Chapter 5

C hapter 5

“Sugar and cream?” Elizabeth paused as she prepared my tea, glancing to where I stood beside the parlor window.

I’d been drawn to the window immediately upon entering the room. Harwood House was right in the center of Mayfair, and their street bustled with strolling ladies and gentlemen, governesses scolding naughty children, and servants about their tasks. It was the sort of busyness one could watch quite contentedly for hours, imagining the possible stories behind each and every face.

I turned to Elizabeth with a grin. “As much sugar as you’ll allow me without seeming greedy. I’m afraid I’ve a terrible weakness.”

“One mustn’t do anything halfway.” She returned my smile, but it left her face quickly.

I sat next to her on the sofa, watching her as she added a small mountain of sugar to my teacup. Elizabeth was acting odd. As soon as we’d left Bow Street, she’d invited me for tea. I’d gladly accepted, hoping to distract her from the trauma she’d endured the night before. But it was proving to be a difficult task. She’d been unnervingly quiet during the carriage ride, and since we’d arrived—Lady Harwood claiming a headache and taking herself away to lie down—Elizabeth still had not spoken more than a dozen words. She was jumpy and distracted. It could be that she was still suffering ill effects from the robbery. But I did not think it was so, and my instincts were rarely wrong about such matters.

Elizabeth handed me my teacup, and I sipped it, eyeing her over the top. She focused entirely on preparing her own cup, pouring the tea with such delicate precision that one might think it was a task of vast importance.

I set my cup on the saucer. “Elizabeth,” I said quietly. “Are you quite all right?”

Her eyes leaped to mine. “Of course.” She paused. “Well, I am still shaken, to be sure, but I imagine I will be well soon enough.”

“You only seem ...” My voice drifted as I tried to find the right word. “I wonder if there is something else bothering you.”

Her hands gripped the teapot tightly, and she sat without moving for a long moment. Finally, she set it back down on the tray. Leaving her poured tea untouched, she clasped her hands in her lap. “You are right,” she said quietly. “Verity, I have not been honest with you.”

Concern grew inside me. Elizabeth had always been so carefree and light. What was it that burdened her now?

She finally lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Verity, I need to hire you.”

I stared. “Hire me?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly looking uncertain. “You are still taking cases, are you not?”

I was at a loss for words. I had not expected this in the slightest.

Elizabeth was one of the few people who knew I’d been involved in Jack’s thief-taking business he’d started after the fiasco at Bow Street. She also knew that upon his leaving London after his marriage, I’d struck out on my own. I had a knack for it. Besides my excellent memory, I also had a boundless determination and a network of contacts, thanks to my work with Jack.

It had certainly helped that it was still my task to collect and sort Jack’s mail, sending him what I deemed important. I knew he would never notice if I helped myself to a case every now and again. Just the ones I could handle, of course. A stolen horse, a dishonest maid, the like. I mostly took female clients because they were far less inclined to make a fuss when they learned I was also a woman. In the few months I’d worked on my own, I’d managed to close a modest amount of cases.

All for a price, naturally. I couldn’t work for free. Not when I had very clear dreams of escaping the patronage of my father. A man who paid for everything in my life—my home, my schooling, my clothes—and yet knew nothing about me.

Because what earl took any interest in an illegitimate daughter who had no aspirations of a good marriage?

In any case, when I’d begun this venture, I’d been sure of myself. I’d been full of that reckless spontaneity that only inexperience and youth seemed to inspire. Of course I would make a name for myself. I would build my clientele until I earned a decent living. I wouldn’t have to depend on anyone, not Jack or Mama or my absent father.

Oh, how that confidence had fallen, a brick wall built with cracked and crumbling mortar.

I looked at Elizabeth, my lungs tight. “No,” I managed. “No, I’m no longer taking cases.”

Her expression slowly changed from one of hope to surprise. “But why?”

She knew so much about me, but not this. She’d been traveling when the incident had occurred, and I had little desire to tell her now.

I countered with a question of my own. “Why do you want to hire me? Mr. Denning seems competent enough. I’ve no doubt he’ll make a valiant effort to find the thief—”

“I do not care about the thief,” she interrupted. “I care about the contents of my reticule.”

My brows knit together as I ran through my memories of the last day and night. How Elizabeth had fought to keep her reticule even when the thief had trained his pistol on her. How she’d insisted that Nettleton include her reticule on the list of stolen goods.

“Elizabeth, what was in your reticule?” I asked. She’d told the officers it was of sentimental value only, but Elizabeth’s reaction now seemed far beyond that.

She hesitated. “A letter,” she said finally.

“What sort of letter?”

“I—I cannot say.”

