Page 34 of Barely a Woman (Bow Street Beaus #1)

Three days later, Morgan stood outside Number Four Bow Street for several minutes in the misting rain while gathering her confession and bracing for what would likely become a harrowing set down.

Her green dress was growing damper by the second.

Twice she reached for the doorknob only to retreat again.

The opening of the door spared her the continued agony.

“May I be of assistance, miss?” The office secretary, Mr. Jansen, eyed her with concern. She had conversed with him twice before, but as Mr. Brady. “You appear to be in throes of indecision. Do you wish to report a crime?”

She choked back a chuckle. “Of sorts. I must speak to Sir Nathaniel and Sir Hugh if they are in residence.”

“They are. Follow me, please.” She fell in behind him as he approached the office of the magistrate. Before he knocked on the closed door, the secretary cast a glance over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Have we met?”

“Of sorts.”

He frowned, shrugged, and knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Sir Nathaniel’s deep bass sounded from inside.

Jansen opened the door and motioned to Morgan. “A woman here to see you, sir. Miss…”

She took a deep breath. “Morgan Brady.”

Jansen’s eyes flew wide. He glanced away in confusion before staring at her again. Meanwhile, the magistrate unwound from his chair with a bewildered scowl. “Jansen. Fetch Sir Hugh.”

The secretary nodded with slack-jawed astonishment and left. Sir Nathaniel swept his eyes over Morgan as if disbelieving what he saw. He motioned to a chair across from his desk. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

She obeyed the order from her employer and removed her bonnet. Sir Nathaniel descended slowly to his chair, his expression shifting as he studied her freed locks—or what remained of them.

“You called?” Sir Hugh entered the office and glanced down at Morgan. When she met his gaze, he froze. His head tilted dangerously to one side as he studied her face. He buckled into the other chair without losing eye contact. “Morgan Brady?”

She averted her eyes from his shocked gaze. “It is me.”

“But you are…are…”

“A woman, yes.” She looked up to find the magistrate locked between indignation and awe.

She dipped her chin. “I masqueraded as a man because my family earns no income but for what I provide. In my desperation to keep my brothers from starving, I perpetrated the most audacious of frauds. For that, I am greatly remorseful and deeply sorry. I do not deserve your forgiveness, or any pay owed to me. I came only to confess my wrongdoing and to make clear that Steadman knew nothing of my ruse, and when he learned the truth, showed the utmost propriety despite the reprehensible situation.”

The men continued to stare at her in silence in the wake of her tumbling admission.

She fought the urge to look away from the magistrate’s deeply furrowed scrutiny.

If Steadman had taught her anything, it was the magical power of a confident, unblinking gaze.

After what seemed like minutes, Sir Nathaniel expelled a pent breath.

“I see.” He worked his clenched jaw back and forth. “I cannot very well keep you on as associate editor of the Hue and Cry. To allow such a bold deception to go unchecked would diminish the integrity for which we stand.”

“I understand, sir. And I whole heartedly agree.”

The magistrate slumped into the back of his chair, folded his arms, and stroked his chin. “Also, there is the matter of Steadman’s report.”

“Report?” She frowned as all manner of bleak scenarios played through her mind.

“Yes. He sent it a few days ago.”

She sat straighter in her chair to avoid collapsing into a heap. “What did he say?”

The magistrate motioned to Sir Hugh. The Scotsman offered a modest smile.

“He described the results of the investigation, including the identity of the perpetrators, Lord Atwood and Mr. Dunwoody. He noted that a meeting with the men would occur two days after his dispatch of the report, at which time justice would be served.”

Morgan waited for the rest, but Sir Hugh fell silent. “So, he said nothing of me?”

Sir Hugh shook his head. “He had much to say about you.”

Her fingers found one another in a white-knuckled knot. “I am sorry.”

Sir Hugh’s modest smile grew more pronounced.

“You misunderstand. Steadman described your canny interrogation of witnesses and suspects alike. He admitted how your measured approach rightfully countered his more contentious instincts. He told of your unflappable courage as you challenged alone a gang of ruffians, a fact even more remarkable now. In short, Steadman unabashedly sang your praises.”

She stared at Sir Hugh in disbelief. “He said nothing of my disguise? My sex?”

“Not a word.”

She raised a hand to cover her mouth as bewilderment stampeded through her. He had kept his word. He had spoken on her behalf. He had not betrayed her confidence.

“And one more bit,” said Sir Nathaniel. She looked at him while battling to maintain composure. “Steadman insisted on a bonus for your commendable actions by offering his pay for an entire month. He was quite adamant.”

He opened a drawer in his desk and produced a small bag that clinked when he set it down and slid it to her. She shook her head.

“I cannot. I do not deserve it after my deceit.”

“In fact, you do. Who are we if we fail to honor courage, integrity, and compassion? Without those, we would be nothing more than bullies with wooden clubs. Take it, please.”

She lifted the weighty bag and slipped it into her reticule with mounting relief. The funds would allow her time to find other work without her family suffering unduly. In the silence, she struggled for what to say. “I…I cannot believe Steadman was so kind.”

Sir Hugh chuckled. “Lass, I know you are suspicious of him. But I believe he is a good man. Despite his history of misdeeds, he has always been a man of his word. He has always been exactly what he claimed to be and without hypocrisy. So, whatever he claims can be trusted beyond dispute.”

She found Sir Hugh’s words to be true, and she wanted to believe them.

Steadman had spoken tenderly to her. Called her beautiful.

Proclaimed her magnificent. However, she could not dismiss his desire to wreak havoc on his father without regard for the innocent.

