A Scandalous Lady (11 page)

Crikey, first Lady Brayton, then her maid. The two must come from the same bloody pod. Well, t'hell with them both. Fanny Jarvis of Bethnal Green would have stomped both women's arses into a mudhole by now.

But she wasn't Fanny Jarvis anymore.

And she was for certain not in Bethnal Green.

For the rest of the morning, she threw herself into the task of loading baggage into a pair of gleaming black carriages parked in the front drive. When Millie declared all in readiness, they set off.

The carriage ride was much the same as the last one, with Faith scared. Excited. Resentful. Grateful. Too many conflicting emotions to sort out. Only the company had changed. Instead of the baron, the elderly housekeeper snored in the seat across from her. Behind them in a second carriage, Lucy rode with Lady Brayton, who Millie had announced would be staying the summer at Westborough Manor, much to Faith's dismay, and returning to the city for the Queen's Golden Jubilee. It was an enormous event, a pickpocket's dream. Nobility from all over the Continent were planning to attend.

Unfortunately, she'd not be attending any events. As the baron seemed to delight in reminding her, she'd made her choices—more or less—and for better or worse, she was stuck with them.

For now.

Faith supposed she should think of this as the grand adventure she'd so often dreamed of, the chance to leave her old way of life and begin fresh somewhere else. Maybe even become . . . respectable. Unfortunately, her day had been one extreme after another, and all she could think of was that she hadn't been out of the city in almost two decades, and the realization that not only was her “adventure” taking her from everything familiar, but it was also taking her closer to the point of no return.

And so, as the coach jostled along rutted paths and through the wide-open country, she purposely kept her mind blank and her body numb rather that try to imagine what awaited her at the baron's “country estate.”

The day drew on, and as the coach rolled across flat, grassy lanes dotted with tall leafy trees and short, clipped hedgerows, she found herself absorbing the sights and sounds and smells of the countryside, as far removed from the rookeries of London as she'd ever been. They passed prosperous farms and elegant mansions, quaint villages, and slapdash marketplaces, and once, even, a summer fair in a roadside park, where lasses danced gaily and young gents dodged between them, tugging on their ribbons, while others raced horses to impress them.

Scatter would have loved this, she found herself thinking as she watched the festivities from the window. The sights and sounds, the sense of adventure mixed with the simple freedom of being a boy. He had often regaled her with stories of his time in Sherwood Forest, living off the land, outwitting the traveling peddlers, imagining himself some sort of Robin Hood, except in stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, he pocketed the gold himself, claiming he
was
the poor. Like herself, he'd lost his innocence too young and gained harsh wisdom too soon.

Refusing to mourn over what could not be changed, she rested her head against the coach and tried not to dwell on the past, the present, and, most especially, the uncertain future. But as the coach rolled past the festivities, Faith spotted a sweet young couple strolling hand in hand a good distance away from the crowd. The girl looked like a princess bride in a flowing pink gown, a wreath of summer flowers on her head, and ribbons trailing her skirts from the posy in her hand. And the dapper gent seemed so besotted as he looked down at her, laughed at something she said, then popped a kiss on her mouth.

A spot of envy took roost in her middle. For one brief moment, her mind rolled back to that moment in the baron's study. Never in her entire life had she badly wanted to be kissed by a man. Her cheek tingled where he'd touched it, her body still burned where it had been pressed against his. . . .

She was twenty years old, near as she could remember. She had never been kissed, never been courted, never been romanced. But it hadn't stopped her from dreaming. An honorable and noble prince, dark of looks and strong of heart . . .

Faith shook the image away. The fairy-tale dreams of her childhood had been shattered by the harsh realities of London underworld. There was no room for such nonsense in the tunnels. The best she could ever hope for now was to seek out a modest, respectable living, as far from Jack Swift and Bethnal Green as possible. That meant staying in his lordship's good graces. No more lipping off. No more challenging his authority. Like it or not, he owned her until she paid off the bloody two hundred pounds she'd swiped. Even though he couldn't prove that she'd taken it, all that was needed was his word. Who would the courts believe? A member of English nobility or a Bethnal Green guttersnipe? She knew the answer to that.

