Emily Baker (8 page)

Dana swished back to the bar with an exaggerated sway to her hips that set her curls bouncing as they peeked out from under her lace-edged cap. Sure enough, there in the doorway, enjoying the show just as she’d intended, stood Seamus Granger. He made his way to the bar and picked up a pint before joining Garrett.

“I see you managed to get an early day from your new employer.” Garrett greeted Seamus who’d spent the last days helping out in his cousin’s saddle shop as he made his inquiries regarding Eagan’s. “Did you get a message to Daniel?”

“Aye, he should be along by the time the Christ Church Cathedral bells ring.” Seamus flexed his fingers, then took a healthy swallow from his mug. “I’d forgotten how unforgiving leather work can be, that’s fer sure.”

Garrett pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. “Shall we try a practice hand while we wait?”

They each stacked some coins on the table. Garrett lit a cheroot while Seamus shuffled and dealt the cards.

“So how did you make out at the draper’s today?” Seamus asked as they played their first cards. “Is Stanhope’s fancy piece running a finishing academy after all?”

Hearing Seamus state Maura Fitzgerald’s role in the baron’s life so baldly startled Garrett. He had to force himself to maintain a calm demeanor. After listening to her pour out the details of her story earlier, and seeing for himself the good she was trying to make out of a bad situation, he had no stomach for the ribald humor or lecherous envy that usually accompanied discussion of another man’s mistress.

“No.” He blew out a cloud of smoke and laid down a winning hand. “For what it’s worth, looks like she’s really trying to help young girls escape a life like hers. According to the shop manager’s wife, the girls that find their way to them are given shelter and taught a trade, and then they help find them new positions.”

“In truth?” Seamus gathered the cards and shuffled them once more, his brow furrowed.

“To all appearances.” Garrett scooped his winnings back to the modest pile in front of him.

They both knew only too well how false appearances could be. Too few coins on the table made the game look staged, too many at stake garnered too much attention from the other patrons. It was a delicate balance, but he and his men were well practiced. The taverns changed, as did the players, but the information exchanged and plans made were always vital.

“Stanhope’s a fortunate man.” Seamus drained the dregs from his mug. “Poor fellow.”

Garrett nodded and studied his hand. Seamus was right on both accounts. Stanhope was both lucky and to be pitied.

Having held Maura Fitzgerald in his arms, having felt the warmth of her smile, having witnessed the good she was attempting to do, Garrett could see how the young baron had been led to declare his intentions to flout society’s dictums by marrying his mistress. But knowing the lad’s grandfather as they did, Garrett and Seamus both knew Stanhope would never see that wedding day. The
Ard Tiarna
would never allow his heir such liberty.

“May I come in on the next hand, gentlemen?” Daniel McTavish slid onto the bench next to Seamus. “I believe I have time for a quick one.”

“Ahhh, Longford. Plans with your new cohorts?”

Daniel grimaced before nodding. “Aye. Jameson is promising some sport in a different vein this night, thankfully. I doubt he would believe I swilled too much to perform this night as well. I barely made it out of his priory the last time with my pants on.”

The entertainments Harold Jameson offered to entice Stanhope and his guests away from the card tables the other night turned out to be so depraved that even a man of Longford’s reputation as a ladies’ man had blanched and declined to participate, which spoke volumes against the older man. It also sharpened the question of why he was seeking out Stanhope and the other young men of his circle. What did he want from them? Seamus dealt the next hand as Dana arrived with a fresh mug and a pitcher. She set the pitcher on the table in front of Seamus and winked.

“It’s good to see ye again, sir.” She put the mug down and favored Daniel with a bright smile. With his sandy brown curls, chiseled chin and light green eyes, Lord Longford received the same greeting from most women he met whether he was in the lowest tavern or the finest drawing room.

“You too, lass.” He returned her smile enough to reveal the dimple in his one cheek. Whenever he did that, the ladies always swooned. Causing that type of impression, Lord Longford was not much use for stealth work, but he more than proved his worth as he gathered tidbits of information from the many women who fawned over him in Dublin’s drawing rooms.

True to form, Dana blushed as she filled Seamus’s empty and sauntered away after a final lingering look at Daniel, accompanied by a long sigh.

