The Lady and the Highwayman Read online

  “Dr. Milligan, a friend of mine, got wind of Fanny and Janey’s situation and stepped in. He’d not see either of ’em turned out on the street, but he ain’t able to house them at his surgery, he bein’ a bachelor-variety doctor.”

  “You’ve been separated from your sister?” she asked Janey.

  At that, the girl did something Fletcher never expected—she burst into tears. “We didn’t want to come. We knew what kind of woman Papa had sold us to. He didn’t care. He got five pounds each for us. That’d buy him a good bit of gin.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve, hiccupping through further tears. “But Fanny and I were together, and that made it not so bad.”

  “Not so bad.” Fletcher knew what it was to settle for that. There were so many children needing help. He’d had great hopes of his stories selling better and better and saving more and more urchins. He wasn’t doing so well anymore.

  Lud, he needed to find King.

  “Mr. Fletcher, would you tug on the bellpull, please?” Miss Black turned to Janey again and handed her a clean handkerchief. “Take a moment. You’ve endured quite an ordeal.”

  Janey wiped furiously at her tear-drenched cheeks.

  Miss Black stood and joined Fletcher. “Did you truly tell Janey that I was ‘a good ’un’?”

  “I did. Stranger still, I meant it.”

  She smiled. “Is there a reason a ‘good ’un’ doesn’t warrant so much as a ‘good afternoon’ when her path crosses yours outside of political salons and literary soirees?”

  Lud, she was decidedly upset about that still. “Last we saw each other, I weren’t in a position to offer any ‘good afternoons’ or ‘how do you dos,’” he said.

  “Your shoeshine spy certainly would not have begrudged you a brief conversation while he worked.”

  A shiver of apprehension spread over him. “Shoeshine spy?”

  She actually rolled her eyes. “I am not only a ‘good ‘un,’ I’m also a smart one. I see things, and I piece things together.” Not a reassuring declaration.

  The office door opened, and the housekeeper poked her head inside. “Yes, Miss Black?”

  “Would you take Janey to the kitchen and see to it that she has a cup of tea and something to eat?”

  “Of course, miss.” The housekeeper motioned Janey to the doorway, and the two of them disappeared into the entry­way.

  “Thank you for that,” Fletcher said. “Milligan fed the girls as much as he could, but he primarily treats the poor. He don’t have much to spare.”

  “Have you considered that Dr. Milligan might be your elusive Mr. King?”

  The question caught him so off guard he could not, at first, respond. “Milligan?”

  Her expression was serious. “Rumors are rife that the Dread Penny Society undertook another kidnapping—or rescue, depending on who you ask—a couple of days ago. The timing coincides with Janey and her sister arriving in London.”

  “They were rescued,” he insisted.

  “And if your friend, the good doctor, is connected to events possibly connected to the Dread Penny Society, it increases the likelihood that he is writing for the penny dreadfuls.”

  She had declared herself smart and observant. That was proving far too true for his peace of mind. Setting her on the scent of the elusive King might have been a mistake.

  “You’re assuming this society actually exists. I ain’t convinced it’s real.”

  “Are you attempting to make me believe that you are not, yourself, a member?”

  Fletcher tapped his chin. “I suspect your friend Mr. Headcheese harbors that same idea.”

  Her eyes danced. “Headcheese?”

  “Did I get it wrong again?” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “I cain’t never remember that cove’s name.”

  “How long would Janey need to be employed here?” she asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure. Milligan’s asking around, hoping to sort out a situation where the girls can be together.”

  “A kindness to them both,” she said. “If Janey is willing to work, and I suspect she is, and if she takes your advice on avoiding certain unsavory expressions—”

  “—Which I hope she will.”

  “Then I can give her a roof over her head and keep her belly full. I cannot say how long I could keep her employed here, though. I will have to look more closely at the ledgers.”

  He understood financial difficulties all too well. “I’ll appreciate whatever you’re able to do.”

  “I will do whatever I can,” she said. “Mrs. George will have no second opportunity if I have any ability to prevent it.”

  Here was the fierce compassion he had come to Thurloe in search of. “I’d wager Doc Milligan will find something for the girls soon enough. He can be trusted.”

  “Can you?” she asked.

  Before he could offer a single syllable in response, she continued. “Janey will be well looked after. Tell the good doctor where she is and have him send word if another situation is found for her.” She stepped to the doorway, pausing to look back at him. “And Mr. Walker?”

  He watched, waited.

  “Offer my greetings to the Dread Penny Society.”

  by Fletcher Walker

  Chapter III

  Just when Morris was certain he couldn’t hold on to the back of the carriage a moment longer, it slowed, rolling to a stop at a tall iron gate. He and Jimmy had been in a number of odd fixes during their twelve years of life, so they knew what to do without saying a word.

  They hopped off the carriage and, ducking down to stay as low and hidden as possible, followed the vehicle through the gate. They darted quick behind a hedge, waiting for the wheels to grow distant enough for them to safely move.

  Morris’s first glance at their surroundings shocked him; almost nothing did that anymore.

  “It’s a blasted castle,” Jimmy said. “An honest-to-Baub castle.”