Aye, a wise woman would stick with her tiny dreams. Lucy was right. A man like Lord Westborough would never give a street rat like her a second glance. No one would.

Even her own family wanted nothing to do with her.

Chapter 7

“L
et's take a look at what we've got,” Jesse Justiss announced to the room.

Honesty stepped back to allow her husband space at the table. He dumped an armload of items onto the polished mahogany surface of her father's dining room table: newspaper clippings from the
San Francisco Chronicle
featuring the abduction of the Jervais twins and the search for culprits, photos of herself and her sister, maps of California and the surrounding states, and reports of the investigation.

Jesse bowed over the table, his weight braced on one leg, and bent his head to study the collection amassed over sixteen years. Her father Anton and her cousin, Alex, followed suit. Both were impressive men, not nearly so impressive as her husband, but their fair coloring and strong features would still turn the head of any woman.

A sense of
déjà vu
hit Honesty as she watched the three of them, a feeling that she'd seen men gathered here before, heavy into discussions that held no interest to a pair of inquisitive young girls. The image of her sister filled her mind then, so stark and detailed she felt as if she were seeing her in the flesh. She was riding in a fine coach pulled by four horses across a vale of blinding greens—

“The house is here,” Anton said, pointing to a spot on the map.

The image disappeared.

Honesty grabbed for it, but it was like trying to catch a whisper. Shaken, she moved to her husband's side and clasped his hand.

“And the cemetery here,” Anton continued. “It's the last place the girls were seen together.”

Her gaze met Alex's across the table, then Alex looked quickly away. She knew he still felt guilty for not watching them during their mother's funeral. “I wish I could remember that day. I feel like it would help.”

“You were only four years old,” Jesse said.

“One cannot expect a girl of such tender years to remember such an early incident,” her father added consolingly. “I've heard that the mind will block out traumatic events but memories can return when the person is of greater strength and stability to handle them.”

A look of intense sorrow passed across her cousin's eyes so quickly that Honesty wondered if she had imagined it. She had never considered her years with Deuce McGuire traumatic. He might not have had the wealth and respectability of Anton Jervais, but he'd been a good father who'd doted on her and made her laugh and kept her safe to his last breath. “So it's possible that I will recall my abduction.”

“Anything's possible,” Jesse said.

“Do you think Faith remembers?”

“I cannot imagine she does,” Alex gruffly said, “else she would have found her way back to us as you did.”

Neither spoke of the high possibility that she might not have been
able
to return. It was not a point any of them was willing to consider at this moment. “It could be that she is attempting that as we speak,” Honesty said.

“It's as I said, anything's possible,” Jesse repeated.

When his eyes lit on her and lingered, Honesty blushed. They'd spent the entire night celebrating what Jesse called the beginning of the rest of their lives. Her body was sore in places she hadn't known could ache and still she wanted him.

As if sensing her rekindled desire, he winked, then turned back to the table. “In the meantime, we're going to turn back the clock and collect every piece of information we can find. Anton, I'm aware that your brother Phillipe was behind the abductions. What I don't know is why. Anything you can tell me might shed some light on who he might have hired to take the girls.”

“My wife's family was not supportive of our marriage. I had spent my entire life building ships, as had my father, and his father before that. Her family thought she'd wed beneath her and made our lives quite . . . difficult. After the girls were born, it got worse. They even threatened to take Aniste and Faith from us. So we thought it best to leave France. I'd heard of the opportunities to be found in America, so we boarded a liner for California. It was here that I built Jervais Shipping. Phillipe arrived a year or so after that with Alex here, who was barely ten at the time. He'd lost his mother on the voyage, and my wife took him under her wing. I put Phillipe in charge of one of the warehouses.” He stepped away from the table to stare out the window at the ocean in the distance. “I knew almost immediately that it wasn't working out. He and I got into many arguments over decisions he was making about my company without my knowledge, and he accused me of being a stubborn Frenchman who knew how to build but knew nothing of business. He claimed that if it wasn't for him, Jervais Shipping would have failed. I should have fired him then, but he was my brother, newly widowed, with a young son to support, and my wife . . .” His voice cracked. “My beloved Cossette was dying. I suppose I turned a blind eye.” Anton shook his head. “Phillipe had made no secret of his desire to own Jervais Shipping, but I had no idea the lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted.”