“Any clue what Jameson has in mind?”

“Not really. He hinted at something out of town. We’re to bring our horses and wear dark clothes. We gather at The Crown before dusk unless it rains. If the weather turns foul, we’ll have our fun tomorrow.”

Daniel looked at his cards and threw them down on the table. “Stanhope and Masters also received invitations.”

“Seamus will trail you once you leave The Crown. With that large a crowd, you should be fairly easy to follow. I suspect this will be a pretty tame night, more a test of your taste for mischief than real trouble. If I’m wrong, get Stanhope out of there no matter the costs. The
Ard Tiarna
’s heir is your priority.”

Daniel nodded his understanding. He would protect the next High Lord with his own life if need be. They all would. The fact that Lord Longford was also Stanhope’s boyhood friend would serve to make him all the more vigilant.

Garrett flicked his eyes to Seamus. “Take Ailin with you. When you get a fix on the direction they are heading, send him back to The Blue Boar for the rest of our available men. I will join them if I can.”

“Aye, sir.” Seamus showed him the cards he held, then claimed the pot. “That Jameson’s got all the markin’s of a bad ’un. Pity the baron does not have as good a taste in friends as he does his women. No offense, Longford.”

Daniel waved one hand as he took a long pull on his stout.

“Stanhope is young. He will learn. This role as heir to Clancare is not one he was ever expected to take on.” Garrett scanned the pub’s other patrons; no one appeared interested in the card game in the far corner. “And in the meantime, we will keep watch over him. He shows promise.”

Garrett had paid close attention to Stanhope the other night. Much about a man can be told by how he approaches games of chance. Stanhope had been cautious in his betting and alert to the nuances of play from others at the table. At the same time, the lad had kept a wary eye on his flighty friend, Masters, holding him back from the second party Jameson had proposed. It was only after Jameson left, when he appeared to be celebrating, that the young baron had overindulged in his drinking.

“Any word from County Meath?” Daniel asked as they all anted up for the next hand. “I had no luck with the rest of the potential suitors list. All are accounted for.

“Only that there has been more than one young woman who has vanished over the past year.”

Daniel traded in two of his cards. “Usually it is the lads who go missing, off to seek fame and fortune.”

“I am not sure who would keep track of such, but according to the bishop at Christ Church Cathedral, most young women who leave home unexpectedly usually leave with a man.” Garrett kept the hand he dealt himself. “Liam’s message said four others. All from different villages.”

“Has there been a rash of elopement sweeping the country?” Seamus folded. “My brother came to town on business last week and related how two girls had gone missing from Cashel. Two in two months. Their mams are frantic. One was set to wed but a week from the date she disappeared. And my cousin Ray says a neighbor’s girl out in Wicklow was lost a couple of months ago coming home from choir practice.”

That made seven, not including Jane Fuller and her maid—not an overwhelming number, but unusual enough given their quest for the admiral’s daughter. That two of the girls were from Cashel struck very close to home. His resources were stretched very thin at the moment, but when he could spare someone, he’d see if there was something they could discover on the matter.

“Speak of the Devil—”

Garrett glanced to the doorway. There stood Sean Talbot scanning the interior before he made his way to their table.

“Deal me in, fellows, and pass the brew. I have had a hard ride.”

Sean looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink since the night they’d spent at Marnock. His dark hair was tousled, his chin and cheeks covered with three days’ stubble. He took the mug the ever-vigilant Dana had handed him as he passed the end of the bar and drained the contents in one long swallow as he sat with a thump.

“You look like hell.” Daniel spoke for them all.

“Any word?” Garrett asked. They couldn’t sit here just looking at him. Too many heads had followed his progress across the pub.

Sean shook his head and rubbed a hand through his hair. “No. Miss Fuller . . . and her maid . . . were last seen going off toward the river to pick berries for tarts. Their bucket was found more than a mile away in the opposite direction.”

He reached for the pitcher to refresh his mug. “There’ve been stories about strange riders in the area, dressed in black and riding at night. Mothers are keeping their children close at hand, but Jane Fuller wouldn’t let that stop her, more’s the pity.”

