He might be a fool, but he believed everything she’d told him the other day. Every horrible, heartbreaking detail.
A clerk knocked on the door before opening it. “Mr. Sheffield? There’s a…girl here to see you.”
Weary, Harry waved his hand. “Have her come in.” He straightened in the chair.
The girl walked slowly into the office, her head turning this way and that as she surveyed her surroundings. She shifted her weight nervously before looking at Harry.
He recognized the basket weaver from Saffron Hill immediately. “Maggie, it’s good to see you.”
She tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear. She ought to have a bonnet. Harry would see to that.
He stood and went to stand near her, then offered an encouraging smile. “How can I help you?”
“You said I should come see you if I needed anything. I need my brother to stop being a thief. ’E’s going to get caught and end up on a convict ship.”
That was all too possible, unfortunately. “What would you like me to do?”
“You wanted information about the man who started the fire. If I tell you, will you ’elp ’im?”
“I will do my very best.” Harry knew that would only happen if the boy wanted to be helped. “I could also help you find an apprenticeship. Would you like to learn to make hats?”
She shrugged. “I already know how to make baskets.”
“Hats may not be so different.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Sometimes I think women’s hats could be used as baskets.”
This elicited a smile from Maggie. It was gone too soon, however. “The man who told us to say the Vicar started the fire—’e was like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“A gentleman.”
Harry wondered if it could have been Frost. The man had demonstrated his ability to play a role. “Was it Frost?”
A look of consternation crossed her face. “I don’t think so, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Your brother would know if it was Frost, wouldn’t he?”
She nodded.
“And where can I find your brother?” She’d been vague when Harry had spoken to her before, but he believed her story would change. She was motivated now.
“You can find ’im at the Lantern—it’s in a court off Saffron Hill—most nights.”
Harry knew precisely where that was of course. He realized he hadn’t asked Maggie about Frost’s whereabouts. “Do you know where I can find Frost? I understand he has lodgings on Peter Street, but he hasn’t been seen there of late.”
“’E and the boys—like my brother—’ave a place they ’ide. An alley off Chick Lane.”
Brilliant. Harry would go there straightaway. “Thank you, Maggie. Would you like me to see you home?”
She hesitated, but eventually nodded shyly.
Harry smiled at her again. “Wonderful.” He picked up his hat and went to open the office door. “What’s your brother’s name?” Harry would do what he could to help the boy. If he wanted it.
“Elias Dwight,” she said as Harry gestured for her to precede him.
Downstairs, he was intercepted by another clerk, who said he needed to take care of some paperwork regarding Chamberlain—the man he’d arrested earlier.
“Damn.” Harry ran his hand through his hair.
Remy approached him, a line running across his forehead with concern. “What’s the trouble?”
“I was just about to leave. I need to see this young woman back to Saffron Hill.” Harry looked around for Maggie, but didn’t see her. Where had she gone?
“Mr. Sheffield?” the clerk prodded.
“I got a lead on Frost,” Harry said to Remy. “He may be hiding out on Chick Lane. I was going to go now, but I have some urgent paperwork.”
“Want me to go for you?” Remy offered.
“Would you?” Harry was disappointed he couldn’t go, but it was more important to make some bloody progress.
“Not a problem. You mentioned a young woman?”
“Yes, I was going to see her home—she lives in Saffron Hill. But she seems to have disappeared. You go on.”
Remy clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll find you later. Hopefully, with news.”
Anticipation surged in Harry. He turned to the clerk and followed him to fetch the paperwork.
The clerk who’d showed Maggie upstairs approached Harry again. “Mr. Sheffield?”
Harry was glad to see him. “Have you seen the girl you showed upstairs?”
Shaking his head, the clerk held out a missive. “No, but a message was just delivered for you.”
Opening the parchment, Harry caught his breath as he recognized Selina’s handwriting. She knew where to find Frost—Chick Lane—and said she’d meet Harry there this evening. Harry checked his pocket watch. She’d be there soon.
Dammit! Harry frowned at the clerk. “Does this need to be done right now?”
“Yes, sir.” Scowling, Harry took the paperwork from the clerk, intent on finishing it as quickly as possible so he could follow Remy.
So he could get to Selina.
She hadn’t lied to him. Still, he wasn’t sure he could ever trust her. Her confessions from the other day had weighed heavily on him. Maybe she’d been right that he couldn’t forgive himself for trusting her, for allowing himself to be a fool.
A fool blinded by love. Was he still?
No, he knew what she was. He also knew why. What he didn’t know was if he could accept her. But, oh, how he wanted to.
Chapter 20
Chick Lane was incredibly narrow, with wood-and-brick buildings three stories tall that made the street feel even more close. The Fleet Ditch ran nearby, providing a permeating stench of offal and damp.
Selina couldn’t imagine Luther living here. Actually, she could. What she couldn’t imagine was living here herself. Which surely would have happened—or somewhere similar—if she hadn’t left London.
Or perhaps Rafe would have been able to protect her. He’d certainly come out all right. Better than she could have dreamed. But what had it cost him? She wasn’t sure and didn’t know if he’d ever reveal the truth to her.
He had, however, helped her find Luther, and she was most grateful. It was a small thing to do this for Harry, but she was glad for the chance. She knew nothing could ever erase her betrayal. Hopefully, this would help him. That was all she wanted.
Rafe, who’d tracked down Luther’s hiding spot, had offered to come with her this evening, but she’d said Harry would meet her. Besides, if Rafe came, it was likely that Harry would find out he was the Vicar. Since Rafe had decided to permanently retire his other identity, they’d agreed it was best he stayed in Mayfair as Raphael Bowles.
The Duck and Swan backed up to the Fleet Ditch. A covered porch jutted into the street, making the space in front of it even narrower than the rest of the lane. Prostitutes loitered outside. One had just snagged a customer and drew him inside with a leer.
Selina felt the familiar weight of her pistol in her reticule and took a deep breath. She wasn’t afraid, just a bit nervous. Though she’d dressed in plain, serviceable clothes—the black she wore as Madame Sybila—she still felt as though she stuck out.