A flock of long-beaked white birds flew past the bay windows, and a sailboat drifted out of the harbor, its canvasses billowing in the wind. Snippets of the story Anton had told last night at supper came back to Honesty. She could only imagine what anguish her father had suffered when he'd discovered his own brother was responsible for stealing—and presumably murdering—his two daughters on the day of his wife's burial.

“According to the police reports, Deuce McGuire wasn't the only suspect in the girls' abduction. A second man was believed to have been involved.”

“That's right,” Alex concurred. “There were a great many people at the funeral that day; we were all suspects at one time or another. But since a positive identification could not be made, the abduction of both girls was laid on McGuire.”

As if aware of how uncomfortable it made Honesty to be talking of the man she'd been so fond of for sixteen years in front of her, her father added, “It was also hoped that when McGuire was found he might reveal the identity of his accomplice.”

“Except he had no accomplice to his knowledge.” Jesse scanned the letter Deuce McGuire had left behind for Honesty to find. It had taken her and Jesse months to unravel the riddle and track down the “flowing stones of time.” “He only mentions being hired by someone who promised him wealth beyond his wildest dreams. McGuire took Honesty, that's a fact. But he never once mentioned Faith, nor can I find anything to substantiate his involvement in her abduction, which leads me to believe that there was a second man involved.” Jesse slid a yellow-edged photograph out of the pile. “Does either of you recognize this man?”

“His name was Frances Capshaw,” Anton announced, glancing on the image. “His friends called him ‘Cappy.' He worked in the shipyards, but we let him go after we discovered that he was selling cargo on the black market.”

“Is this the man who took Faith?” Honesty asked, looking at the picture over Anton's shoulder.

“I think it's a strong possibility,” Jesse said. “Phillipe must have known the risks in taking the girls himself, so he had to hire someone to keep his hands clean. I've spent years tracking criminals. One of the easiest ways to throw the scent off your trail is to split the gang. I think Phillipe arranged for Capshaw to take one, McGuire the other. Once the ransom was paid and the girls returned, they would split the money and disappear.”

“Except my fath—Deuce spoiled the plan when he learned that Phillipe had no intention of returning me alive.”

“Exactly. Which leads me to believe that McGuire had been nothing but a pawn all along.”

“What makes you think Cappy was the second man?” Alex asked.

“Someone would need to take the blame. Who has better motive and means than a disgruntled employee? I've not been able to find a single connection between McGuire and Phillipe, but my gut tells me we'll find one between Capshaw and McGuire.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Honesty cried, hope rising inside her for the first time since she'd discovered her sister missing. “Let's talk to this Cappy fellow!”

“Unfortunately that's not possible. He was killed in a brawl a week after the abduction,” Alex said. “Several witnesses will attest to it.”

No!
Oh, God. Oh, God.

“I also believe that's why the case was dropped for so long; Since McGuire seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, the only other viable suspect had been killed, and with the girls believed dead . . .”

“How will we find out if he was responsible for taking Faith now?”

The silence in the room became deafening. The men looked at each other, as if the answer might be found in one of their worried expressions.

Finally, Alex said, “Uncle Anton, do you remember hearing rumors of his involvement with a woman around the time he was caught selling the cargo?”

“Yes, yes. A woman of ill repute down near the wharf. Alice Moore was her name, if I remember correctly.”

Honesty wasted not a second in seizing her shawl from the back of a chair. A flick of her wrist sent Jesse's hat sailing toward him. “Let's go, then.”

