Page 33 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

“I don’t think I could,” she said glumly. “I saw a sign pointing to Soho Square, but that might not be of help.”

“It must have cost a bit to take you to Mayfair,” Jo said thoughtfully.

Sally nodded. “The woman asked him how much. She haggled a bit.” She shivered. “I was afraid he might put me down somewhere on the way, but he brought me right to the door as she instructed.”

“How very good of her,” she said.

“Wasn’t it? Most wouldn’t give a t

oss or not have the money to spare,” Sally said. “I don’t think she was poor. I wanted to repay her somehow, but she refused.”

The constable couldn’t help them. Jo considered taking Sally in a hackney back the way they’d come, with the chance that something might jog her memory. But she decided against it because it might be too distressing for Sally, who seemed to have blotted out the frightening experience.

Finally, free of commitments, Reade checked on those shadowing the Virdens two days later. It was early morning when he approached a colleague stationed in an overgrown garden near the Virden’s house. “They gave Johns the slip yesterday, sir.” Reade’s most reliable man, Winston Black, came up to him with a nod of welcome. “Left their carriage standing outside the front entrance and went out through the rear of the property. Not sure what form of transport they used. Asked the jarvies in the area. Nothing.”

“Bloody hell.” Through the trees, Reade’s gaze settled on the house across the lane. No sign of the Virdens. A moment later, some curtains opened. A maid came out the back door and banged a broom against a wall.

“Think they’ve cottoned on that they’re being watched?”

“Don’t know, sir,” Black said. “Might just be cautious.”

“If they have, it will make things difficult. What happened during the night?”

“He attended a ball. She didn’t go out. Lord Rivenstock came home with Virden in the early hours. He didn’t stay long. I couldn’t hear what they spoke of, but it was the devil of an argument. He left, glowering, and muttering about something.”

Reade crossed his arms and leaned against a tree. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay until Johns arrives. Let’s hope he can keep his wits about him this time.”

“Yes, sir.” Black shuffled wearily away.

Reade remained where he had an unrestricted view of the house. It drizzled. He cursed and turned up the collar of his greatcoat as water dripped off his hat. The Virdens might still be abed.

A window on the ground floor opened. The breakfast room. Bent low, Reade crossed the lane and vaulted a fence. He flattened himself against the wall outside the breakfast room.

The clink of cutlery and rattle of crockery greeted him through the open window, and the rich aroma of coffee and buttered toast floated out. Reade tried to ignore the rumble of his stomach, reminding him he had yet to eat breakfast.

“There’s no appeasing Rivenstock,” Virden said. “Since you made me break my promise of that plump partridge for him.”

“Pah! What were you thinking?” she snarled. “It could have ruined your chances with the girl! We shall have to act quickly to placate him. And as it is your fault, I expect you to resolve it.”

“I intend to very shortly.” Virden’s words sounded muffled, his mouth full of sausage, probably. Reade recognized the savory aroma. “I have a ripe pigeon ready for the plucking.”

“Better be a good one,” she snapped. “Not a turkey like the last one. Be sure they fit our requirements,” she said. “No slipups or our overseas customers will turn nasty. You can’t trust these foreigners.”

“I’ll take it in hand,” he said and chuckled.

“None of that. We must deliver our goods in the condition we found them, understand?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding resentful.

“And then turn your attention to that other matter. This tomfoolery has kept you from the plan we have for a certain young lady.”

“I don’t know why you want me to go to all that trouble,” he grumbled.

“Because he’ll pay up big, that’s why. I have it on good authority that his pockets are deep.”

“Weren’t you going to entice him to the altar? You could have his money all to yourself. Legitimately, too.”

“He’d drag me off to some backwater. I’d have to kill him to escape. He’d take years to marry me, anyway. He’s still in love with his dead wife.”

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