That was also a resolute claim, and he could be trusted on it.

She forced a smile to dispel the grim conclusion.

“Again, you have my deepest apologies for my charade and my sincerest gratitude for your generosity. You may have saved a family today.”

“Nonsense,” said Sir Nathaniel. “You earned it. And I wonder…”

“Yes?”

“From time to time, we have need of a female presence during certain investigations. I wonder if you would consider fulfilling such a role as the need arises.”

The unforeseen offer took her aback. She stared in surprise before nodding. “I will consider it and contact you with an answer. Thank you, sir. For everything.”

As she stood to leave, both men stood with her. She curtsied to the pair of knights and turned for the door.

“Miss Brady.”

She stopped in response to Sir Hugh. He gave her a smart salute. “Quick notice and sudden pursuit.”

Tears pricked her eyes at his intoning of the Bow Street motto, reserved for officers of the force. “Quick notice and sudden pursuit, sir.”

She turned to leave, both diminished and exalted by the brief visit, and profoundly concerned over what would come next.

***

Steadman lounged against a moldering building on Old Pye Street while waiting for a particular door to open.

His great coat was closed to protect his suit from the pattering rain, and his John Bull hat was pulled unfashionably forward over his eyes to cast his face in shadow.

His thoughts drifted to Morgan, as they had continuously since he found her gone from Broad Chalke.

Upon arriving back in London, he had made a beeline straight to Bow Street, only to learn of Morgan’s resignation a day earlier.

Worse, they had no record of where she lived, a situation that had embarrassed Sir Hugh when he’d realized it.

Steadman knew, though, that her residence was somewhere in the slums of the Almonry near Westminster Abbey.

The man to help him narrow down the search was known to frequent the business that was the object of Steadman’s observation.

He glanced at the leaden sky, wondering how long he might need to wait.

As if in answer, the door opened, and his quarry stepped through.

Steadman moved resolutely to intercept the man and seized him by the collar.

“Phineas Fry,” he growled. “Just the wastrel I seek.”

The lithe little man yanked his eyes up at Steadman with alarm. “Sir Steadman!”

“The same.”

Fry pulled briefly against Steadman’s iron grip in an attempt to escape, his eyes darting about for an exit path, a helping hand, or a miracle from God.

When those efforts proved fruitless, he deflated in Steadman’s hold, bowed his head, and lifted his wrists for irons.

“No need for violence. I will go quietly. I figured it was only a matter of time before you came for me, what with your new position at Bow Street.”

Steadman peered down at the man, amused. “I’ve no intention of arresting you. Not today, anyway.”

Fry lifted his head, his features crowning with hope. “No?”

“You are far too useful to be locked away.” Steadman’s claim was true.

If anything happened in the Almonry, the Rookery, the Mint, or any other London slum, Fry knew about it.

Locals called him The Accountant for his penchant for recording copious notes about comings, goings, doings, and dealings.

“In fact, henceforth the Bow Street magistrate will require your ears and eyes on the meaner streets of London. In exchange for information, the magistrate will allow for your continued freedom, so long as you do not engage in criminal activities affecting women, children, and the poor.”

Fry gulped. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Excellent.” Steadman released the man’s collar. “Otherwise, I will carry your unconscious and badly beaten body to Newgate Prison over my left shoulder and acquaint you with the warden.”

Fry’s face turned green. “Er, of course. So, how will this agreement work?”

Steadman fished a shilling from his pocket and pressed it into Fry’s palm. Fry inspected the coin and nodded.

“What’s this for?”

“Information. A shilling for each useful report.”

Fry’s face grew a wry smile. “Ah, I see. Such as who stole a certain set of candlesticks, or who conned a certain dandy, or who cut a certain throat?”

“Indeed. Bow Street might make use of such information over time. For now, though, I require something much less dramatic.”

“And that would be?”

“A direction. A street address.”

“Right, right,” said Fry while rubbing the coin between his palms. “And whose direction do you require?”

“Miss Morgan Brady’s.”

The little man rubbed his chin with a frown. “Yes, yes, yes. Never heard of her.”

“She would have moved into the Almonry some two or three months ago with three young brothers and a spinster aunt in tow.”

“Three months ago?” Fry reached into his coat to retrieve his signature notebook. He began flipping through pages with grimy fingers. “There were many comings and goings around that time, what with the crop failures.”

Steadman glanced at the sky, closed his eyes, and brought Morgan into view.

“She has been known to wear a nicely fitting dress the color of a spring field and garnished with lace of the Vandyck point variety. A handsome woman, stately as a Greek heroine, with thick, shining amber hair and the fearless countenance of an angel.”

When he opened his eyes, he found Fry regarding him with a half-smile. “An angel?”

“I stand by my description.”

“You are in luck.” Fry stabbed his notebook with his index finger. “I recall the very woman, now. She came around looking for work a few times. Lives up on Tothill Street.”

Steadman cringed. Tothill Street was the devil’s den, a squalid pit overflowing with a noxious tide of infamy and misery. That Morgan lived there stabbed his soul with grief. “Which number?”

“Ah, I did not record the specific direction. My apologies.”

“Quite alright, Fry.” Tothill Street was only a few blocks long. He would knock on every door if necessary. “I thank you for the information and bid you good day.”

“Wait!” Fry slid nearer with morbid interest and lowered his voice. “What has she done to run afoul of Bow Street? You can tell me.”

“She took something quite valuable from me.”

Fry bounced on his toes and poised his pencil against the notebook. “What? What did she steal?”

Steadman smiled coolly at him. “My heart.”

He turned away from a perplexed Fry and set a course for Tothill Street.