Page 14

“ S teep price for a notebook,” Abe said with a raise of his tawny eyebrows as the two of them stepped out of the stationery shop. “You must really treasure your writings.”

Millie blushed, giving a little shake of her head. “I am not usually so indulgent, but I’ve a fondness for journaling and wanted to treat myself to something special.”

Abe nodded, pulling out the edge of the little pad he kept in his waistcoat pocket, bound on either side with tattered cardboard. “I’ve always considered the whole process more cursory than indulgent, truth be told.”

Millie smiled, her eyes following the little cardboard pad back into his pocket. “Well, I imagine we write our experiences down for wildly different reasons, Mr. Murphy.”

“Abe,” he reminded her, winning a flash of her teeth.

“Abe,” she amended, inclining her head. “Let’s walk this way. There’s a lovely little private square near my parents’ house we can enjoy.”

She looped her fingers through the crook of his elbow, surprising him enough that he almost stumbled. But of course, this was how the polite and proper of the world did things.

He placed his own, larger hand over hers, enjoying the spread of warmth and the softness of her fingers through the netting of her gloves.

She led him down High Street, past several large pane windows that reflected their progress in such a charming fashion that Abe could not stop himself from admiring the effect each time it presented itself.

Russell Square, as the placard on the gate announced it, was only a block or so away from the shop.

It was surrounded by hedges which met at a pair of black iron gates on opposing sides.

Abe had passed it many times, especially during the time when he’d been surveilling the Fletcher house on behalf of Silas Cain, but he had never been inside.

From here, it was easy to see the fashionable denizens of Bloomsbury taking sedate strolls between the chestnut trees. Approaching the gate made him suddenly remember Freddy’s criticisms from this morning, and he wished he’d worn a cravat or a hat to make himself appear more respectable.

Millie produced a ring of three keys from her reticule and pushed a slender brass one into the gate’s lock.

“I should probably not have this key anymore,” she confessed as they passed into the fragrant embrace of the square, “as I am not in residence presently. But I will have to trust you not to expose me.”

“Ah, a dangerous assumption,” he teased, hoping for another sample of her tinkling laugh.

Instead, she paused and turned to him, considering him through hooded lashes. “Yes, I suppose it might be,” she said thoughtfully. “After all, you are a man who makes his living on the trade of other people’s secrets.”

“Never yours,” he said, with feeling. “I’ll promise you that.”

“You don’t know any of my secrets,” she replied with a grin, resuming their progress into the greenery. “Though I suspect you’ve been trying your hardest to remedy that misfortune.”

“How do you reckon?”

“By following my patroness,” she said slyly. “Her doings are mine, as you know. I half expected to see you skulking in the shadows when we left Brigid’s Forge last night. Don’t think I didn’t notice your eavesdropping at breakfast last week.”

“My dear woman,” he said with a delighted little chuckle. “If I had been skulking in the shadows, which I assure you I was not, you would never have spotted me. Besides, you did not leave last night. You left this morning.”

She narrowed those pretty brown eyes at him. “Ah, so it was one of your minions, then? Like that midwife you sent to Claire?”

His delight turned to surprise, this second laugh coming out as more of an exclamation. “Found out about that, did you?”

“Of course,” she said with a lift of her nose. “It is well of you to assume I always shall.”

“Ah, and there’s another of your secrets I’ll keep close to my vest.”

She laughed, dropping her haughty posture and giving him a little nudge with her elbow. “I am here to tell you secrets, I suppose, but not mine own. Tell me, do you keep up with the gossip circulars during the Season?”

“Only if something truly salacious has happened,” he said. “I find the way they’re written to often be a bit ridiculous and overblown.”

“Well, all the best things are, I think. Really, Mr. Murph… Abe,” she corrected, holding up her index finger, which glinted with a delicate silver ring fashioned to resemble a woven branch.

