Catherine held up her glass. “I sincerely hope that is the case.”
“Come now, we trusted you to bring about change, and you have succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. There must be a reward.”
“But your granddaughter and my son?” Catherine blew out a frustrated breath. “Could he have not chosen someone else?”
“He might have.” The duchess raised an imperious brow. “But if it is indeed Henrietta, he could not have chosen better. She could have any gentleman she wants. I would venture to say with her maturity, her connections, and her dowry, she is the most eligible lady in London.”
“And she would be the most eligible bride.” Catherine nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound. “What is our first plan?”
“You shall invite me to dine with you, but not, I think, as the Duchess of Bristol. I shall be”—a sly twinkle entered the duchess’s eyes—“I shall be Lady Fitzwilliam. It was a lesser title of my husband’s. We do not want him associating me with Merton.”
Catherine was certain Fotherby had discovered Lady Merton’s grandmother was a duchess, after the fact, naturally. “Excellent. It must be soon. Before he has suitable clothing in which to go about Town. Shall we say tomorrow evening?”
The duchess inclined her head. “I shall arrive at eight.”
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning Nate found a note on his desk from his secretary and entered Chetwin’s office. “What have you discovered?”
“Well, there seem to be an abundance of charities for different purposes, but only three of them let it be known that they will rescue children for payment.” He pushed a cut sheet of foolscap cross the desk. “Here are the names and addresses.”
The Ladies Society for the Benefit of Orphans and
Other Unfortunates, 2 Old Compton Street
The London Society to Promote the Well Being of
Children and Mothers, 17 Stacy Street
The Phoenix Society for the Aid of Children,
Families, and Widows, 12 Phoenix Street
“All of them are located near Covent Garden,” Chetwin added.
“Close enough to St Giles and Seven Dials that word could get to them, but not so close the people working at the charities could be in danger.” That made sense. “I suppose I must visit each of them.”
“I could send a footman if you wish,” his secretary offered.
“Thank you, but no. This is something I must do myself.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Padraig needs a good walk.” What Nate didn’t know was what he would say when he found the right place. Would there even be someone there who could introduce him to the lady? There was only one way to find out. “If my mother asks, tell her I’m running an errand, and I will return in time to change for dinner.” Visiting the charities probably wouldn’t take long at all, but if he did find her, he wanted to make sure he did not have to rush home for some reason.
“I hope your search is productive.” His secretary’s tone was doubtful.
“I do as well.” Nate strolled into his study, where Padraig had taken up residence near the fireplace. “Come, boy. We’re going for a nice, long walk.” The Wolfhound rose, slowly stretching as he did. It wasn’t until he was fully standing that he turned his golden-brown eyes on Nate and his tail started to wag. Nate grabbed the lead. “You are going to discover all sorts of things you’ve never seen before, including pigeons. You are not to chase them. Do you understand?” Padraig leaned against Nate’s leg as he attached the lead to the dog’s thick leather collar. “Let’s see if we can hunt down the lady I’m looking for.”
He arrived at the Old Compton Street address first and knocked on the door. A young man dressed neatly, but not as a footman or a butler, opened it. “May I help you?”
“Yes. I was able to assist a young lady who fetched an infant from the area near the Whitechapel workhouse a few days ago. I wished to discover how the child was doing.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth.
The lad scratched his head. “Don’t think it was us, but if you want to come in, I’ll ask Mrs. Denison.”
“Thank you.” He shortened Padraig’s lead to keep him by his side.
As Nate started forward, the young man’s eyes fixed on the Wolfhound, and his eyes widened. “Is he safe?”
“Perfectly. He loves people if you would like to stroke him.”
The lad swallowed hard. “Maybe later.” He backed away. “I’ll go ask Mrs. Denison.”
A few minutes later, the aforementioned Mrs. Denison entered the hall. “Ah, I see what Johnny was talking about.” She held her hand out to Padraig’s nose. “He’s a fine-looking fellow.”
“That he is.” Nate waited until the lady gave his dog a few pats on the head. “Did, er, Johnny tell you what I came about?”
“Just barely.” She smiled. “He was much more impressed by your dog. He has probably never seen one so large.” She glanced at Padraig again. “I can tell you that we have not had a rescue in Whitechapel recently. I suggest you call at The London Society to Promote the Well Being of Children and Mothers”—she wrinkled her nose—“or the Phoenix Society for the Aid of Children, Families, and Widows. I would try the Phoenix Society first. It is closer, and you are more likely to find what you are looking for.”
Nate bowed. “Thank you for your help.”
She curtseyed neatly. “It is my pleasure to assist anyone who is interested in saving children’s lives.”
Once back on the pavement, he set course for Phoenix Street, where he found the Phoenix Society. It was a well-kept building painted white with black shutters. Nate knocked on the door and found himself facing a large man in his mid- to late-twenties who had the look of a soldier about him.
The man ran an expert eye over him before saying, “May I help you?”
“I hope so. . . .” he repeated his request.
“Yes, we had a child rescued there not long ago.” The man stepped back. “If you will take a seat in the parlor, I’ll fetch Mrs. Perriman.”
“Thank you.” Padraig entered with Nate, but the man didn’t say a word about him. “Are you used to large dogs?”
“As a matter of fact”—he grinned—“I’ve met a few of them. Mostly Great Danes. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He led Nate into a parlor facing the street and took himself off toward the back of the building.
Shortly thereafter, a woman dressed plainly but with propriety entered the room. “Good day, Mr. . . .” She raised a brow.
“Meadows.” That hadn’t been his name for a few years now, but he’d used it longer than he had Fotherby. The question he had to ask himself was why he hadn’t used his current name and rank? He’d think about that later.
“Well, Mr. Meadows, I must thank you for your assistance. It came as an urgent request and we were short of people. I am grateful for your help.”
He crossed his fingers and sent up a prayer. “Can you tell me if the lady who was there that afternoon is here?”
“I am sorry, she is not. She—”Mrs. Perriman’s forehead creased—“she does not actually work here. Both she and her sister help when necessary. They are patrons, and I cannot reveal to you her name.”