Page 22

I t was all Abe could do not to march across the green and snatch Millie into an alleyway the instant she appeared on Dot Cain’s doorstep.

Instead, he contented himself with simply gripping a lamp post like a tether and bouncing on his heels until she drew near enough to be signaled.

“Abe?” she said, wide-eyed with shock. She hurried over to him, gripping her reticule against her chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” he rasped, prising his white-knuckled grip off the lamp post. “Woman, I have been searching for you all morning. Have you seen …” He trailed off, silenced by the look on her face.

“Of course I have,” she hissed, taking his arm and steering him into the walking path. “Everyone has. Keep your voice down.”

He scoffed, lifting his chin in indignation. “I am the very model of discretion,” he told her, winning a roll of her eyes.

“Yes, yes, you are a paragon,” she replied with a fond shake of her head. “No, not that way. Let’s go toward Covent Garden. This is all a big mess.”

He obeyed, falling in step beside her. He could see the strain on her face as clearly as he could feel it from her grip on his arm.

“Tell me you have news of some sort,” she said after a moment, giving an anxious glance up at him. “The happy sort, ideally.”

“Well, I happen to have found the publisher,” he said, gratified by the hopeful widening of her eyes.

“You did?” she breathed.

“Yes, well, I thought I ought to seek you out with something useful rather than just flailing my arms helplessly once I realized,” he told her, giving his jaw a self-conscious scratch. “Though I suppose there was flailing anyhow.”

“I did my fair share as well,” she admitted, gesturing to a bench near the Covent Garden theater where they could sit. “Lady Bentley must have thought I’d gone a little mad. She just seemed relieved that something other than her dance with Dom Raul had sent up the latest fluster.”

He took his place next to her, keeping a wary eye on the crowds of shoppers milling through the square. It was a good thought, he realized, to come here. They were far less likely to be overheard in such a throng.

“There is undoubtedly still going to be chatter about that,” Abe told her. “Even I was scandalized, and I hardly have any ballroom experiences to contrast it with.”

Millie made a flat line with her mouth. “One crisis at a time, please. What did the publisher say?”

“Right. I was told, unsurprisingly, that it was delivered to their offices the night of the ball, but they said it was a young girl who delivered it, with a toff accent.”

“A young girl?” Millie repeated, scrunching up her brow with doubt. “By herself?”

“That’s what they said, though I think it was only the print setters who would have been there so late. I asked what she looked like, hair color, eyes, anything, and only got that she was young and she was pretty.”

“Well, that doesn’t help,” Millie said with a frown. “A posh young woman in the night could have been anyone.”

Abe held his hands up. “Now, now,” he teased. “I’ve only just started.”

Millie looked at him for a moment and then cracked the faintest hint of a smile, swatting at his hands. “I know that,” she said on a sigh. “It’s just … Nothing is ever easy, is it?”

“Nothing worthwhile,” he answered with a shrug. “What did Mrs. Cain say?”

“She said she feels responsible and that I should lie low.”

“And Miss Donnelly?” he prompted, grinning at the narrow-eyed look she tossed him for knowing Ember had been present.

“That it doesn’t matter who is responsible and I should stand tall.”

“Helpful!” he said, nodding.

“Oh, exceedingly,” she replied, her shoulders seeming to relax a bit, despite the sarcasm.

“Well, what does the wise Miss Yardley think, after hearing from her council?” he asked, brushing the hair from her shoulder and settling his hand there, hoping the steadiness of his touch would soothe her. “Her thoughts are the final ones, after all.”

She gave him a soft curve of her lips, raising her own hand to cover his. “She thinks that she misses her sister. Claire’s imaginative approach would have been a useful addition to the suggestions today. I ought to write to her.”

“I just wrote to my own family too,” he said, wishing he could pull her closer and comfort her properly. “It is a universal balm in turbulent times, I suppose.”

She nodded, her honey-brown eyes glinting in the afternoon light. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should use your words carefully if you write to your sister about this,” he said seriously. “Letters often go missing or are read in transit by overly curious couriers. Unscrupulous folk like myself often pay good money to keep the practice going.”

“I think you have more scruples than you let on,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Speaking of which, how did you handle that business with Mr. Aiden?”

He blinked at her, his brow furrowing when she leaned away from his touch to turn to face him, her expression one of incredulity.

“You haven’t left him in jail?” she exclaimed, the sun bouncing off her eyelashes as her eyes widened. “Abe!”

“Jail?” he repeated dumbly. “What are we talking about?”

“The Runners! They arrested Mr. Aiden on the night of Dot’s party. He’s awaiting trial!”

“Oh, for the love of …” He looked away, in the direction of Bow Street, then back at Millie. “Of course they bloody did. That poor old man.”

“Well, you have to go get him out!” she announced. “You should have been doing that instead of looking for me this morning! He’s been held for days now.”

