.

  “Are you looking for a good time, Mister?” she asked flirtatiously.

  “I am,” he said, playing along.

  She stepped closer to him and placed a hand brazenly on his chest. “I would be happy to assist you, unless you are looking for someone in particular.”

  “I was hoping for Miss Polly.”

  The woman’s lips dropped into a pout as she lowered her hand. “That is a shame.” She turned on her heel and said, “If you follow me, I will show you to her room.”

  Corbyn followed the woman through a narrow hall until they arrived at a door in the back. The woman knocked and waited only a moment before she opened the door.

  “This bloke is here for you,” the woman announced before she walked away.

  He stepped into the room, being mindful to close the door behind him, and saw Miss Polly was sitting at her dressing table. She was at least ten years older than him, but the wrinkles on her face had started to deepen, making her appear older. She had black hair, contrasting nicely with her fair skin, and her lips were always painted red. She was dressed in a maroon gown that left little to the imagination.