A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,87
with Harry, nor should it be. She’d glimpsed joy for the first time, and now she knew her suspicions were true: happiness was not for her.
The last five days blurred together in Harry’s mind. He still couldn’t quite believe the woman he’d fallen in love with—for surely he had—had lied to him so thoroughly and easily.
When he’d gone into the Magistrates’ Court the day after he’d learned the truth, he’d been shocked to find a package had been delivered to him containing nearly all the jewelry that had been stolen, along with a note saying the last piece would arrive soon.
“Soon” had ended up meaning three days, since the bracelet Beatrix had stolen from the woman at Spring Hollow had just been delivered yesterday. Harry had returned it to the victim, who’d been most grateful.
He should have arrested Beatrix and Selina by now. Why hadn’t he? Though the stolen items had been returned, the sisters—no, they weren’t even sisters—had still committed crimes.
Because you can’t bring yourself to do it.
Which made him a terrible constable. Contributing to that was the fact he hadn’t been able to find Frost. Harry had come to Saffron Hill nearly every day in an effort to find the man. So far, he’d proved as elusive as the bloody Vicar.
Despite that, Harry would continue his search. He strode into a court off Saffron Hill and began asking after Frost. Some people knew of him while others didn’t. Those who did could only offer suggestions of places that Harry and Remy had already checked—and were keeping watch over.
Harry walked into a small tavern, the Lantern, and instantly recognized it was a flash house. Several women noted his entry and exchanged looks. Harry watched as they silently communicated who would claim him as their quarry.
Then he recognized one of them. Crossing the common room, Harry stopped in front of a dark-haired woman with familiar dark eyes. “If it isn’t Mrs. Winter,” he said. “You’re a long way from Ivy Lane.”
Her lips parted, and panic flashed in her gaze.
Harry took her arm. “Come and sit with me.” He guided her to a table and put her in a chair. He sat down beside her. Another woman appeared at the table. She wore an apron, and Harry assumed she was a serving maid. “Two ales, please,” Harry said. “Though I suspect Mrs. Winter here may prefer gin.” He could smell it on her.
“Who’s Mrs. Winter?” the maid asked. “That’s Theresa.”
“Yes, who is Mrs. Winter?” Harry mused. He looked toward Theresa, who seemed to shrink beneath his attention.
The maid took herself off, and Harry said nothing more as he waited for Theresa to speak.
“What do you want?” she finally asked.
“Who are you, and why were you pretending to run a charity for children?”
“You know who—or wot—I am,” she said, her voice coarser than he recalled from the Home for Wayward Children. But then, she’d been playing a part.
“You aren’t a Mrs. at all, are you?” Harry asked, perhaps unnecessarily. “Who is Mr. Winter?”
“Luther’s a friend. ’E paid me to pretend to be ’is wife.”
“He paid you?” How was he involved with Madame Sybila? Rather, Selina. Harry stiffened as the nearly ever-present sense of betrayal swept through him. “Not a fortune-teller?”
Theresa sniffed. “That fortune-teller’s a right bitch.”
Despite Harry’s anger toward Selina, this woman’s insult raised his hackles. He pushed that aside to do his bloody job. This woman knew Madame Sybila or Selina or, probably, both. “Why?”
“She used poor Luther. The sot’s in love with ’er. ’E paid me to do the job, but I don’t even think she paid ’im.”
“What of the children?” Harry was particularly concerned about them and where they were now. Some of them had been quite small.
“Those wot ’ad parents are back with them. I s’pose she paid ’em, or so Luther said. ’E’d also say the sun shone out of ’er arse.”
“And the children without parents?” Harry asked.
Theresa shrugged. “Don’t know.”
The serving maid dropped two tankards on the table, sloshing ale over the sides in her haste.
Hefting her mug, Theresa took a long drink. “Actually, one of the girls lives a few doors over. She lodges with a friend or somethin’.”
“You said Luther—Mr. Winter—is in love with the fortune-teller?” Did Selina love him in return? Had everything between her and Harry been a lie? He had to assume so. Perhaps she was with this other man even now. Why would she pay him if she planned to share her earnings?
“Known each other since they were children, ’e