Page 21 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Beyond the window, the street was busy, men wending their way home from a late night at their clubs, women shopping with their maids, a hawker selling clocks. One of Reade’s men, Wallace, walked into sight. He raised his hand in welcome and entered the inn dining room.

Reade gestured to a seat. He sawed into his bacon. “Anything new to report?”

“Apparently, Mrs. Virden danced with a Mr. Dalrymple at the Lisle’s masked ball.”

Reade paused as his stomach muscles constricted. “Dalrymple?”

“Yes, Mrs. Virden seemed on friendly terms with him…” Wallace began.

Reade waved his fork. “I heard you. Let me think.” He had not met Dalrymple. But according to his daughter, the lovely Miss Joanna, he was a shopkeeper from Marlborough. It was unlikely there’d be another Dalrymple at the ball. How the devil did the fellow who had been in London for less than a month, according to Miss Dalrymple, meet Mrs. Virden? Or had he known her for some time? “Friendly, were they?”

“Yes. Seemed more than acquaintances.”

How had Miss Dalrymple’s father come to know the Virdens? Letty had befriended the Dalrymple’s and might have some knowledge of them. He pulled out his watch. She was unlikely yet to have risen, and Cartwright, if he had any sense, would be with her. Reade swiftly banished seeking her opinion. She was too astute not to want to know the whole. And that he was not about to tell her.

“There’s one other thing,” Wallace said, interrupting his train of thought.

“What is it? Out with it, man,” Reade demanded, ignoring that he’d motioned him to be silent a moment earlier.

“Yesterday afternoon, they followed Virden to a house in Upper Brook Street, Mayfair, owned by a Lord Pleasance.”

“Don’t know the fellow. I will look into it, Wallace,” he said. “Any further news, bring straight to me.”

Wallace stood and saluted. “Right, Captain Reade.”

“Don’t salute me,” Reade said irritably.

Wallace flushed. “Sorry, sir. Served under you. Old habits die hard.”

“You are now engaged in undercover work,” Reade said, relenting. “Make it a habit not to go blathering a man’s name about. There’s a good fellow.”

When the man hurried away, Reade called for a coffee.

As he drank, his thoughts returned to Miss Dalrymple. Was it possible she could be in danger? What might the Virdens want with her father? Was he an innocent man caught in their web? It chilled Reade to think it. While he wasn’t ready to question Dalrymple, he’d make it his business to find out more about him.

He finished his drink, rose, and tossed coins onto the table. He had an appointment to keep.

Chapter Seven

On Friday, Jo and Sally went to view the Prince Regent’s return to Carlton House from parliament after reading the king’s speech. While the sky was overcast, there’d been no sign of rain. Hopeful for fine weather, they positioned themselves on the pavement near Saint James’s gardens, crushed in among a rowdy crowd. Jo tried to ignore the unpleasant smell of unwashed bodies. Someone elbowed her hard in the side, but it failed to diminish her excitement.

A ripple of noise rose from the crowd as the Regent’s royal coach and his entourage advanced down St. James’s Street, the horse guards splendid in their uniforms and the shiny coats of their mounts gleaming.

Sally chatted as the coach came closer. The mutterings and murmurs around them became loud abuse. Men shook their fists, and a few pushed forward toward the coach.

Nervous, Jo glanced around. “Stay close to me, Sally.” The shouting and raised voices drowned out Jo’s words.

Drawn by six peerless white horses, the glossy, black royal coach, elaborately decorated in gold with red wheels, drew level to where they stood. Jo barely had a moment to admire it when a handful of gravel splattered against the coach door, tossed by someone in the crowd to the right of her. The horses sidled nervously as the horse-guards broke ranks and rode toward the people, seeking the assailant.

Fearing they’d be trampled, Jo pulled Sally back, but like a surging sea, the crowd spread in all directions.

Jo kept a grip on Sally’s arm, her stomach in knots. “We must leave.”

They came up against a wall of people. They had only moved a few paces through the seething mob, when a loud bang, followed closely by another, rent the air. A far side window of the royal coach shattered, glass shards flying over the road. As screaming rent the air, His Royal Highness stared out, seemingly unharmed. For a moment, there was silence, and then a rumble of panic-stricken people.

“Oh, miss, was that a pistol shot?” Sally cried as they struggled to move on. “Is it a revolution? We must get away!”

The horse guards rode into the crowd, their mounts pushing the panicked people back. Barely able to escape a horse’s hooves, Jo lost hold of Sally’s hand, and the surge of people carried the maid away with them.

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