“Surely, even English women are not so foolish as ta go out at night ta pick berries?” Seamus asked.

“No, it was just after luncheon.” Sean shook his head. “But she could at least have been cautious enough to take a footman or one of the stable lads with her.”

“Perhaps that makes the case for an elopement stronger?” Garrett observed as he reached in his breast pocket for another cheroot.

Sean shook his head. “There’s no other indication. And more important, no groom in the offing.”

“Besides you.”

“
Diabhal.
” Sean’s gaze slowly rose to meet his. “We have got to find her.”

“It may already be too late to save either of you.”

“
Diabhal.
” Sean swore again.

Devil indeed.

Garrett stood on the doorstep and hesitated for a moment before lifting the heavy knocker and letting it fall. The sound resonated both inside the stylish townhouse and down the street.

With twilight approaching, the street behind him was all but deserted. Lights shone in the windows of the neat townhomes and cast oddly shaped shadows on the cobblestoned street.

The neighbors barely tolerate my presence here as is without giving the appearance I am setting up a bawdy house.
Maura Fitzgerald’s worry echoed unexpectedly. Were any of Maura Fitzgerald’s neighbors looking out of their front drawing room or bedroom windows and taking note of the gentleman at her door?

It was late for a call to anyone, let alone the mistress of another man. Knowing Stanhope was engaged elsewhere made this visit easier on one level and far more dangerous on several others.

He did not have the luxury of indulging those other levels, but he could not deny the woman’s appeal, both physically and through the intriguing glimpses of her character afforded him so far in their brief acquaintance.

“Good evening, sir.” The footman who had guarded the household from him through the night opened the door partway.

“Gerald?” Garrett pulled off his hat. “Would you ask Mrs. Fitzgerald if I might have a word with her?”

“I don’t believe Mrs. Fitzgerald is receiving visitors tonight, sir.” Gerald opened the door a little farther so the light from the foyer behind him could illuminate Garrett’s face. His own remained in shadow, giving him the advantage. Had Stanhope changed his plans and even now was enjoying the comfort of his mistress’s charms? The images that arose with that notion disturbed Garrett. He squelched the flash of jealousy that rushed through him.

“Would you please inquire anyway?” Garrett took a step, testing the footman’s resolve to block the entrance. He remained firmly in Garrett’s way.

“Or allow me to leave a note with these?” Garrett thrust forward the nosegay of roses he had brought with him. “I am Mr. Lynch, I was a guest here the other night.”

“I recognize ye, sir.” Gerald retreated enough as he accepted the flowers to allow Garrett a toehold in the entrance. Garrett admired the footman’s resolute protection of his mistress even as he wished she employed a less strong-willed gatekeeper. “Mrs. Fitzgerald is not at home to anyone tonight. If ye leave yer card, I’ll see she gets it first thing.”

“Then if you will allow, I will write her a note. I wish to speak to her about a matter of utmost importance. It has to do with her school.”

“If ye leave yer card, I will give her yer message, sir.”

Gerald was vigilant and determined, skills Garrett normally looked for and admired in a man. At the moment he found them frustrating as they formed a roadblock to vital information he sought.

His brief conversations with Sean earlier had brought to light the depth of a problem with girls disappearing from the Irish countryside in recent months. His gut told him the ones they had heard about represented but the first blooms on a thorny bush. No one cared about a few missing Irish women. No one, except possibly Maura Fitzgerald, and now the Green Dragon.

“If you could fetch me some writing materials, I will leave a note.” He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. “Please give it to your employer as soon as possible. As I said, the matter is urgent and may concern the students at her school. She allowed me to tour the premises there earlier today. Then she left rather abruptly before we could conclude our interview.”

He could have sworn that the footman sniffed as he supplied far more information than the man needed. Experience had shown that such action frequently allowed servants to feel superior and thereby more likely to grant requests.

Gerald looked unimpressed. “Mrs. Fitzgerald retired some time ago; she arrived home with a headache well above her usual hour. I will relate yer mess—”

“Gerald?” Maura Fitzgerald’s voice sounded from the interior of the house. “Show Mr. Lynch to my salon. If he deems the matter urgent enough to call like this, the least I can do is listen.”

