He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll find him today. I can feel it.”
She nodded, not wanting to allow her expectations to rise too high. At the Hog and Hen, she knew where to go and what to do. She entered right before Caleb and made her way to the back room. She waited until Caleb took a seat at a table nearby, then approached the entrance to the room, where the same sentry as the day before stood.
“Can I help you, missus?”
“Yes, you can. I’d like to speak with Mr. Merceron.”
He scratched his bald head. “Do you owe him blunt?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“But I’ll pay him for information.”
The sentry’s brows went up. “What sort of information?”
“I’ll discuss that with Mr. Merceron.” She tried to move past the sentry, but he blocked her path.
“Come back tomorrow. Maybe he’ll see you then.”
“That’s what you told me yesterday.” She rose on tiptoe and spotted a well-dressed man sitting at a table with another man and speaking in hushed tones. “Mr. Merceron!” she called, hoping he was the man at the table.
He looked up, glancing from her to his man, then back to her.
“I need to speak to you, sir.”
“Oy!” The sentry moved to block her vision. “I say who sees Mr. Merceron.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her around, and immediately Caleb was at his side.
“You’ll want to release the lady,” he said, voice low and menacing.
“And who are you?”
“A friend of the lady.”
By this time, Merceron had risen. As she’d observed, he was well-dressed, though his clothes were too bright and too flashy to be those of a nobleman. His dark hair was pulled back into a queue, and he had a high forehead and a large, flat nose. It had obviously been broken a time or two. “What’s this about, Digsby?”
“I told this wench to be on her way, but her cull is giving me trouble.”
Merceron’s gaze flicked to Caleb, then back to Bridget. He gave her a quick once-over. “I must apologize for Digsby, missus. Is there something I can help you with?”
Digsby scowled, but stepped back and out of the way.
“I’m looking for Joseph Merceron.”
“You’ve found him.” He gave a half bow. “Come sit.”
Caleb made to retreat, but Merceron pointed at him. “You too, fellow. Come and have a drink.”
Bridget shot Caleb an apologetic look, then took the seat Merceron offered. His previous companion was gone. Since he hadn’t passed Bridget on his way out, she surmised there must be a back door. Caleb took a seat as well, keeping his hat pulled low over his brow.
“Do I know you?” Merceron asked Caleb. “You look familiar.”
“I’ve lived here and there,” Caleb answered.
Merceron lifted the bottle of wine on the table. “Thirsty?” he asked Bridget.
“No, thank you. I actually have a question to ask you. I’m told you’re familiar with Spitalfields.”
He nodded. “I was born on Brick Lane. I know every inch of that street, from Spitalfields to Bethnal Green. You want to open a business?”
“No. Actually, I’m looking for someone. He was left at the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, but that building has burned down.”
“Happened about three years ago. One of my men was injured in the fire. He was trying to help the women and children escape, of course.”
“Of course,” Caleb muttered.
“But it weren’t called St. Dismas. That rum mort who took over named it something else.”
“What’s that?”
Merceron crossed his arms and smiled. “I don’t rightly remember.”
Caleb put a penny on the table. Merceron looked at the penny, then tapped his forehead.
Caleb put two more pennies on the table.
“Now it’s coming to me. Sunnyvale or Sunnybrooke Home for Boys.”
“Where is it located now?” Caleb asked.
“Not in my jurisdiction, so I don’t care. But the rum mort...what was her name?”
Caleb sighed and put another penny on the table.
“Lady Julia. That’s right. She was the daughter of a duke or an earl or one of them nobs. I assumed she either went back to her ballroom or moved the orphanage somewhere a bit to the west.”
Caleb stood, and Bridget followed. “Thank you.”
Merceron looked up at Caleb. “Sure I don’t know you?”
“I’m sure.” He hurried Bridget through the tavern, and when they stepped outside, he muttered, “I shouldn’t have come with you. He knows who I am.”
Six
Caleb knew the moment Merceron said he looked familiar that he’d made a mistake. He didn’t regret going with Bridget. He couldn’t have sent her into the tavern alone, and he’d known it was a risk to go along. But now he could feel the shadow of danger closing in.
Bridget, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of the peril awaiting them. She was walking quickly and chattering about the new information they’d gained. He did not wish to ruin her excitement, but he thought the sooner he separated from her, the better.
“Should we find a bookstore and purchase a directory? Surely there can’t be too many orphanages with sunny in the name.”
“I don’t know that a directory of businesses or tourist sites would list orphanages at all.”
Her shoulders fell. “You’re correct, of course.” She looked up at the sky, which was cloudy, but at least no rain fell. “I suppose we can start in Mayfair and ask people we meet if they know it.”
He steered her toward a shop window, the blinds pulled down indicating it was closed on Sunday. “We might find it even more quickly if we go to the charity hospital. The nurses will know all the foundling houses.”
She nodded. “Yes. I didn’t think of that. Let’s go now.” She started away, but he grasped her arm lightly, holding her back. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t go with you. In fact, it’s time we say goodbye.”
The excitement and pleasure on her face fled. “I don’t understand. We’re so close.”
“You are. I have no doubt you’ll find James today, but not if I’m with you. I’ll only cause you trouble.”
She shook her head. “No, you won’t. I understand if you don’t want James to know who you are, but there’s no reason you can’t meet him.”
He bent close to her. “I was recognized, Bridget. Merceron knew my face. He might not have put my face with my name and the reward offered for me, but he will. And when that happens, he’ll send men after me. I have to leave Mrs. Jacobs’s, choose a new name, and find another place to hide. London is full of boarding houses and taverns with rooms to let. It won’t be difficult.”
“And that’s to be your life? Always running? Always hiding?”
He straightened. “If I want to live, yes. I had thought—” He shook his head. “You should go on without me.”
“Finish what you were saying.”