“Where the hell do you think you're going,” he asked, catching the Stetson.

“To the docks with you. If we can find this Alice person, she might be able to tell us something.”

 

Alice Moore was not the type of woman that inspired hope. She had the look of a small barge that had ridden through one too many storms. Her hair was an odd mix of sunset red and royal purple, and hung in coarse shanks down to her knees. She had washed-out green eyes with bags down to her cheekbones, a bulbous nose, and three chins.

And Honesty had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

It had taken them the entire morning and a small fortune to track her down. The shanty they found her in reeked of stale sex and onions and beer. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a bed that Honesty wouldn't have sat on if her life depended on it, a shredded chair with stuffing bulging out from the tears in the horsehide, and a table bearing a soot-crusted lamp. There was a charred black cookstove in the far corner with a cast-iron skillet that hadn't been washed in who knew when, and a slanted wooden cupboard with no food in sight.

She and Jesse crowded together on a bench at the table. Honesty had never thought of herself as a snob. After all, she'd spent half her life living in everything from tents to train cars to brothels, some places so pathetic as would have offended a stray dog. But never had she been exposed to such filth, and she was careful not to touch anything but her husband.

“McGuire . . . McGuire,” Alice said, tapping her finger against her cheek. “I don't know. Been a lot of men in my life. Not sure I could recollect one from the other.”

“Maybe this will jar your memory.” Jesse held out a shining gold piece and her eyes lit up.

“I think it's coming back to me now. . . .”

She reached for the coin, but he snatched it back. “Not till you answer our questions.”

She fell back in the chair with a pout, and Honesty swore the house shook. “He was some Irishman that used to come around now and again. I haven't seen him in years.”

“What was his connection to Cappy?”

“Cappy?”

If not for Jesse's restraining arm across her waist, Honesty would have come out of the chair at her pretense of stupidity. Up until now, she'd kept quiet and still while he “interviewed the subject.” But she was fast reaching the end of her patience.

“Frances Capshaw. We know you were involved with him.”

“So what? I been involved with lots of men.”

“So, we also know that Cappy did some work with two gentlemen: McGuire and Phillipe Jervais. Tell us what you know about their business with a little girl.”

She went suddenly quiet, and her eyes darkened before she dropped her gaze to her lap. “I don't know nothing about no little girl.”

And Honesty snapped. “You're lying.” Even her husband's arm couldn't stop her from rising off the bench and storming toward the woman. “Let me tell you something, Mrs. Moore,” she hissed in her rolled face. “I've spent most of my life living with people who would eat you for breakfast. We know she was here.” Just the thought of her sister in this hovel made her stomach turn. “Now tell me what you did with her, or I promise you, you will regret it.”

Drawn back into herself, she glanced around Honesty's shoulder and pleaded to Jesse for help. “Can't you do something with this she-cat?”

“ 'Fraid not. She's one mean interrogator,” he replied, beaming.

Realizing that she'd just signed herself onto a losing battle, Alice blurted, “I got rid of her! On a ship.”

“What ship?” Honesty demanded, her hands on the arms of the chair.

“I don't remember the name. Just some ship in the harbor. Climbin' Christophers, I only had her with me a few days, and she was driving me daft. Kept staring at me with those deer eyes—”

“When?”

“A couple days after Cappy kicked the bucket. McGuire ran off with his share of the money. When Cappy found out, he met Jervais at the tavern and told him he was going to spill if he didn't come up with some tuppas real quick. Next thing I know, Cappy's dead. A couple of the boys said a fight broke out in a tavern, and he got caught in the middle. If ya ask me, Jervais done him in.”

Jesse nodded, as if the news didn't surprise him. “That's right about the same time the hunters started after Deuce.”

“Why didn't you just turn the girl over to the police?” Honesty pressed. “You had to know she belonged to someone.”

“ 'Course I knew. It was all over the papers. I knew if I got caught with her, they'd think I nabbed her so I took her to the first ship in the harbor and convinced one of the fellows I knew aboard to take her with him.”