Daedalus arrivedat Cordelia’s Gracechurch Street house to find her seated on the front steps in her dark blue riding habit with her arms around a young blond-haired girl dressed in the simple gown and pinafore of a servant or perhaps a shopgirl. Both of their faces were streaked with tears. Archer Colwyn stood next to an open carriage where a door had been arranged as a makeshift bed. On the narrow space next to the door sat a young boy, sobbing quietly. The form lying on the door was a woman of middling years, hair slightly grey, lying deathly still with a blood-stained bandage wrapped around her head.
“Colwyn,” Daedalus shouted as he leapt from his horse. “What has happened? Cordelia, are you hurt?” He ran to her, but managed to restrain himself from dragging her into his arms.
“I am perfectly fine,” she said softly as she helped the young woman up and guided her to the carriage. The Runner helped the young girl into the carriage and the young boy climbed onto her lap. “All will be well, Mary. Mr. Colwyn will see to it, and Mister Carrington-Bowles will meet you at Lady Camilla’s.” She patted the unconscious woman’s hand and Daedalus noticed her own hand shook.
Colwyn said a few words to the driver and the carriage pulled away from the house. All around them people and carriages milled about, doing business as if nothing untoward had happened. Gracechurch Street was a moderately respectable address, but the business being done around it made the area seem blithely busy and unconcerned with the comings and goings of others.
“What the devil has happened, Colwyn?” Daedalus demanded.
“I have a better question,” Cordelia said, poking him in the chest. “What areyoudoing here, Lord Whitcombe?” She lowered her voice in deference to the passersby all around them. “How did you find this place?’ She tossed Archer Colwyn a fulminating glare. He, in turn, raised his hands in surrender.
“He did not learn this location from me, Miss Perriton.”
“I followed you here,” Daedalus confessed. “A few days ago, when you left my office so late.” She threw up her hands and began to pace in a circle. “I wanted to make certain you were safe.”
She stopped, marched toward him, and only stopped when they were toe to toe. “I am not the one in danger, my girls are. He took Sally Mills.” Her voice broke and she turned away.
“A carriage came along the alley behind the house,” Colwyn explained. “Miss Mills was bringing the laundry. Someone in the carriage called her over. She was chatting with this person when Miss Ludbrook came out and recognized the carriage. She ran over to drag the girl away. The driver hit her with a cudgel and the man in the carriage dragged Miss Mills in as they drove away.”
“Good God. What sort of man does this in daylight on a busy street?” Daedalus ached to comfort Cordelia who no doubt blamed herself for everything.
“A man grown desperate,’ the Runner mused. “Whatever his reason for taking these particular women, something has happened to make him act rashly. And if Bess Ludbrook got a good look at his face, wewillfind him and your friends, Miss Perriton. I have some things to do here, some people to question. Can you escort Miss Perriton home, Whitcombe?”
“Certainly.”
“I don’t need an escort. I am perfectly capable of making my way from Gracechurch Street to Mayfair unassisted, though apparently I need to pay more attention to who is following me from now on.”
“Miss Perriton—”
“Cordelia, these women are missing because of their connection to you.” Daedalus despised himself, gazing at her pale tear-streaked face, but her safety meant everything to him, even if he hurt her for him to make her situation clear. “We don’t know why or what ends this person hopes to meet, but I daresay whatever it is, it will not bode well for you. Please allow that Col here knows his business.”
“You think I don’t know this is all my fault?”
“Not your fault,” he replied. “But you are the ultimate prize in some way, even if the cause is only to be cruel to you. Please allow me to escort you home.”
Her only response was a curt nod as she went to her horse, tied to a wrought-iron fence rail and let the Runner help her into the saddle. Daedalus mounted his horse and moved close to Col, a man who had become his friend through an odd series of events.
“You will inform us if you discover anything of importance, yes?”
“Of course. Take care of her.”
“I will in so much as she will allow me.” The Runner laughed and turned to go back into the house where the day’s events had started.
Cordelia had already started her horse toward Mayfair. Daedalus urged his horse forward to catch up to her. They rode in silence. Daedalus watched, fascinated, as Cordelia dried her tears, steadied her hands and drew that invisible armor around herself that kept her so calm and serene save when she was in the throes of passion. In fact, he studied her so assiduously he only realized at the last moment where they were headed. He held his tongue even when they rode into the mews lane behind his bookshop. Night was falling and there was not a soul in sight. She dismounted her horse, handed him the reins, and climbed the stairs at the back of the building.
Daedalus made quick work of handing their horses off to the stableboy who lived above the small stable behindWicked Books and Naughty Novels. By the time he reached his office, the silence overhead reminded him that the day’s work had ended and his workers, including Ox, had likely already left for their homes and suppers. He found Cordelia seated before his office fireplace, her stockinged feet stretched toward the low burning fire in the hearth. Her boots, along with her hat and jacket, lay next to the overstuffed horsehair chair in which she sat. “I sent word by my footman that I would be staying the night with Lady Camilla,” she said in an oddly dispassionate voice. “Why is this happening, Daedalus?” She finally turned to meet his gaze. Tears shone in her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled. “I sought to help them, and now…Where are they? What has happened to them?”
He knelt beside her chair and took her hands in his.
“This is not your fault, Cordelia. Wewillfind them. Though I might suggest a change of address for your ladies. My brother has been gracious enough to offer me the use of a very nice house in Hampstead Heath. Our grandmother actually left the house to me so I daresay I can lease it to whomever I please.” He squeezed her hands.
“Your brother would be horrified to find a group of Seven Dials ladies living in your grandmother’s house.” She hiccuped and managed a smile.
“I know. Which makes the idea all the more delicious to me.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come. I want to show you something. I think you deserve to be cared for yourself rather than running about seeing to the needs of virginal booksellers and not-so-virginal ladies in need.” He led her into his bedchamber. She stopped dead a few feet into the room.
“You…tidied up.” She strolled around the room admiring a chaise longue before one wall of bookcases, the Persian carpets that now covered the floor. Blue brocade drapes had been hung to match the upholstery of his new furnishings and the counterpane and bed curtains on the large four poster bed banked by more bookcases on either side between the bed and the long windows.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said rather sheepishly. “Lady Camilla’s decorator did. Carrington-Bowles came by to discuss handbills for his medical services. He took one look at my chambers and sent a message to Lady Camilla at once and…I think Captain Atherton and your Runner friend had something to do with it.” He shrugged. “I will admit finding the book I wish to read is much easier when they are arranged as they are rather than—”