“Really, Abe , I would think you could find many leads for your investigations in such publications. Those who are written about often seek exoneration … or revenge. After all, that’s how we came to know one another. ”

He blinked at her, a little stunned by this observation. “You know, I think you are right. I should be reading them every morning.”

She gave an airy shrug, as though she were a little embarrassed at having given good counsel. “That is what I wanted to speak to you about. There will be a story in at least one gossip circular today which you will take great interest in. It concerns your jewel thief.”

“Oh?”

Now, this was a surprise! He hadn’t heard even a whisper of the brigand beyond Cresson’s note-taking.

“Yes, it seems that somehow one of the jewels that was stolen last Season found its way into a reputable new owner’s hands.”

“Really? A private sale, perhaps? Black market jewels certainly have an enthusiastic market.”

“I don’t think so.” Millie chewed on her lip, gazing up at the boughs above them as though to find answers there.

“No, I think somehow it changed hands enough times that it was sold in complete good faith. The gentleman who proposed with the ring has already been set loose by your former compatriots on Bow Street.”

“That would explain the sloppiness of sending the thing back into its original rotation,” Abe replied. “Somewhere along the line, it would have had to make a leap from back alleys to someone reputable. Who knows how many hands it changed?”

“Well, only hands that could afford a piece so valued by a duchess, wouldn’t you think?

I imagine there is some discount to be had when something is sold with a crime attached to it, but even so, it is a pristine ruby in a centuries-old setting.

I doubt any fence worth his salt would offload it without appropriate compensation. ”

Abe halted abruptly, a surprised bark of laughter escaping his throat. “Millie Yardley!” he said in shock. “How on earth do you know what a fence is?”

She released his arm so that she could walk around to face him and put her hands on her hips with a roll of her eyes. “I am a barrister’s daughter, sir,” she reminded him. “And barristers represent all manner of ne’er-do-wells. My father never put much stock in keeping us ignorant.”

“Scandalous,” he said, wide-eyed and shaking his head. “Just absolutely jaw-dropping.”

“Stop it.” She gave him a playful swat and gestured down the path. “In any event, if you can follow the chain of custody from the poor duped groom back to the original buyer, you may have your thief. Assuming you can do it faster than the Runners.”

He made a noncommittal noise. His former colleagues were unlikely to be dragging their feet on this one, considering the rewards from various victims.

“Do you have any suspects? Anyone who looks likely?”

“No,” he confessed with a heavy sigh. “I’ve combed through the invitation lists, the interviews with attendees and servants, and the accounts of whether the jewels stolen were being worn when they were taken or stored abovestairs.

Each incident happened at a ball or soiree, but each case is different enough to give me exactly nothing.

Which at least means that the Runners also have nothing, I suppose. ”

“It is such a fascinating career,” she commented, tilting her face up to meet his. “Did you come to London specifically to work for them? You are from Scotland, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he returned with a chuckle.

“And yes, actually. I think I was always going to move to London eventually. I visited once as a boy and knew it was the city for me. When the news reached us up in Aberdeen that the Runners were being formed, I wrote immediately and was accepted. Truth be told, they were taking anyone back then.”

“I somehow doubt that they were taking just anyone,” she demurred, squeezing his arm in a way that nearly made him trip over his own feet. “And besides, even if they were, you clearly had an aptitude.”

“For some of it,” he said, feeling his own color heightening at this recognition. “I preferred the cases with question marks attached. Plenty of the other lads hated them. It gave me a good, dependable stack of work, day to day.”

“Why did you leave them, by the by?” Millie asked. “Do you simply work better alone?”

“Oh.” He gave a self-conscious rub of his jawline. “I … did not leave of my own desires. I offended a magistrate, I’m afraid, and was booted out.”

“Goodness! That sounds dramatic. What did you do to offend him?”

Abe gave a little wince. “I punched him. In the face.”

“What! Why?”

“Oh, many reasons,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “I’m afraid it isn’t a very satisfying story. What about you? Why did you leave your former occupation?”