  They’d wandered past the gates of Buckingham and Windsor, so a castle wasn’t a completely unfamiliar thing. But to have ridden the back of a carriage, one containing ragged little George, right to a castle gate? He’d not been expecting that.

  “An old one, too.” Jimmy’s surprise hadn’t silenced him. “Knights-and-armor old.”

  “Aye, but it ain’t crumbling. Someone’s living here and seeing to the ol’ pile.”

  “Someone who convinced George to roll off with him.”

  They needed to find George and make certain he was safe. If the master of the castle was the one sweeping urchins off the street, they needed to know why and where they all went, and why none of them were ever heard from again.

  Up ahead, the gilded carriage rolled on, not to the front portico but toward the stables. That made more sense; George weren’t exactly a fine and fancy visitor. But would George be staying in the stables, or should they sneak over toward the castle and try to find him there?

  “Look!” Jimmy, who was never spooked, sounded upended.

  Morris followed his wide-eyed gaze to the top of a tall, narrow, stone tower. “I don’t see nothing.”

  “It was there. A minute ago.”

  “What was?”

  “Somethin’ . . . floated by the windows up top.” Jimmy hadn’t looked away. “Floated. Swear it did.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “A person, maybe. I ain’t sure.”

  “A person walking past the window?” That seemed more likely.

  “Didn’t look like walking.”

  Morris looked back again but saw nothing. There wasn’t even any light up there. But Jimmy wasn’t one to make things up, and he didn’t get shaken easily. He’d seen something.

  “We can’t leave George here,” Jimmy said firmly.

  “But we don’t know where he’s being taken.”

/>   Jimmy squared his shoulders. “No. But we know where that is.” He pointed up at the tower.

  “You want to go chasing after a mysterious figure in the tower?”

  “It’s the threat,” Jimmy said. “If George is in danger, that’s where it’ll be coming from.”

  “And if the other urchins were brought here and are in trouble, they’ll be there as well.”

  Jimmy looked to him. “We’re doing this again, then, are we? Running headlong into trouble, solving mysteries, courting danger?”

  Morris allowed a cheeky smile. “It’s the only thing we do better than picking pockets.”

  He spit into his palm. Jimmy did the same. They clasped and shook hands, then moved stealthily toward the tower.

  The master was wandering the castle, still half asleep, but becoming more and more alert. Time was running short. Once he was fully awake, he would be thirsty. The consequences of not having an adequate supply for his feast would be dire.

  There was little time to gather enough children.

  So very little time.

  Within two days of Janey’s arrival at Thurloe, Elizabeth was utterly attached to the girl. Hers was a sweet temperament, an admirable work ethic, a roaringly funny wit, a sometimes-too-colorful vocabulary, and she quickly claimed the undying loyalty of every teacher and student at the school. Her sister was likely very much the same, and if Elizabeth was careful with the school’s funds, she might be able to take on both girls. Her penny dreadful income gave Thurloe extra income but also extra risk.

  She paused in her herb gathering, her mind spinning in too many directions. Spending time in the school’s kitchen garden usually proved soothing, but not today. Mr. Walker was determined to find Mr. King. If he knew the truth, would he be willing to keep her secret? Safeguarding her reputation meant she had no one to discuss the matter with, no one to celebrate or commiserate with. What a welcome release it would be to claim that needed bit of comradery.

  She turned at the sound of footsteps on the flagstone walk. Had he come to call? Her heart, that odd, illogical organ, leaped in anticipation. Mr. Walker hadn’t looked in on Janey the last two days, but Elizabeth fully suspected he would. He intrigued her, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

  It was not Fletcher Walker who approached but Timothy, her contact of the contact she had at her penny dreadful publisher.

  “Good morning,” she greeted.

  He answered with a quick, abbreviated bow. He was not usually so rushed in his interactions. Indeed, there were times his nonchalant manner tried her patience. “I’ve a family concern, Miss Black.”

  Her heart dropped to her boots. “Is something the matter with your sister?”

  He shook his head. “With my brother.”

  Cold creeped through her chest. Timothy didn’t have a brother. He was referencing Mr. King via the code they had developed between them. “Has something befallen your brother?”

  “Not as yet.”

  She hooked her arm through the basket handle and began a slow walk along the garden path. Timothy walked alongside her.

  “Tell me of your brother’s troubles.”

  “He has an odd employment, as you know.”

  She did, indeed.

  “The man he works for has been getting a world of bother over him lately. Busybodies and such asking questions.”

  That was not reassuring at all. “Has his employer offered any satisfaction to these curious souls?”

  “Mostly that he don’t know the answers to their questions.”

  The complicated method of handing over her manuscripts was an annoyance and a frustration at times, but keeping her publisher unaware of who she actually was had been crucial. She knew people would inquire, and the fewer people privy to Mr. King’s identity, the safer her secret.

  “And do you happen to know who these inquisitive ­people are?”

  “As near as I’ve been able to determine, there’ve been a few, but one bloke more than any others. A persistent bugger, from what I hear.”

