5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Of all the cities Phineas had visited, travelled to, and moved through in a blur of dark corridors and scuffled conversations, London was by far the one he detested most. The fog that suffocated the buildings. The pompous pretentiousness. The swarming hordes that streamed in from the country, from the uppers to their genteel townhouses and the lowers to the slums. Both ends of the spectrum of life’s lottery clogged the streets with filth and congestion all the same.

He couldn’t wait to leave.

And yet this morning, when he’d planned to send a note to the office to begin his steady extraction, he had hesitated. He’d eaten jam and toast under Felix’s slightly perturbed expression. While Spencer the cat finished lapping his morning saucer of milk, Phineas had donned his hat, tucked his umbrella under his arm, and set off to the bank the same as he did every working day.

In the subterranean office at the bank, Taylor had barely raised an eyebrow at his arrival. Over the course of the day, Phineas had inspected the ledger again, but he still couldn’t find anything amiss. Later that afternoon, he’d slipped into the office of one of the more senior clerks and pulled the folio for Lord Richard’s accounts. All had seemed healthy until…

There it was. A renegade zero, clumsily added to the end of a return, a casual shifting of the man’s fortunes from precarious to flourishing. Funny how nothing could change everything.

Someone was hiding something. But who, and from whom?

And what did his churlish neighbour have to do with it?

Because for all her fire and contempt, he felt sure Rosanna and the Hempels were ignorant of Lord Richard’s deception. Lawrence may have been light in his attitude to the law when young, but he was too devoted a father to risk his family’s well-being in a scheme. He was also comfortable enough with his fortunes that he did not lust after more.

Phineas crossed the thoroughfare, making for the path that cut through the park near Honeysuckle Street. Summer had found London, and this year it had decided to be kind. The ornamental plums and cherries had grown lush and thick. Robins and larks hopped from branch to branch, couples hovered at the edges of the pond where ducklings—not fully grown, but not chicks any longer—nipped at one another as they bobbed on the water or waddled along the edges. The devout, seeking the solace of evening mass, gathered in a small group outside the church. He spotted Mrs Crofts amongst them, clad in black and surrounded by some of the pastel ladies from her society. Since the duke had left and she’d lost her patron, the Society for the Promotion of Civic Morality and the Adherence to Proper Values had lost many of its members. Good.

A sudden shift in the ambiance slowed his step. Had the wind changed direction? No—the chatter of the birds overhead had also altered its tenor. A prickle raced across Phineas’s skin. He scanned the park. Something was happening somewhere, some kind of disturbance not yet noted by people. Petunia Hartright and her niece, young Elise, hovered by the pond. The older Miss Hartright enthusiastically gestured as she spoke to a mother with her daughters—possibly trying to recruit them into her singing troupe.

A little further back, in the shadows, a couple stood immersed in deep conversation. Their heads bowed together, perhaps too brazenly for this time of year when the sun didn’t dip until almost nine o’clock and sunsets went on forever. Phineas ground to a halt, then squinted. That was his neighbour Rosanna, speaking with a man at least a foot taller than her. Could it be the infamous Lord Richard, the man with the wayward zero?

The young lord shot a look at the Misses Hartright. Then, with a gentle nudge, he guided Rosanna deeper into the gardens, into the shadows, behind the hedges. Now there was a scoundrel’s move if ever he’d seen one. They moved completely out of his line of sight, except for a flash of blue fabric as they ambled behind the hedges that edged the sunken garden. Was the young lord trying to make a scene, to create a scandal and force a betrothal? He’d not be the first to resort to such a desperate move. With access to family wealth like that possessed by the Hempels, the errant zero could be fixed firmly in place.

Served her right for being so damn arrogant and headstrong. A wave of nausea chased his flash of anger, followed by a rush of shame at his own vehemence. If Lord Richard only cared for her money, the marriage would not be a happy one. How many women had come into the bank, bereft and heartbroken, desperate to regain some control over their meagre finances once they learnt the professions of love had all been a lie to get to their purse? A life of misery was a hefty price to pay for a little youthful confidence.

