“That, Miss Perriton, is a story for another time.” Mister Colwyn directed a meaningful glance at Captain Atherton. “What the devil is Whitcombe about now?”
Even through the black veil over her bonnet Cordelia saw several young men in the garb of apprentices moving in and out of Daedalus’s office with various bundles of linens, a few shabby pieces of furniture and boxes of books and other bits and bobs she dared not identify. She and her two escorts flattened themselves against the wall as the workers brushed past them on the way to a narrow set of steps at the end of the open corridor. She peered over the railing of the open side of the passageway and saw all the way down to the ground floor of the bookshop, alive with customers. Once she ducked back from the view Captain Atherton took her arm and escorted her into the milling activity of her publisher’s lair.
“Where the hell is Whitcombe?” Mister Colwyn raised his voice to ask.
“All I know is ’twill take more than new drapes, bed linens, and rugs to make these chambers presentable enough fer a lady to give yer more than a kiss, guv’. If yer ask me—” Ox, the great hulk of a man who guarded Daedalus’s door and privacy stopped mid-sentence as he backed out of the doorway in the corner and caught sight of Cordelia, Captain Atherton, and Mister Colwyn.
“Shite.” Ox shoved a box into the arms of the nearest apprentice. “Out. All of yer. Out. Now.”
Cordelia stepped back as the young men scurried out of the office and down the corridor as if the devil himself were after them. Once they were gone she drew off the cumbersome bonnet and shrugged out of the cape, far too warm for London in June.
“In point of fact, Ox, I did not ask you. So I’ll thank you to…Shite” Daedalus came out of the doorway his Seven Dials major duomo had just vacated and froze. His hair disheveled and dusted with cobwebs, he still looked more delicious than any man had a right to, virgin or not. His spectacles had smudges on both lenses and sat perched at the very end of his nose, like a bird ready to take flight. His white shirt and fawn-colored breeches had ink and dirt stains on them. Cordelia bit back a snort of laughter.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Miss Perriton.” He dropped the rolled-up rug he carried, caught the toe of his boot, and careened into his desk on the way to greet them. Papers flew everywhere whilst Captain Atherton and Mister Colwyn exchanged grins. “Apologies,” Daedalus continued. “But did we have an appointment?” Head bent down, he moved about the room gathering the papers. Unfortunately, when he raised his head, he stood directly in front of Cordelia who was struggling to maintain her solemn, disinterested expression.
“Honoria sent round a note, I believe, requesting your assistance?” Captain Atherton retrieved the last few pieces of parchment from the floor and handed them to Daedalus.
“She did?” He went behind his desk, indicated the chairs Ox quickly arranged for them, and waited for Cordelia, the captain, and the Runner to sit. His attempt to brush the cobwebs and dirt from his person were not successful and resulted in several quills being flipped onto the floor behind him.
“Sent round yesterday, she did.” Ox fished around on the worn oak surface of the desk and drew out an expensive unsealed piece of parchment. “Yer read the note, remember?” Poor Daedalus blinked in confusion, then read the note he’d been handed. “Course yer don’t remember. ’E’s been useless as teats on a bull for days now, ’e ’as. Told ’im going to that ball would do ’im in. Bloody brother of ’is. Beg pardon, miss.”
Cordelia waved dismissively. “Not at all.” Her voice barely squeezed out the words as she struggled not to guffaw like a Limehouse dock worker. And Daedalus knew it. The looks he threw her like quick little darts, she was certain the others in the room had to see.
“The missing women, of course. That will be all, Ox.” Daedalus nodded pointedly at the office door. “Please see that the boys in the print room have a machine set to print Mister Colwyn’s handbills.”
“Right guv’. And I’ll be taking some of those ’andbills down ta the White Lion for the missus ta pass round, if yer don’t mind, miss?”
“That is very kind of you,” Cordelia replied. Her heart stuttered at the realization she had been concentrating so much on Daedalus she had momentarily forgotten the reason for this visit to his offices today. Two of her friends were missing and the other three were huddled in the Gracechurch Street house wondering who was next. “Please thank your wife for me.”
Captain Atherton pulled a large piece of drawing paper from the thin leather portfolio he’d brought from the carriage. He handed the paper across the desk to Daedalus, who studied the words Cordelia had composed and the drawings of Polly and Tall Mary the captain had done.
“Are these fair likenesses, Miss Perriton?” Daedalus asked, keeping his eyes on the drawings rather than looking at her.
“They are perfect, Lord Whitcombe. Fortunately, both ladies had modeled for him before so he knows their features with an artist’s eye.” Cordelia had not resorted to flattery. The former cavalry officer’s talent as a portraitist was well-known throughout London.
“I daresay most of the ladies working the game in Seven Dials have modeled for Ath at some point,” Daedalus replied. “Before he married, of course.”
“Don’t be anarse, Whitcombe. There is a lady present.” Captain Atherton’s amiable smile turned feral in an instant.
Daedalus met Cordelia’s gaze head on and said “I meant no insult, Miss Perriton. At least when they modeled for Atherton they were paid a fair wage, fed a meal, and had to do nothing save sit still and appear lovely. Much better than what they usually had to do to earn their daily bread.”
“Indeed,” Cordelia replied. Something in the vehemence of his speech reminded her of his ideas on the education of young women. These thoughts were no passing fancy. They were born of some experience, some profound event in his life. A connection between that and his lack of experience with women began to form in her mind.
“Does that make me a saint, perhaps?” Captain Atherton, his usual grin returning. “Saint Leo of the Seven Dials Ladies. I rather like it.”
“Hardly,” the Runner and Daedalus said together. This time Cordelia did laugh.
“The drawings were the least I could do,” Captain Atherton said quietly. “If not for Miss Perriton I doubt anyone would be looking for Polly and Mary. No one sees them as anything other than two more of London’sunfortunatewomen.”
“Unfortunate women?” Cordelia declared far more sharply than she intended. “Yes, women kept unfortunate by a lack of education, means, or consideration of anything else that might elevate them above theunfortunateposition of being nothing more than a place for a man to stick his cock for a few coins.” Somehow she’d leapt to her feet and begun to pace the room. The three gentlemen had stood in deference and their expressions were…quite frankly those of astonishment and perhaps a touch of chagrin.
“My apologies, Miss Perriton,” Captain Atherton began. “I meant—”
“Of course, you didn’t, Captain.” She shook her head. “You were showing society’s denizens for what they are by using their dismissive terms. I am trying in my small way to help these women prove society wrong.”
“A worthy endeavor for which I admire you greatly,” Daedalus said quietly. Cordelia turned to him, his words a balm like no other. Powerful, as if he truly saw her, all parts of her, with no judgment nor question. Only acceptance.
“And on that note,” Mister Colwyn said. “We should be off to speak with the other ladies, Miss Perriton. Where can we set you down, Ath?”