  That described Fletcher Walker rather perfectly. Elizabeth suspected he was behind these recent inquiries. Agreeing to help him find Mr. King and feeding him false whispers had apparently not distracted him from his efforts as she had hoped.

  “Have these questions caused your brother’s employer any concerns?”

  “Not enough to make a fuss. Mostly he’s worried about my brother, knowing he likes his privacy.”

  That would be reassuring if not for the continued concern in Timothy’s eyes.

  “Is there something else your brother needs to know?”

  “The man who gets my brother’s papers from the man I give the papers to is feelin’ a little spooked. My man told him there weren’t nothing wrong or unlawful about any of it, but he’s still nervous. Might make it harder for my brother to get his work finished.”

  That was a difficulty. Removing even one person from the delivery chain increased the chances of her identity being discovered. Causing the publisher any increased annoyance might lead him to decide even the surprising success of King’s stories wasn’t worth the hassle.

  “I think I know who is making the inquiries,” she said. “I will see if I can’t distract him.”

  Timothy bit back a smile, bringing an answering one to her lips.

  “I didn’t mean it the way you are clearly thinking,” she said with a laugh.

  “Yes, miss. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Black?”

  “I thank you, but we’re getting on quite well. We have a chambermaid now, and she is proving an enormous help.”

  He grinned. “I saw her on my way around the school. Gave me a saucy look, she did, tossing a penny around as she worked.”

  “A penny?” That was an odd affectation.

  Timothy shrugged. “You see it around now and then, street children and mongers mostly, but gentlemen sometimes, too.”

  Pennies. An idea niggled in the back of her mind. Pennies. “Did the man who interrogated your brother’s employer flip pennies about?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  She nodded. “If you do hear, let me know.”

  He eyed her with curiosity. “I’ll keep m’ears perked.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for all the help you’ve been. I could not possibly have managed any of this without you.”

  He reddened at that but lost not a drop of his aplomb. “My pleasure, Miss Black. And don’t you fret. I’ll do all I can for my brother.”

  She was reassured, but still not wholly at ease. Her silver-­fork novels were acceptable and would not draw anything but approval. They didn’t, however, bring her the same satisfaction. Without her penny dreadfuls, she would be lost. They had become a part of her.

  She adjusted her basket of herbs over her arm and walked slowly back toward the kitchen door. Two of her youngest students ran past, giggling.

  “Good morning, Miss Black,” they said, nearly in unison.

  “Good morning, girls. How are you today?”

  “Lovely.” Penelope described most things as “lovely,” and she did so with utter sincerity. “Miss Newport says I can learn a new song on the pianoforte. I love playing music. It makes my heart happy.”

  Beside her, Lillian spun in a circle, arms stretched out.

  “And you, I suspect, have your dancing instruction today,” Elizabeth said.

  Lillian nodded.

  “Dancing makes her heart happy,” Penelope said.

  These girls made Elizabeth’s heart happy. Seeing them blossom, watching them grow into caring, intelligent, joyful young ladies brought her deep satisfaction. And helping them discover their passions, the pursuits that brought them joy, felt like she was changing lives for the better.

  Not far distant, a group of students played hopscotch. Some of the older
girls sat on a bench, heads bent over a book. The rest of her girls would be inside having lessons, writing letters home, passing quiet moments.

  Years of toil and tears had created this school, this dream come true. Writing penny dreadfuls had proven a fulfillment of a dream she hadn’t even known she’d had.

  She loved both. The school gave her purpose. Mr. King gave her hope. If juggling her two passions grew too risky, which would she be willing to lose? How could she possibly choose?

  Fletcher looked out over the gathering of Dreadfuls in the council chamber, wishing he had the answers to all the problems being discussed.

  Who was King? They still didn’t know.

  Who was undermining Hogg’s ragged school? They hadn’t the first idea.

  Were the burned-out remains of lucifer matches Joe kept finding around the school grounds the work of someone nefarious or simply mischievous, and neglectful, children? He couldn’t say.

  How were they to continue their rescues and philanthropic efforts if their funds continued to dwindle? Considering his income had taken more of a hit than anyone else’s, he really didn’t have that answer, either.

  “Miss Black stumbled across our rescue of them Smith sisters.” Irving was the first to bring up that near disaster. “She’ll have recognized Fletch and Hollis, no doubting that. And the rescue was hot gossip within an hour. If we’re not more circumspect, the game’ll be up quick as a frog off a log.”

  “Any suspicions she had were focused on me,” Fletcher said.

  “Why is it you’re thinking that?” Brogan asked.

  “She thought I was having her followed.”

  “Were you?”

  Fletcher just laughed. Stone nodded knowingly; not much escaped his notice.

  “She did take in Janey without too many questions,” Fletcher said.

  “And Fanny,” Hollis added.

  Fletcher hadn’t heard that.

  Doc explained. “She visited me yesterday, havin’ tracked me down with impressive speed, considering she and I have never interacted before. She said Janey was rather desperate to be with her sister again. Since she’d been led to understand that both girls were in temporary situations, she wondered if they might wait at Thurloe until more permanent arrangements could be made. She would feed them, see to it they had a new set of clothes, and pay them a small wage. And, more importantly in her view, they would be together.”