The Reluctant Duchess (10 page)

Ross stood next to the carriage and prepared himself for what was to come. Calling their transportation a carriage was like calling a nag a thoroughbred. The hovel in front of them didn't even have four walls. More like three and a half with no panes in the windows. Ross was not unmoved by the poverty surrounding him. He couldn't imagine how cold these people were in the winter or how hungry or desperate. By some quirk of fate, he'd been born to privilege, and by the same quirk of fate, these people had not.

It made one think.

He was very aware of Sara beside him. His responsibility for her rested heavily on his shoulders. He was all that stood between her and the people eyeing them like they were the next meal. And it wasn't just the men. The women and children were as dangerous as the men. Desperation drove people to desperate measures, and he couldn't forget that here.

Unconsciously, he took Sara's hand and held it tightly. She squeezed his fingers and smiled up at him. The smile gave him the reassurance he needed. Together they walked to the front door.

There was no need to knock, for there was no actual door, just an opening. Nevertheless, Ross knocked on the outside wall to announce their presence. No one answered. Sara shrugged and they both stepped in.

The front room—or what passed as the front room—blended into what looked like a crude kitchen. Pallets lined the walls and spilled out to the middle of the floor. Most of them were occupied with lumps covered by thin blankets. He supposed those were people sleeping.

Children ran about, some toddling as if they had just learned to walk. Something inside Ross twisted at the thought that these babes would lose their innocence long before they should. Some would not make it. Some would turn to a life of crime. The girls would resort to selling themselves on the street. If they were lucky, they would find a trade and toil away from sunup to sundown for a pittance.

He had to look away from them but saw that Sara could not. She was watching them with a mix of horror and sadness. Her gaze locked on a girl whom he hadn't seen when he first walked in. She was wraith-thin, with dirty blond hair that looked like it had been hacked off with a knife; bits of it were sticking up every which way. She was holding a small baby sleeping peacefully against her shoulder. She looked at Sara with huge blue eyes, and when she turned those eyes to Ross, she quickly turned her head away and tugged on her shorn hair as if she could pull it longer and hide behind it.

A woman stood at the stove stirring several steaming pots. She was tall, with ample hips and wide shoulders, and she was watching them closely as she continued to stir.

“ 'Elp you?” she asked, eyeing Ross up and down. He had a feeling his valet hadn't done nearly enough to disguise his appearance. And Sara's brown gown was too well made to ever pass as that of someone who lived in the rookery. The pink tinge to her cheeks marked her as a person who lived much better than the pale-skinned, wan-looking souls here.

“Pardon our intrusion, ma'am, but we're searching for our brother.”

Sara looked at Ross in surprise. He had cobbled together this story overnight when he couldn't sleep because he couldn't stop thinking of Sara sitting in the chair with tears racing down her cheeks or of the feel of her trembling hands in his. He probably should have told her his story before, but he'd been so involved in their conversation on the way here that he'd forgotten to tell her. It was strange how she made him forget things.

The woman turned her attention to Sara, eyeing her gown. She sniffed and looked back at Ross. “Your brother, eh?”

“Are you Mrs. Kettles?” he asked. It was difficult not to simply demand answers. But that was what a duke would do, and at the moment Ross was not a duke. He was a modest man, a concerned brother looking for his sibling. It put him in mind of the conversation he and Sara had had:
I would think a duke would expect to attract attention and would crave it.

He didn't want to attract attention here but feared they already had, which meant they had limited time to do what needed to be done.

The young girl on the floor watched the exchange intently but had yet to move or utter a sound. Sara kept glancing at the girl.

“That's me,” Mrs. Kettles said, holding the spoon as if it were a weapon and eyeing him suspiciously. A blond tot with its finger stuck in its mouth, wearing nothing but a sagging nappy, stopped in front of Sara and looked up at her.

Sara smiled down at the little one, then looked back up at Mrs. Kettles. “We have information that leads us to believe our brother is residing here.”

