A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,92
information about the man who started the fire. If I tell you, will you ’elp ’im?”
“I will do my very best.” Harry knew that would only happen if the boy wanted to be helped. “I could also help you find an apprenticeship. Would you like to learn to make hats?”
She shrugged. “I already know how to make baskets.”
“Hats may not be so different.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Sometimes I think women’s hats could be used as baskets.”
This elicited a smile from Maggie. It was gone too soon, however. “The man who told us to say the Vicar started the fire—’e was like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“A gentleman.”
Harry wondered if it could have been Frost. The man had demonstrated his ability to play a role. “Was it Frost?”
A look of consternation crossed her face. “I don’t think so, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Your brother would know if it was Frost, wouldn’t he?”
She nodded.
“And where can I find your brother?” She’d been vague when Harry had spoken to her before, but he believed her story would change. She was motivated now.
“You can find ’im at the Lantern—it’s in a court off Saffron Hill—most nights.”
Harry knew precisely where that was of course. He realized he hadn’t asked Maggie about Frost’s whereabouts. “Do you know where I can find Frost? I understand he has lodgings on Peter Street, but he hasn’t been seen there of late.”
“’E and the boys—like my brother—’ave a place they ’ide. An alley off Chick Lane.”
Brilliant. Harry would go there straightaway. “Thank you, Maggie. Would you like me to see you home?”
She hesitated, but eventually nodded shyly.
Harry smiled at her again. “Wonderful.” He picked up his hat and went to open the office door. “What’s your brother’s name?” Harry would do what he could to help the boy. If he wanted it.
“Elias Dwight,” she said as Harry gestured for her to precede him.
Downstairs, he was intercepted by another clerk, who said he needed to take care of some paperwork regarding Chamberlain—the man he’d arrested earlier.
“Damn.” Harry ran his hand through his hair.
Remy approached him, a line running across his forehead with concern. “What’s the trouble?”
“I was just about to leave. I need to see this young woman back to Saffron Hill.” Harry looked around for Maggie, but didn’t see her. Where had she gone?
“Mr. Sheffield?” the clerk prodded.
“I got a lead on Frost,” Harry said to Remy. “He may be hiding out on Chick Lane. I was going to go now, but I have some urgent paperwork.”
“Want me to go for you?” Remy offered.
“Would you?” Harry was disappointed he couldn’t go, but it was more important to make some bloody progress.
“Not a problem. You mentioned a young woman?”
“Yes, I was going to see her home—she lives in Saffron Hill. But she seems to have disappeared. You go on.”
Remy clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll find you later. Hopefully, with news.”
Anticipation surged in Harry. He turned to the clerk and followed him to fetch the paperwork.
The clerk who’d showed Maggie upstairs approached Harry again. “Mr. Sheffield?”
Harry was glad to see him. “Have you seen the girl you showed upstairs?”
Shaking his head, the clerk held out a missive. “No, but a message was just delivered for you.”
Opening the parchment, Harry caught his breath as he recognized Selina’s handwriting. She knew where to find Frost—Chick Lane—and said she’d meet Harry there this evening. Harry checked his pocket watch. She’d be there soon.
Dammit! Harry frowned at the clerk. “Does this need to be done right now?”
“Yes, sir.” Scowling, Harry took the paperwork from the clerk, intent on finishing it as quickly as possible so he could follow Remy.
So he could get to Selina.
She hadn’t lied to him. Still, he wasn’t sure he could ever trust her. Her confessions from the other day had weighed heavily on him. Maybe she’d been right that he couldn’t forgive himself for trusting her, for allowing himself to be a fool.
A fool blinded by love. Was he still?
No, he knew what she was. He also knew why. What he didn’t know was if he could accept her. But, oh, how he wanted to.
Chapter 20
Chick Lane was incredibly narrow, with wood-and-brick buildings three stories tall that made the street feel even more close. The Fleet Ditch ran nearby, providing a permeating stench of offal and damp.
Selina couldn’t imagine Luther living here. Actually, she could. What she couldn’t imagine was living here herself. Which surely would have happened—or somewhere similar—if she hadn’t left London.
Or perhaps Rafe would have been