“As ye wish.” The footman immediately stepped backward, allowing Garrett to enter the foyer. The expression on his face remained impassive as Garrett paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the interior lighting.

From the gaslit sconces on the walls, polished marble floor, gleaming chandelier, and carved stairway at the far corner, this foyer bespoke wealth and privilege. Garrett still found it amazing that a woman who was so pampered would spend her days laboring to run a business and school.

“If ye’ll follow me, sir.” The man handed Garrett his flowers in exchange for his hat and gloves.

They walked to the doorway of the small salon where Garrett had spent the night under the watchful eye of his current guide.

“Mr. Lynch, madam.” The door swung inward as the footman made his announcement and stepped out of the way.

Maura Fitzgerald stood by the mantle at the opposite side of the room. That damnably uncomfortable settee he’d sprawled across the other night stood between them. She had a paisley shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her hair hung loose down her back. He had thought her beautiful before, as both the poised and attentive hostess and the efficient businesswoman, but seeing her like this she was stunning.

“Will that be all, ma’am?” her footman inquired.

“Perhaps Mr. Lynch would like some brandy?” She posed the question to Garrett by fixing her gaze on him. He nodded. “Please bring the decanter and two tumblers.”

“Very good, madam.” The footman disappeared, leaving the door ajar.

It was a small gesture toward propriety, especially considering his employer’s lifestyle, but seeing how young she looked with her gleaming dark tresses, pale skin, and simple attire, Garrett could understand the effort.

“Thank you for seeing me at this hour, Mrs. . . .” Her name dangled awkwardly. Should he keep calling her Eagan as he had this afternoon or switch back to Fitzgerald? He was in her home, where she used one, but he had come to discuss a matter more connected to the other.

“Maura. You may just call me Maura.” The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips but did not touch her eyes. She hugged her shawl close and stepped around the settee. “We both know the use of Mrs. is a courtesy only for women in my position.”

“Maura, then.” He strode across the room and proffered his bouquet. “I apologize if my visit to your office this afternoon upset you. I was quite concerned when you left so abruptly. Your man mentioned just now that you were unwell.”

“How lovely. And thoughtful.” She took the roses and inhaled a deep breath from their fragrant depths. This time the smile she favored him added sparkle to her eyes. “And totally unnecessary. I am perfectly fine as you can see.”

That he could.

She wore a simple blue dress that brought out the blue hints in her eyes and set off her long dark hair as it curled invitingly down her back. The golden fringe of the shawl she wore swept across her hips with a teasing invitation to watch its tantalizing dance against the blue folds of fabric. That her feet were bare only added to her innocent allure. She looked so young and pure, unaware of the appealing picture she presented.

How could this current appearance be real, given all she had revealed this afternoon? Could this be a deliberately seductive pose from a woman who knew her sensual enticements? Suspicion haunted him as he pulled his thoughts into line. She was Stanhope’s mistress—a woman who supported herself by being beguiling.

The rattle of glass on a metal tray signaled the footman’s return.

“Just put the tray on the table, Gerald. I will pour.” She was already gliding over to the bow window that reflected the room’s interior in wavy lines against the darkness that had fallen outside. The blue of her dress scattered across the panes, a blue beacon in the night.

She waited as the footman put the refreshments on the table by the window. “And if you would, please take these to Mrs. Kelly in the kitchen and ask her to take care of them for me.”

“Aye, madam.” The footman took the bouquet for the second time. “I’ll be nearby when the gentleman is ready ta leave. Just ring and I’ll be here.”

“Will you sit down, Mr. Lynch?” she asked as she handed him a tumbler with his brandy. She had been generous but not liberal with her spirits. She carried her own glass with a much smaller portion and sat in a delicate Queen Anne chair beside the spot she indicated.

“Garrett.” His emerald signet chinked against the glass as he settled himself on the tufted settee. “If I’m going to call you by your Christian name, perhaps you should reciprocate?”

She shook her head. “I do not think I am comfortable with that. After all, you are not the one with two identities. I’ll stay with Mr. Lynch, at least for now.

