Belle echoed him and they moved away as Mrs. Tipps closed the door. A moment later, Belle saw her at the window.
“Did her spying really help you?” Belle asked when they’d moved down the street a bit.
“Yes. It’s exactly as I’d thought.”
“Then perhaps you will let me in on your thoughts.”
He looked at her, seemed to consider, then nodded. “I believe I owe that to you, yes. But not here.” He raised his hand as the approached the corner.
“What are you doing? Why are you flagging a hackney?”
“I’ll tell you at the hotel.”
“Hotel? I am not going to a hotel with you.” Even if the notion made her belly flutter and her knees give way like clotted cream.
“Well, we can’t stay here. Ho, there!” He called to the driver. “Mivart’s Hotel, please.”
“Alright, Guvner.”
Arundel opened the door and gestured for Belle to climb in. Belle hesitated, looked back at the shop, and then at Arundel. She had a choice. She could sit at home and hope her father returned soon or she could go with Arundel and help find him.
Belle climbed into the hackney.
Arundel climbed after her then closed the door and tapped on the roof. “I’m really not at liberty to tell you anything about my work,” he said once they were underway.
Belle crossed her arms. “And I would hate to throw you out of a moving coach, but if you don’t tell me something, I’ll open this door and toss you on your head.”
HEW COULDN’T HELP BUT smile at her. She couldn’t have thrown him out of the coach if she’d tried for a year. He had a foot of height on her and probably three or four stone. But he didn’t doubt she would attempt to toss him out on his ear. She had a temper and plenty of spirit.
“What have I told you already?” he asked. It was a ploy to give himself time to think, but he also wasn’t exactly sure, being that he’d spent much of his time with her previously in and out of consciousness.
“Well, the last time my father was missing”—her tone was accusatory—“you said you have been investigating a bridge collapse. The bridge crumbled as the train was midway across. Ten people were injured and...five killed?”
“Three killed.”
“You suspected there was sabotage involved in the accident. Or—well, I suppose if there was sabotage then it was no accident.”
“It was not an accident. I can’t prove it yet, but I have my theories.”
“So you said. And what are your theories?”
This was the part Hew was not at liberty to discuss. Baron would have his head, but Hew couldn’t justify keeping her in the dark. She’d lost her father—twice, as she pointed out—had her shop vandalized, and now he couldn’t allow her to go home else she might become a target of the men after him as well. Safer to keep her with him at this point, though he had debated that point at least a dozen times.
“Do not make me open this door,” Belle said, a warning in her voice. “What are your theories?”
“If I tell you, you must never repeat any of this to anyone.”
She gave him a look of disdain. “And who would I tell? The clerk who comes in for his Irish Breakfast tea? No, the seamstress who needs a new teapot because her mother-in-law is coming to visit.” She shook her head. “Most people have no time to worry about sabotaged bridges. Most people have never so much as traveled outside of London, much less been on a train.”
Hew raised his brows. “Have you been out of London?”
“I’ve been to Wapping.”
That hardly counted as outside of London. “Then you’ve never been on a train.”
“No.”
It seemed incredible to him that she should never have left this city, and he was seized with the sudden desire to show her the world. He’d like to see Paris, Rome, and Constantinople through her eyes.
“From what you’ve said,” she continued, “I don’t think I’m missing much.”
He wanted to say that she was missing everything. There was so much more to the world than Fenchurch Street. But he couldn’t say that, of course. Even if she believed him, what difference did it make? He couldn’t be the one to take her away. He’d have to marry her for that. And he would never marry again. He would never trust a woman again—not even a woman like Belle.
“Arundel?”
He blinked, aware that she must have been speaking to him.
“Your theories, Arundel.”
And he’d just been thinking that he wouldn’t trust her. He’d have to trust her somewhat now if he gave her this information. Grudgingly, Hew admitted she had earned some of his trust. “Earlier you mentioned the bridge sabotage might have something to do with the train tracks cutting through a farmer’s land. You weren’t far off. My suspect—and remember I can’t prove this, at least not yet—is a local landowner named Pennywhistle. Pennywhistle was the previous owner of the land where the tracks had been laid.”
“He sold the land to the railroads and then regretted the sale. Is that what you think?”
As usual, she had grasped the salient point immediately. “That’s my suspicion, yes. I found out Pennywhistle had hired surveyors to map the land adjacent to the land now owned by the railroads. They were searching for deposits of copper and iron ore.”
“And I assume copper and iron are valuable.”
“Depending on the size of the deposit, they could be worth a fortune.”
“So this Pennywhistle probably wonders if the deposits extend onto the land he sold the railroad. Did he try to buy the land back?”
That was Hew’s question as well. “The railroad hasn’t provided me with that information yet. But that’s my assumption, yes. I also know the railroad. That track is built, and they’ve gone to the expense to build a bridge. They won’t sell the land back.”
Belle sat back and looked out the window of the hackney. “If he sabotages the bridge, the railroad men will only repair it. How does that serve Pennywhistle?”
Hew gave her a level look. She was so pretty, sitting across from him with her honeyed hair coming out of its confines and her brown eyes large with interest. Hew looked away. He could not entertain these feelings for her. He was not the sort of man to seduce a young woman—and she was young and inexperienced, no matter what she claimed—and then walk away. Hew doubted Belle was the sort of woman he could walk away from once he’d had a real taste of her. The kiss they’d shared the night before had only made him want more. But he had been married once and that was more than enough. Let other men take up the mantle of husband and father. Hew was a devoted bachelor.
“There is always a purpose to sabotage,” Hew said. “That’s the first thing I learned in the Royal Saboteurs. Know your endgame. Sometimes that’s easy—sabotaging an attempt on the life of the queen or violence against British citizens saves lives. In this case, I was not the saboteur, but investigating the act—and, of course, hoping to sabotage future efforts. But if Pennywhistle did sabotage the bridge—and someone did as the engineers assured me the damage that resulted in the collapse was deliberate and man-made—then the most likely reason was to give him time.”