Mrs. Kettles shifted her attention to Sara but didn't put down the spoon. Ross checked his urge to step between the two women to protect Sara. Although he remained prepared.

“What of it?” Mrs. Kettles asked.

“Please,” Sara said. “We're so worried about him. We just want to know if he's well. Our parents—” She shot Ross a desperate look. “They are not well, and they're beside themselves with worry. We just want to alleviate their fears.”

For a moment Ross stood in awe of this woman. She'd picked up his story without hesitation and run with it, spinning her own web of tales. She'd almost convinced him that she truly was concerned for her long-lost brother.

With every moment he spent in her company, his admiration for her rose. And now, standing in the filthiest nethersken in the most dangerous rookery in London, Ross felt his admiration slipping into something very close to attraction.

“Get a lot of men in and out of here. Women, too.” Mrs. Kettle didn't soften. In fact, her expression grew harder. She was tough, this one. Then again, she would have to be to run such an establishment of the underworld.

“My brother is about average height. He's educated,” Sara said, sounding desperate.

Mrs. Kettle's eyes flickered, and Ross felt a moment of triumph. There
was
someone staying here by that description, or at least someone who had stayed here.

“Lots of men look like that,” she said, still not giving up any information.

“Do you have lots of tenants who are well educated?” Sara asked.

For a long moment Sara and Mrs. Kettles engaged in what Ross could only call a staring contest; it was both amusing and alarming. While Ross wouldn't put anything past Mrs. Kettles, and he didn't want Sara harmed, he was oddly reluctant to step between them. These were two strong women taking each other's measure.

Mrs. Kettles was the first to look away, and Ross felt his own little surge of victory.

“Some,” she said reluctantly. “What name does he go by?”

Sara hesitated, shooting Ross an alarmed glance. This was the sticky part of his plan. They had no name.

Sara covered her eyes with her hand and drew in a deep breath. Her shoulders slumped, and both Mrs. Kettles and Ross stared at her, Ross in anticipation. He could only imagine that was what Mrs. Kettles felt as well.

Sara raised her head and sniffed. “This is so difficult,” she whispered. “I don't know what name he's going by at the moment. He…This is not the first time he's disappeared, and each time he creates a new identity.”

Something in Mrs. Kettles's expression finally softened, a small crack but a crack just the same, and Ross wanted to applaud Sara's performance. For one who didn't crave attention, she was a fine actress, indeed.

“I have a few gents who come and go. One sounds like he could be your brother. Goes by the name of Charlie.”

Sara shot Ross a brilliant smile and pressed her hands to her bosom. “He's using his real name this time.”

Ross couldn't help but smile back, even though he had to force his gaze from her hands. He was inordinately pleased that his fake brother was using his real-fake name. Damn, but this woman was good. “Can you tell us anything about him?” he asked Mrs. Kettles.

The woman shot Ross a frown. She hadn't warmed to him as she had to Sara. It was not in his nature to step back and let others take control, but he saw the advisability in doing so in this situation.

“Was he here this morning?” Sara asked.

“I can't rightly say.” This time a cunning look crossed Mrs. Kettles's face. Ross knew the meaning of that look. So did Sara, for she shot him a knowing glance. He dug in his pocket for his coin purse and extracted a crown.

“Was he here this morning?” he asked with a bit more authority. If he had to pay for information, then he was going to get his answer.

“He was here yesterday.” The coin disappeared somewhere in her skirts, and she kept stirring whatever was in the pot as if nothing had happened at all.

The young girl hadn't moved, and neither had the baby in her arms, which was concerning.

“Did he say where he was going?” Ross asked.

“No.”

Mrs. Kettles had answered all the questions she was going to. Unless, of course, he paid her more. He handed her another coin.

“He's been here before?” he asked.

She snatched the coin, and it disappeared just like the last one. “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

“So he comes and goes?”

“Aye.”

“When was the last time he was here?”

