Page 4 of The Duke's Daring Bride

“Oh, ‘ello dear!” screeched a voice in her ear.

Olivia jumped, heart racing in her bosom as she turned to face—

It could have been a woman. Or a man. The wrinkled, grime-smeared face made it impossible to tell.

Forcing a smile, she asked in a hushed voice, “Did Maisy send you?”

It was the only explanation, after all. Why else accost her?

The stranger winked.

Olivia's shoulders relaxed. Finally. “You have news of my step-brother? It has been years since I have heard from—well, there was that small scandal.”

Small. And mostly hushed up—not something a newspaper woman liked to do. But she’d had little choice at the time.

Rallying herself, Olivia stepped closer to the creature. “I’ve been tracing leads, clues, hints, anything. Is he alive? John?”

The person grinned, revealing a severe lack of teeth. “John, eh?”

Olivia's heart rate increased. “He was duped—and he wasn’t alone, was he? All the other agents he worked with, they all thought they were working for the Crown. Tell me, has Maisy—”

And then the creature pinched--actually pinched--her bottom.

“Looking for a john, are ye?” she—or possibly he--said with a suddenly malevolent tone. “Oh, I can find ye a john alright…”

Olivia stepped hastily away, turned a corner as fast as her legs could carry her, and tried to tell herself it was a perfectly easy mistake to make.

Though perhaps she should not have presumed the person, whoever they were, had been sent by Maisy. After all, Maisy hadn’t said to what her information pertained. Perhaps it was another story about The Dark Knight, the mysterious giant who prowled the East End, and whom Maisy claimed to have met.

What nonsense.

Olivia carefully peered down one of the alleyways, wondering how to find a particular prostitute in this den of inequity. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. In a field of haystacks. On a farm of—

And she had been known to get lost in her own neighborhood.

Was this still Bethnal Green? Maisy said she worked in Spitalfields as well, so perhaps Olivia should head in that direction?

She glanced up at the moon. That would be…that way? Spitalfields was east of here, right? And the moon rose in the east, did it not? Which meant she should turn right—no, keep heading straight?

Oh, if only there was some moss growing on a handy tree.

You wouldn’t know which side was north, anyhow.

A bundle of rags huddled along one of the old fences gave a mumble and rolled over, and Olivia shivered. She was grateful for her shawl, despite the warmth of the evening, even if her stomach was growling angrily.

Perhaps you should have eaten more with dinner.

She’d been too nervous to eat more of the poor fare, and decided if she had, she’d likely now be nauseated.

Left; she’d decided she had to turn left, right?

No, left.

She turned onto the next street. Yes, this seemed better. The road was wider, which meant more light filtered through the ever-present smog. This must be the way to Spitalfields.

Maisy O’Sullivan, here I come!

This time when she heard the scrape of a boot against the pavement behind her, she did peek over her shoulder.

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