If only she knew how wrong she was. Very few people suspected that the gambler and sycophant they knew was anything other than his carefully maintained façade allowed them to see. The reward for the capture of the Green Dragon currently stood at five thousand pounds, a fortune for most poor Irishmen, but since his efforts aided them as they tried to scratch out a living while surviving the whims of the English who ruled them, he had little fear of betrayal from those he served.

“Whatever makes you comfortable.” He took a sip of the liquid fire in his glass. Stanhope had excellent taste in liquor as well as women. Although the brandy slipped smoothly over his tongue, the last thought tasted oddly bitter.

“You were telling Gerald your business was urgent?” She had yet to sample the contents of her own glass as she kept her attention fixed on him. “That it has to do with my school. Did you find your cousin among the students?”

He shook his head. “Jane was not among them. It was a long shot, at best.”

“I am so sorry. I had hoped you had come to tell me she was found.” Genuine sympathy radiated from her. “What is it you want from me that seems so urgent?”

“I was hoping you would let me return to Eagan’s tomorrow. I would very much like to talk to some of your students. Especially those who are newest.”

“Two visits in as many days will surely raise some alarms.” A line of concern furrowed her brow. She rested her glass on her knee. “If your cousin is not there, what do you hope to gain by such interviews that you did not see when you met the girls today? I would not like them to be alarmed by a second day of questions.”

If she refused his request, what would he do? He doubted he could bluff his way past either of the Polhavens. He took a breath and prepared to be his most persuasive. “In the first place let me assure you, your Mrs. Polhaven was most insistent that I not disturb the girls. She allowed me to observe them from within the confines of the front building while they were in the yard. So they should not be alarmed at my return.”

He pressed his lips into a line and let his reassurances sink in. “And, of course, either you or Mrs. Polhaven should be present when I talk to the girls. That should reassure both you and them.”

“You still have not told me what makes this so urgent.” She leaned forward slightly, fixing him with the full intensity of her gaze as she tried to discern his sincerity. At least she hadn’t refused him outright.

“In searching for Jane it has come to my attention that there are other girls missing.”

Her eyes widened with that revelation.

“Not enough from any one village or county to warrant attention from the authorities it appears.” He pressed on. “But enough to create a disturbing pattern for anyone who pays attention.”

She took her first sip of brandy and closed her eyes. “How dreadful.”

“It is a slim chance any of the girls you are working with knows of these matters but . . . ” He let the end of this statement dangle.

Her eyes popped open almost immediately. “Of course you may talk to my girls. Dreadful must not even cover what the families of those others must be going through. Even a slim chance is better than none.”

“Thank you.”

She put her tumbler down on the small table by her chair. “How many?”

“Like I said, I would only need to speak to the newest of your students. Unless of course you already know all of their stories about how they have come to Dublin.”

She shook her head and rose from her seat to pace across a soft gold Axminster carpet to her desk. Despite his better intentions he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the soft sway of her dress as she moved. He couldn’t afford the seductive distraction this woman offered so effortlessly. He couldn’t seem to ignore it either.

“They tell us what they want us to know. When they’re ready.” She spoke with her back to him. The soft glow of the lamp there outlined her slender form, leaving her almost in shadows. “Some never tell us everything. Some never tell us much of anything.”

“But that is not what I meant.” She turned to face him. Still, the lamp’s backlight made her features, her expression, difficult to discern. “How many girls does it take to ring an alarm? Perhaps they are runaways, off to make a new life. Perhaps they do not wish to be found. Perhaps something awful has happened or perhaps something innocent. What is it that alarms you about these girls?”

What was behind these sharp questions? Only a moment before she’d been all concern and sympathy. “I don’t know how many girls; it just seems odd the ones I have learned about disappear from their small villages without any warning to their families.”

He put his glass on the table beside hers and stood as well. “One was just a week shy of her wedding. Another was set to take a new position; a third was trying to arrange placement in a convent in Nice.”

“You said your cousin had left her parents a note. So she is not like these others. Why do you care what happens to them?” There was just enough suspicion in her voice to gall him, even as a part of him admired her spirit. She was neither a weak woman nor one easily fooled. Yet another reason to be cautious around her.