“You mean before this?” She seemed to think about that as she stared off into space. “Few months ago, I guess.”

“When was the first time he was here?” Sara asked.

Mrs. Kettles sighed heavily as if weary of the conversation. “The very first time was about two years ago, it seems.”

Ross and Sara shared a look. “Two years ago?” he asked through a tight throat. Could this be Meredith's killer?

“ 'Bout that. Said he'd been on a grand tour. 'Course, none of us believed that. Who the hell goes on a grand tour, then comes to live in the rookery? Nothin' but tall tales he was tellin'.”

Neither Sara nor Ross said anything as they digested this new bit of information.

“Well,” Sara said, shaking them both from their thoughts. “We appreciate your help. Could you let us know when he returns? We would pay for the information.”

Mrs. Kettles seemed to think about that. Probably debating whether it was worth losing her reputation as a safe place for thieves and beggars. Finally, she nodded. “He ain't right in the head, is he?”

“No,” Sara said softly. “He's not.”

“I thought not. He's a strange one, he is. He ain't never threatened me or nothing, but I can tell.” She waved her free hand in the air by her ear. “I can tell he ain't all there. I'll let you know if he comes back. Might be some time. He can disappear for a few months sometimes.”

The thought of waiting months to speak to this man frustrated Ross to no end, but there was not much he could do except keep following leads. This might not be their man, after all, but his gut was telling him otherwise. He handed the crown to Mrs. Kettles and gave her Montgomery's address for future correspondence. Montgomery lived in a part of town where solicitors and other men of business lived. Ross had no intention of letting Mrs. Kettles know where he lived.

When they were back on the street, Sara breathed deeply. Ross had the urge to do the same. Here the air was at least somewhat cleaner, though only marginally. However, people were still staring. It might have helped that they'd emerged from Mrs. Kettles's establishment, but Ross didn't want to stay around to find out. He practically pushed Sara into the waiting carriage and climbed in after her. The carriage rumbled away, but not fast enough for Ross's peace of mind.

“Well,” Sara said, “I can now cross ‘visit a nethersken' off my list of things to do before I die.”

Ross was so disgusted and disheartened by everything that had just happened that her comment surprised a laugh out of him. Her eyes twinkled in amusement, and she laughed with him. It broke the tension and lightened the mood, and Ross relaxed as much as he could in the foul hack.

“How do you think it went?” she asked.

“Not the way I wanted it to.”

“Did you expect Mrs. Kettles to tell you exactly who we were looking for and point him out to you?”

“That would have been helpful.”

“So what we know is that a man named Charlie is a frequent tenant. He's well educated and meets the description we gave her.”

“What we don't know is if Charlie is his real name. There are many well-educated people who slip in and out of tenements in the rookeries for one reason or another.”

“And what reasons would those be?”

“Believe it or not, there are solicitors who cannot find work because they're unscrupulous. They're known for creating false documents for people.”

“Do you think that's who our person is?”

“I don't know.” He wished to hell he did know.

“I hate that we have to wait for him to make another appearance. It could be months, and he may not even be the right man.”

And if this “Charlie” knew they were looking for him, would he even return to Mrs. Kettles's nethersken?

“My heart goes out to the children,” Sara said softly, her eyes dimming.

“There are so many.”

“That young girl holding the baby,” she said. “I just wanted to scoop the two of them up and bring them with us.”

“You can't save everyone,” Ross said, hearing how callous he sounded but not knowing what else to say. The girl and the baby broke his heart as well.

“I'd like to at least try,” she said as she turned to stare out the window.

They fell into silence. It seemed to take less time to return to Grosvenor Square than it did to get to the rookery.

“Where are we going?” Sara asked when the hackney took a different turn.

“We're returning later than we intended. I thought it prudent to have the hackney drop us off in the mews behind my home.”

She shot him a confused look.

“It's calling time, and when my mother is in residence, we get endless visitors.”