I squinted. “Whom was it from?”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, Verity,” she whispered. “I truly cannot tell you that.”

I sat in bewildered silence, trying to understand. Elizabeth wished for me to find her stolen reticule that held a mysterious letter, the contents of which were secret. It all pointed to the letter containing something of an illicit nature. But Elizabeth was all that was upstanding and proper and good.

What was in that letter?

I wanted nothing more than to pry an answer out of her, but I tried another line of questioning instead. “Am I to understand you do not wish your parents to know about this? Is that why you did not tell the Runners?”

She nodded fervently. “Mother and Father cannot know. They cannot .”

I exhaled a long breath. “Elizabeth, all of this is beyond the point. I haven’t taken a case in months. I’ve—I’ve moved on.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t understand. Before I left to travel with my aunt, it was all you spoke about. You loved your work.”

“I did,” I admitted, my heart taking a beating at her words. “But things change. Faster than we can ever anticipate.”

She bit her lip, eyes glistening. “There is more truth in that than you know.”

We looked at each other, silence stretching between us. What was she not telling me?

“Please, Verity,” she whispered. “I cannot share what is in that letter, but I can tell you that it would destroy me. If someone were to find it and realize its significance, I would never recover.”

“Your name is on it?” My natural curiosity took control of my tongue.

She nodded guiltily.

“Why on earth were you carrying such a letter to the theatre, of all places?” I rubbed my forehead. I didn’t often get headaches, but if anything could cause one, it would be the events of the last twenty-four hours.

Elizabeth sighed. “I was reading it in my room last night before we left. Mother came in unexpectedly, and I was forced to hide it in my reticule. I never imagined I would not come home with that letter.”

A sudden knock came at the door, and a maid popped her head inside. “Miss? Do you have a moment?”

Elizabeth sat up, forcing a pleasant smile. “Yes, do come in, Marianne.”

The maid stepped inside. She was pretty and slight, her honey-colored hair neatly pulled back. I guessed her to be a few years older than Elizabeth and me.

She bobbed a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, miss, but Lady Harwood says your new dress has arrived, and she wishes you to come see it.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth looked a bit startled, as though new dresses and insistent mothers were part of a different world from the one she currently occupied.

I tried to cover for her. “You are Elizabeth’s abigail, are you not?”

Marianne’s eyes lifted to mine, surprised. It was a common enough reaction. Most women of status refused to acknowledge servants even in their own houses. But I was far from a woman of status, and besides, a little kindness went a long way.

“Yes, Miss Travers,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Miss Harwood speaks of you often.”

“I imagine as the center of her better stories,” I said. “We had a jolly time of it at school.”

“Indeed, we did.” Elizabeth managed a smile, a halfhearted affair. “Marianne, please tell Mother I will come up after my tea with Miss Travers. Thank you.”

Marianne curtsied and left.

Elizabeth turned once again to me, her eyes filled with desperation. My polite smile faded, and the soberness of our conversation returned like an evening fog.

“Please, Verity,” she said quietly. “I need your help. Even if the Runners find my reticule, they might see the letter and inform my parents. It must be you who finds it. Please, help me.”

Help me . The words echoed in my head like church bells. But I had to refuse. I’d learned my lesson, hadn’t I?

And yet . . .

Elizabeth had no interest in finding the thief. I simply had to find her reticule and the letter. I’d done it before, located stolen items. I could do it again. Still ...

“The thief likely discarded your reticule,” I said, my last-ditch effort. “And the letter.”

“I cannot take that chance,” Elizabeth said, weariness claiming her voice. Had she slept at all last night? “I’ll pay you anything you like. Please.”

Did she think my hesitation was based on payment?

I exhaled, wrapping her cool hands in both of mine. She clutched onto me, and I felt the weight of her fears like a physical thing. And it was decided. I couldn’t let her face this alone—whatever this was.

“You needn’t pay me a penny,” I told her firmly. “I’ll help.”

She stilled, then exhaled a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank you, Verity. You cannot know how grateful I am.”

“You may pay me in sugar and gossip,” I said, pretending an optimism neither of us felt. “The two most valuable currencies, as everyone knows.”

She nodded, sporting a weak smile. “Indeed.”

She excused herself to find a handkerchief for her watery eyes and left me alone in the parlor. I sat still, back straight and heart thumping. Was I truly going to do this? Delve back into that world that had nearly swallowed me whole?

I had to. For Elizabeth, one of the few true friends I had.

It was just one case, I told myself. Simple. Straightforward. If I felt it grabbing ahold of me, clawing at me, this time, I would know when to abandon ship.

With experience came wisdom.

I hoped.