“Pardon?” She looked incredulous. “What occupation would that be?”

“Pampered daughter,” he said, gesturing around. “Free to stroll at her leisure.”

She was silent, a slight frown on her pretty face as they rounded the corner near the rear gate.

He could not tell if he’d upset her or if she was working out an answer. He did not dare say anything else, lest he make it worse, and instead listened to the birdsong as they made their way through the mottled shadows of the square, cursing his own stupidity.

“I have a small project I intend to work on,” she said, her voice smaller, as though speaking from inside her own mind.

“It is the first thing I want to do with that journal I commissioned today. I want to write a letter about my experiences over the past few months, something to share with girls who are like me.”

“There are no girls like you,” he told her firmly.

She looked up at him with the ghost of a smile on her face. “I mean girls like Miss Lazarus, whom I spoke to in the garden at the Wharton ball that night. Girls who do not fit the mold of English rose, and as such, may feel lost in the world.”

“You don’t consider yourself an English rose?” he asked, baffled when she shook her head. “What, then? Some sort of hothouse orchid, even more beautiful?”

She released a little scoff. “Hardly! No, I think of myself more like the morning glory vine that Dot gave to the shopkeeper this morning. A wildflower. Perhaps even a weed. Something that needs space to grow, but no cultivation, no interference for the sake of presentation.”

Abe nodded but was not entirely sure he understood. “So you are writing a letter to your fellow wildflowers?”

“I want to,” she answered, giving a little shiver from the warm gust of wind that encircled them, rustling the leaves above. “I am going to try to. Say what you will of Lady Bentley, but she has shown me that there are many ways to be a woman in this world.”

“And what way do you wish to go?” he asked softly, admiring the way the breeze lifted and stirred her gleaming brown curls.

“I haven’t a single idea,” she said happily. “And for the first time, that seems acceptable to me. I am suddenly seeing all the avenues in the world that were previously invisible to me. Why, just this morning I was talking to my maid about her plight and she told me that …”

She trailed off, stopping again with her eyes wide.

Abe had taken two additional steps before he realized that her hand had slipped from the crook of his elbow. He turned, staring at her frozen visage.

“She told you what?” Abe prompted when it became apparent that she had lost herself in whatever had struck her.

“She … Abe!” She broke into motion again, lunging forward the two steps that had separated them.

She grabbed his hands excitedly, squeezing them and gazing up into his face, her focus darting back and forth over his visage.

“Irene … my maid … she told me that she used to be hired one day at a time before she found her current placement.”

“Did she?” he asked, completely at a loss. “That seems rather trying.”

“Abe!” She bounced on her toes, those whiskey-brown eyes sparkling like bonfires. “What do you think she was hired for, one day at a time? She mentioned an agency.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” he told her, baffled but enjoying her enthusiasm. “I suppose extra work projects? Renovations? Or events like weddings or …”

“Or balls and soirees!” she finished, her enthusiasm drawing some disapproving glances from another pair of ladies who were strolling in their vicinity. “Where all of the thefts occurred!”

He felt the idea click into place in his mind like a key turning in a lock. “Good lord!” he exclaimed, using her grip on his hands to pull her close to him. “Extra staff, you say? Millie, that is brilliant. You are brilliant!”

She was grinning so widely, it made his heart ache. He wanted to snatch her up to his chest and press a hard kiss to her lips. The little minx had just done what every investigator in the city had failed to accomplish.

She bounced again on her toes. “Abe, you have to visit these agencies. That must be the answer! It must be!”

“Come with me,” he said, low and deep as he held her close to him. “Come help me investigate.”

“Oh! Oh, I would love to, but I … drat and damnation!” She squeezed his hands again, shaking her head. “I have duties today, this afternoon. You must go and report back to me. I wish to know everything. Absolutely everything!”

“My dear,” he said with utter and complete sincerity. “I have never wanted to share everything with someone so much as I do with you.”