Sir Nathaniel frowned. “And the woman fled as well?”
“She did.”
“Do you have any notion of her identity, or that of the other men?”
“They are a mystery to me.”
“Strange,” the magistrate mumbled. “However, female road agents are a rarity. She should be the easiest of the lot to locate.”
Henry swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”
Seemingly satisfied, the magistrate left Henry to the accolades of his fellows, which he accepted with sheepish reservation. Guilt dogged him for his blatant mistruths. Creeping darkness nipped at his heels as he ducked away quickly, fearing that Lucy might leave if he dallied. As he exited Number Four Bow Street, however, a voice halted him.
“Mr. Beaumont. A moment.”
He turned to find Sir Hugh following him out the door. “Sir?”
The principal officer approached Henry and pulled him aside. He leaned close. “That was quite a tale, Henry. We are all very proud of your success.”
Henry tried not to avert his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Of course, your success comes as no surprise to me.” Sir Hugh’s praise was warm, delivered in a Highlander accent tempered by a decade in the British army. “Your exemplary service to the Crown in France was the reason I gave you the job. Still, I wonder…”
“Yes?”
“It seemed you held back some of your story. Is there more to say?”
Henry’s nerves erupted. He had known the man for only a few weeks—not long enough to trust him fully. He forced a smile. “No, sir. I relayed the pertinent details.”
Sir Hugh laid a hand on his shoulder. “Very well, Henry. But a word of advice.”
“Yes?”
“You are a good man. As there are few enough of those in this world, I don’t wish to lose another. I will advocate for you as best I can, but take care.”
Henry reached to shake Sir Hugh’s hand. “I will.”
“Good lad. Quick notice and sudden pursuit.”
“Quick notice and sudden pursuit,” he said, repeating Bow Street’s unofficial motto. He had certainly lived up to it in his running down of Lord Colvin’s gold, but now was saddled with a dilemma—what to do about the wild girl down the street. After Sir Hugh returned to the office, Henry retrieved his horse and led it along the crowded avenue to Covent Garden. To his relief, Lucy still waited. She settled hands on hips and frowned.
“I was beginning to consider the possibility that you would either not return or bring shackles when you did.”
“As you see, your suspicions remain unfounded. Besides, I swore an oath by my mother’s name. How could I betray my saintly mother?”
“And what about my prospects of continuing freedom and an unbroken neck?”
He noted the anxiety underlying her question. “They remain intact. I identified neither you nor Sir Steadman. Nor will I.”
She blinked with relieved surprise and mumbled, “Thank you.”
“My apologies. I did not quite hear what you said.”
“You heard well enough. I will not repeat the words simply for the sake of your enormous pride.”
“Very well, then,” he said with as much hauteur as he could muster. “We’ve a duchess to impress, and I learned her direction from the magistrate’s clerk. However, we cannot have you traipsing about the finer streets of London dressed as if you recently wrestled a pig. I know just the dressmakers to assist us not five minutes from here.”
“Dressmaker? I require no dressmaker, but simply a place to wash up.”
Henry frowned deeply. “No. You most definitely need both. Otherwise, you will not pass the threshold of the duchess’s house, even on my recommendation.”
“Can you not return the locket for me?” she asked plaintively.
“And miss what promises to be a most unusual reaction from Her Grace? Not a chance.”
Lucy steeled her spine. “What if I insist that you do so?”
“Then our agreement is null and void. I stand firm on that. The choice, then, is yours. I am simply an indifferent bystander.”
“But I have no money…”
“I will cover the cost of outfitting you as part of our venture. You may reimburse me after you receive the reward.”
“But what if the duchess learns of my involvement in the robbery at Shooter’s Hill?”
“She must never know and will not know unless you tell her. I plan to remain silent on the subject. Again, my word is ironclad.”
She sighed deeply and let her chin droop. “I surrender. Lead me to the gallows, then.”
“Not the gallows. Merely the dressmakers.”
“May as well be the gallows.”
…
Lucy stood before two strange Frenchmen as a prisoner stands before the executioner. Henry offered a concise introduction.
“Brothers Phillipe and Jacques Archambeau, dressmakers. Gentlemen, Miss Lucy Locket.”
“Lucy Locket? As in the vulgar street rhyme?” Phillipe asked.
Henry nodded. “Just so. Miss Locket requires a dress fit for calling on a duchess, but with an astonishing caveat.”
Jacques raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“She must have it by this afternoon.”
Both men laughed.
“Monsieur Beaumont!” said Phillipe. “Your humor remains intact, I see. Again, how might we be of service?”
“I mean exactly as I say, messieurs.”
“But sir, that is not possible given the shortness of…”
Henry interrupted the complaint with a dismissive hand wave. “Let us be frank. I know with certainty that your business has suffered immensely over the past several years, what with Britain locked in a death struggle with France, and you being, well, you know…French. Crown and country and all that. I offer you an opportunity for a quick sale should you have something suitable on hand. For example, something that a customer ordered but abandoned when her husband learned either the cost of the dress or the nationality of the dressmaker. What say you, good sirs?”
The two men huddled and exchanged rapid French, which Lucy followed perfectly well. When they again faced Henry, Jacques smiled.
“I believe we have something that will suit the girl. We have a fine silk dress near her size for a mere ten pounds.”
“Ten pounds?” spat Henry. Lucy touched his arm and shot him a conspiratorial glance, hoping he would trust her. He narrowed his eyes and nodded. She addressed the Frenchmen.