Phineas set off again, altering his path to keep Rosanna and the lord in view as they moved into the sunken garden. He could just stomp in loudly and pretend he was taking a different route from his usual walk home. If he was wrong and it was only an innocent detour as they strolled along, lost in conversation, there would be no harm done. He would give her something new to scowl about. Because he might be wrong…

When was he ever wrong?

His foot hovered over the step leading into the garden. Wait. Someone else was down there.

‘Mr Pennington wants his money. Now. Today.’

Pennington.

A confluence of hot and cold, of elation and dread, collided and swarmed inside Phineas so rapidly that he had to shake his head to clear the pounding in his ears. It couldn’t be. After all these years… Pennington, here? He’d traced the man relentlessly, hard on the heels of a few scant clues as he desperately tried to locate the villain who may have abducted Imogen. Years of walking the streets, of listening out in clubs, of scanning names at the exchange, and this was the first time he’d heard anyone other than himself utter that name. He’d known Percival Pennington—thief, smuggler, and loan shark—had come to London. For all these years he’d just known it. And now, on the other side of the hedge, was a chance to find him. This lord, this ridiculous man with his sights set on his uppity neighbour would lead him straight to the answers he needed and perhaps to the elusive man himself.

Phineas pulled back, crouching between the hedge and the edge of a fountain. Cool drops of mist settled against small slips of exposed skin, and he wiped them away. He shuffled closer to the hedge and leant in, his ear straining to hear the voices which were muffled by foliage and water splashing into the pond.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the lord stammered, his voice heavy with concealed deceit. ‘I don’t owe anyone money.’

‘How dare you!’ Rosanna. Did the woman not know when to hold her tongue? ‘You clearly have mistaken us for someone else. This is Lord Richard, son of the Marquess of Hanley, and he is not in debt to anyone, especially not a grubby, no-good rogue. If you don’t leave immediately, I will—’

Her words morphed into an indignant cry, harsh, hurt, and shocked. The backhand came so casually that its smack against Rosanna’s cheek surprised even Phineas. A hard knock, full of malice and disregard. Rosanna staggered, then fell back into the bushes. The man leant forwards, grasped her dress, and tugged her face close to his.

‘You his chit?’ he snarled.

Rosanna touched a finger to her lips. Even through the shadow of foliage, Phineas saw the bright smear of crimson blood.

‘I… his what?’ she stammered.

‘He said his chit had his money. Pay up…’ The man flexed his hand, then bunched it into a fist. ‘Or you’ll learn what happens when people don’t meet their deadline.’

‘I don’t have your money!’ Lord Richard shouted, his voice trembling.

Phineas grasped the edge of the fountain and hauled himself up. It had been so long since he’d been faced with an altercation like this, with a man who wasn’t just angry, but who might hurt someone. What to do? How to help? What had the corporal taught him, what had they said when he was in the army? He slunk around the edge of the garden. As he ran, he loosened his umbrella, then popped it open with a half-shout by the pond. Ducks and swans scrabbled into the air, quacking and honking as they took flight. A few people shouted and scurried out of the way. The Misses Hartright looked around, and Petunia called, ‘Rosanna? Miss Hempel? Where are you?’

Angling through the walkers, Phineas staggered into the garden, shouting and cursing at ducks. He expected to find the three of them—the man, the lord, and Rosanna—but when he closed his umbrella, the only other person in the garden was his churlish neighbour. She pushed herself up from between the snapped branches of the hedge and cried out, ‘Lord Richard? Help me stand.’

Phineas caught Rosanna’s hand and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled into him. With a loud ripping noise and an anguished shout, she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. ‘I was so scared,’ she cried. ‘Thank heavens you were here.’

Phineas stiffened. Rosanna snuffled. He gave her a few light taps on the back.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Phineas asked stupidly, softly, even as the bright red mark across her cheek screamed the answer.

She looked at him, blinking, as if trying to pull him into focus. ‘What? You? Where is Lord Richard?’

The confused fury in Rosanna’s eyes darkened, then shifted to horror. An unmistakable gasp and a tutting came from over Phineas’s shoulder.

‘Mrs C-crofts,’ Rosanna stammered. ‘This isn’t what you think it is.’

