Page 35 of The Banished Bride
“A Mister Swallow to see you, milord.” The starchy servant ended his words with a slight sniff, indicating what he thought of the sort of visitor the new earl was allowing to set foot in the polished halls of Woodbridge House. “Says he has been requested to make an appearance before you.”
“Show him in, Huggins.”
The sight of the stooped, reedy figure who shuffled his worn boots across the expensive Aubusson carpet was hard to reconcile with the assurances he had received that the man was the best that Bow Street had to offer. However, Alex had had a good deal of experience in judging the true merits of a man.As soon as the fellow turned his sharp gaze from the expensive appointments of the room to meet that of his prospective employer, the new earl caught sight of the intelligence lurking within the half closed eyes and was encouraged.
“G’day, m’lord.” The Runner twisted a greasy cap between his fingers. “Colonel Wilbourne seems te think I may of use t’you.”
“I’m told you have some skill at tracking down a missing person, no matter how slight the clues,” demanded Alex without any preamble
The man didn’t waver under the earl’s piercing stare “Aye. If there’s breath left in a body, I’ll find yer man.”
Alex motioned for the man to step closer to the desk. Unfolding a large map, drawn to scale, he took up a piece of string tied to a pen. After dipping the nib in red ink, he held one end of the string down on the center of London, then inscribed a bold circle atop the fine lines and shadings. “That is a radius of 150 miles from Town,” he said, tossing the implements aside. “You will follow that path, stopping at every blasted town or village or hamlet if you must, until you discover the location of the Sprague Agency for Distressed Females.”
The Runner’s sharp features remained impassive, but his eyes took on a gleam of interest. “Hmmmm. Not quite yer ordinary butcher, baker or candlestick maker. I take it ye want me te locate this Sprague?”
“I do.”
“And?”
“Just find her.”
The man’s brow quirked up slightly at the use of the pronoun.
“The quickest way to get any information is to speak with a barmaid or charwoman or the like,” continued Alex. “Oh, and you had best pretend you are the loyal retainer of somepersecuted female in need of some professional assistance. That’s the only way you will get them to talk.”
Mister Swallow scratched at his chin as he regarded the map. “Hmmm. It’s a weighty task.”
“It’s a weighty purse.” Alex tossed a heavy leather bag down next to the creased paper. “Inside is a note detailing the rest of the particulars. Can you handle the job, Mr. Swallow?”
A small smile creased the man’s thin lips. “What did this Sprague woman do—purloin the family jewels?”
Alex scowled. “I said, just find her, Mr. Swallow. Can you do that?”
“Oh, aye. And it sounds a mite more interesting than pursuing the usual murderer or embezzler.” He put the map in his pocket, along with the bulge of gold guineas. “Don’t worry, m’lord, I’ll find her. But it may take some time.”
“Then I suggest you waste not a minute more. There’s a hefty bonus in it you if the task is accomplished quickly.”
The Runner bobbed his head and made for the door without further delay.
“Damnation,” growled Alex after the man had left. He sat down and began to twist the ebony pen in his fingers, heedless of the spatter of scarlet that fell onto one cuff. There was nothing he could do now except wait.
“Good Lord! What’s wrong, Robbie?”demanded Aurora.
The former governess uttered another word that was definitely not taught in any schoolroom and looked up from the letter lying in her lap. “It’s from the Earl of Woodbridge.
For an instant there was a flicker of hope in Aurora’s eyes, though it died away just as quickly. Don’t be a fool, she chided herself. And a rather heartless one at that. Despite her joking, she did not truly wish for another person’s death. Besides, evenif the current missive contained the news of her husband’s demise, it would not change things in the least.
She bent back over the report she was writing up for the Dutchess and feigned a casual indifference to the letter’s contents. “I thought my dear father-in-law had passed away some years ago.”
“He did.”
“So what does the current earl want?”
“Er …” Miss Robertson cleared her throat. “He wants to meet with his wife.”
“What!” Abandoning all pretense of unconcern, Aurora bolted up from her chair and snatched the crested stationery from the folds of muslin.
The older woman’s hands knitted together in a tight ball as Aurora skimmed through the sheets of paper. “I had read that the eldest son was killed in carriage accident, but, well, I gave it little thought. The news of the next one’s death must have been printed during that little spell when we decided to forego the expense of the newspaper.” She watched the scowl on her former charge’s face became blacker with every sentence that was read. “Oh dear, what a bumblebroth! W-what do you intend to do, my dear?”
