Hortense shook her head. “I don’t care about those men. You and I know Montfort is the head of the snake. If we don’t cut it off now, with one decisive blow, he will slither through unscathed.”
“Have you considered what Nick would do?”
“Nick?” Hortense scoffed. “You’ll get nowhere by throwing Nick at me. He’s a family man now. Completely out of the game. But between you and me? He would pursue this. Here. Now. We have the opportunity to deliver to Montfort everything he has coming to him.”
Percy nodded. She was right. Absolutely, unequivocally right. “Are you returning to London?”
She shook her head. “I’m staying just up the road at the Queen’s Arms.” She held his gaze, not yet finished. “I’ve been hired on at Gardencourt Manor as extra help for the village breakfast tomorrow.”
“So quickly? I would think the housekeeper would have required references.”
“Oh, I have an excellent set of references from our dear friend Lord Nicholas Asquith. He sends his regards.”
Of course. Hortense was thorough.
“I have a feeling about tomorrow, so be ready, Bretagne. You’re going to need me.” She turned to leave and stopped, asking over her shoulder. “And the Savior of St. Giles? Where does he stand in all this?”
“Haven’t you heard? The Savior of St. Giles is retiring.”
Hortense gave a curt nod and disappeared into the night. Not three seconds later, a rustling sounded in a dark clump of shrubbery some ten feet away. Percy’s head whipped around, and he scanned the gray night for the source. This wasn’t the indifferent shuffling of animal, but the measured movement of human. “Who’s there?”
Out from the hedge clambered none other than Lucy.
Shock traced through him at the sight of his daughter and the curious expression on her face. Of course, she always wore that expression, so it could be nothing. But he knew in his gut that wasn’t the case in this instance.
What had she heard?
Eyes narrowed, she approached, her step slow and deliberate. No denying his daughter had a distinct feel for the dramatic. “The Savior of St. Giles?”
Chapter 23
Knowledge shining in her eyes, Lucy stared at Percy as if this was the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him. “You are the Savior of St. Giles?”
He could pretend he’d been discussing gossip with Hortense. But Lucy would see straight through the lie and trust him even less than she did already. It wasn’t an option. “Yes.”
“Who was that woman you were speaking with?” Her head canted quizzically to the side. “One of your freed harlots?”
Percy shook his head. “Someone from a former life.”
Lucy’s eyebrows, which had drawn together, released. “So the whispers I’ve heard about you are true.”
“What whispers?”
“That you are a spy.”
He wouldn’t deny it. Only the truth would do for his daughter. She was old enough and intelligent enough to handle it. “I am no longer a spy.”
“You were a spy. And, now, you’re the Savior of St. Giles.” She moved closer. It wasn’t lost on Percy that this was the most conversation they’d ever exchanged. “When are you not pretending to be someone else?”
“I’m your father. That’s genuine and—” He hesitated. She was going to scoff him out of England when he spoke the next part. “And important.”
“Important? To whom?”
“To me.”
“You’ve had a funny way of showing it all these years.”
This was the conversation they needed to have, the one he’d been waiting for, and somehow it had caught him flat-footed. “Lucy, I—”
“Tell me about the gaming hells,” she interrupted. “Are they truly the bastions of debauchery, vice, and sin described in novels?”
The girl wanted to change the subject. He would let her. “Worse, I imagine. The endings at those places aren’t happy for the people who work there.”
Her eyes widened. “And you own two, according to the scandal sheets.”
“Two that I’ve shuttered. I’ve sold most everything off. They now stand empty.”
“Empty? What about those people with the unhappy endings? Where did they go? You can’t very well sell them off.”
“Pardon?” This conversation had just hooked a left turn.
“The harlots you rescued. Where are they?”
“They’re in a house in Seven Dials where they can sort themselves out.” He wouldn’t mention that most of the women had refused his offer of shelter.
“Sort themselves out? I can’t imagine that a woman who has been reduced to whoring—”
“Lucy,” he inserted in warning. He might not be much of a father, but even he knew aristocratic young ladies didn’t speak such words. That she’d done so with such ease . . . Well, he suspected he had much to learn about his daughter.
For her part, Lucy plowed on. “Such a woman wouldn’t have many options for sorting herself out. In fact, I would think she had just the one. And you’ve taken it away from her.”
For all her high-spiritedness, Lucy was one pragmatic girl. Who had rendered him stumped. Was she getting at what he thought she might be getting at?
She spoke his suspicion aloud. “You must provide them with an alternate occupation.”
Percy raised empty hands. “I haven’t any occupation to give them. I’ve secured their freedom and a roof over their heads.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Lucy released a blustery sigh. “Every occurrence has three phases.” She ticked them off with her fingers. “Before, during, and after. Have you stayed for the after in your entire life?”
“Pardon me?” He was fairly certain he’d just been insulted by this daughter who might see him too clearly.
“It’s the same with this Savior of St. Giles business. You obtained freedom for the harlots, but now what? Every good act can have a negative effect if it’s not seen through. Really, how much evil have good acts wrought in the world?”