Abe grimaced. “It won’t be that simple. If he’s already been charged, chances are good he’ll have to await his judgment in custody. They won’t let him go because a disgraced ex-Runner waltzes in and says they have the wrong man.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

He gave a humorless little chuckle, shaking his head. “Many reasons, Millie. Truly, the only thing I can likely do for the man at this point is find the actual culprit.”

She pursed her lips, disapproval clear on her face. “But you have a great deal of investigative information. Anyone who reviews it will be able to see that he is not the culprit.”

“I have some ,” he replied with a shrug, “and a lot of my conclusions rely on speculation.”

“Oh, pishposh,” she shot back, shaking her head. “You explained it well enough to me that I immediately understood.”

“You are far more intelligent than the average lawmaker in London, Millie,” he replied in complete earnestness. “My files are made for me, not legal review. My conclusions can be written up, I suppose, but again, they are largely speculative.”

“Then write them up and give them to whomever is speaking in his defense. Then throw your focus into finding the true villain,” she retorted, as though it were the simplest conclusion in the world.

“This is far more important than my social standing. We can’t let an innocent man be thrown to the wolves. ”

“All right,” he said, holding his hands up. “All right. I will handle Mr. Aiden. But don’t think for an instant that this matter with your letter is less important somehow. I want to be kept abreast of any development. I am at your disposal if I can help in any way.”

“Yes, of course,” she said with a wave of her hand.

He caught the hand, pulling it into his chest until she was focused on him with the appropriate level of seriousness. “I mean it, Millie,” he said firmly. “I want to know that you understand.”

She hesitated, visibly surprised. After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, fine,” she said with a nod, “we will balance these two matters as though they hold the same weight, if it pleases you.”

“It pleases me,” he said, pushing himself to stand and pulling her with him. “And so do you, Millie Yardley.”

She blushed, the corners of her mouth twitching up as she lowered her gaze. “Go on, then,” she said, removing her hand from his grip to give him a little shove at the shoulder. “Go save the world.”

He grinned back, accepting the shove and falling into a crisp bow. “At your pleasure,” he answered, if only to make her laugh, before he was on his way.

His work was cut out for him, of course. Chances were slim that an elderly man whose career had never progressed past footman for hire had secured any manner of legal representation, nor the reserved finances required to find some.

There was nothing to gain in telling Millie that. He’d much rather sort out the impossible than burden her any more than she already was.

When he looked over his shoulder before being swallowed by the crowd, she was still standing in front of the bench, smiling. She had her hands on her hips and an affectionate cock of her head as she watched him go.

Silas Cain’s law office was generally a rather sedate place. Often, the only sound that hit Abe as he walked through the front door was the ruffle of documents or perhaps a curt order from Cain himself, rapidly swallowed up by the strictly professional air that filled these rooms.

Today was different.

Cain’s voice booming, “A toast!” and the roar of approval that followed from the assembled law clerks was so alien that Abe almost turned around and left, assuming that he’d wandered into the wrong building.

Even after pushing forth and finding the assemblage of men he was used to, Abe had the distinct feeling that he was seeing something he shouldn’t.

“Murphy!” shouted Silas Cain upon seeing him. “Come in! Join us in congratulating our Mr. Cresson.”

“Oh, that isn’t nec—” Cresson began, but cut himself off with a sheepish grin at Cain’s sharp glance. “Thank you, sir.”

“What is all this?” Abe asked, happily accepting a small glass of whiskey from a clerk who, honest to God, might have been fifteen or fifty, but nothing in between.

“I’ve received my letter from Lincoln’s Inn,” Cresson provided, spots of color on his cheeks giving away how delighted he was. “Called to the bar.”

“What!” Abe broke into a grin, weaving his way around the jubilant drudges that Abe had previously thought permanently fused to their chairs to shake Cresson’s hand. “My good man, a barrister at last!”

“Celebrate now,” Silas told him with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, “for tomorrow your workload may make you regret it.”

“Never, sir,” Cresson answered, flashing a smile that might have been debonair if it made more appearances. “I shall relish it.”

“I might have something for you straight away, as it happens,” Abe put in, leaping at the window of opportunity here. “I came to talk to Cain, but perhaps you’d like to join us?”

Cresson looked to Silas for approval, and upon his nod, he stood immediately, discarding a barely sipped whiskey on his desk and cracking his fingers in readiness.

“Ah,” Silas sighed, glancing at the glass. “You’ve punctured the party, Murphy.”

“There’s no way I’d rather celebrate,” Cresson put in, eyes bright as a wee bunny’s.

“Yes, I know,” Cain replied with a chuckle. “All right, then. Come into my office, but Cresson?”

“Sir?” Cresson looked up from his immediate grab for his pad of paper and ink pot.

Silas gave a shake of his head and turned to open his office door. “Bring the whiskey.”