‘I don’t believe it! Or should I say, I do!’ Mrs Crofts’s voice cut through the hum of the park. ‘You have been at inappropriate activities. Inappropriate! I have invited your mother to my meetings and suggested she bring her daughters, but like the rest of the street, she ignores my offers of assistance. And now look at you. Caught alone with a man! Compromised! Ruined!’

‘There was another man—’

‘Two men!’ Mrs Crofts’s voice shifted higher, fuelled with self-importance and indignation.

‘Not in any problematic way, not…’ Rosanna took a step away from him. Her hand clasped at her torn dress, and she touched the swell of her lips. ‘He said a name, he said—’

Phineas grasped her wrist and pulled her close. ‘Don’t say that name. Don’t say another word.’

‘But she thinks we were together!’ Rosanna exclaimed.

‘This will make the papers,’ Mrs Crofts continued. ‘Take my word for it. I will see that it does, as an example to other young women on the dangers of immorality. And of parents who give their daughters too much freedom! I will send a special edition of my newsletter. I will hold an emergency session for my society next week, and everyone will attend to learn the dangers of licentiousness, freedom, and—’

Phineas turned around slowly. Mrs Crofts looked at him, her mouth contorting through various vowels, but her voice lost. One of her pastel society ladies rushed into the garden, then another. Bloody hell, now there was an audience. Rosanna’s gaze darted between them as she tugged at her dress.

‘Rosanna here is in no way compromised. She just caught her dress,’ he said.

Mrs Crofts raised a condemning brow. ‘Mr Babbage! I expect terrible behaviour from Mr Hunter or even Lord Dalton, but you? You cannot lure a lady into a garden for nefarious purposes.’

‘I didn’t, I was just—’

‘Nefarious! You must get married.’

‘I am not going to marry Miss Hempel.’

Mrs Crofts took a menacing step forwards. ‘It is one thing for a woman on my street to be up to mischief, but two people will ruin my society’s reputation. And after that messy business with the ballerina, I am afraid I have no choice but to insist you marry, for the reputation of Miss Hempel and the street itself!’

Phineas sucked air through gritted teeth as he tried to assemble his thoughts. He needed to learn what Rosanna knew. He needed to keep her safe from Pennington and get her away from whatever mess Lord Richard had landed himself in. More than anything, he needed some quiet. He needed bloody Mrs Crofts and her pastel ladies to stop muttering and Rosanna to stop protesting her innocence beside him.

‘Mrs Crofts!’ he bellowed, and the crowd quietened. ‘You have guessed our surprise. We are indeed engaged. We have just been too busy to make the announcement.’

Rosanna shot him a hard look. ‘We most certainly are not.’

Phineas laughed. He’d not done that for some time, so at least no one would guess it was forced. ‘Darling, there’s no need to be shy. Everyone will hear about it soon enough.’ His voice dropped low, and he pulled her close. ‘Everyone. This cannot go to the papers. I need to find Pennington before he finds you. Marry me, just for show. When I find him, I’ll leave. Your reputation will remain unscathed, and you will be of no interest to him if you aren’t connected to Lord Richard anymore.’ She squirmed in his grasp, but he held firm. ‘Unless you can think of an alternative solution?’

Rosanna peered over the heads of the crowd to the garden beyond. ‘Lord Richard?’ she whispered, soft and yearning. Then, with a bitter pout, she pinched her eyes shut. He waited for her to stomp her foot and rage, but she raised a trembling hand to her bright red cheek instead, pinned a smile to her lips, then nodded. ‘We are ever so happy,’ she gritted out.

‘You are?’ Mrs Crofts asked, crestfallen.

‘We are.’ Rosanna slipped her hand around his elbow. Phineas patted it. The crowd deflated, then scattered.

When they had gone, Rosanna grabbed his coat-sleeve and tugged him to face her. She kept her smile, but her voice scratched through her throat, coarse and heavy with indignation. ‘This will be sorted. I will not stand it. I will not marry you, Babbage. I would rather die than be your wife.’

Phineas found his same forced smile. ‘Interesting choice of words, Hempel. Because that may very well be the crux of it.’