Page 23 of Tender Blackguard

The clock in the front hall struck midnight as Lark crept soundlessly along the servants’ hall to the garden door. She’d dressed in her darkest wool dress and wore a hooded cloak. Her white apron and lace cap had been left behind, and tucked in her pocket was the knife she’d kept near since she’d been a child...when she’d been a different girl in another life.

A life prior to the day she’d approached the heavy front doors of Yeardley Asylum for Girls with Harriet cowering nervously behind her. From that day on, the dank alleys filled with starvation and desperation became a part of another past. But Lark never forgot the lessons she’d learned in the first fourteen years of her life. They were too deeply ingrained. Too fiercely woven into her basic makeup no matter how faithfully the asylum had worked to mold her into a young woman worthy of serving London’s upper class.

The night sounds of Mayfair were very different from what she was accustomed to, and it always took her a few moments to acclimate to the relative quiet that drifted through the darkness. The neighborhoods she once roamed as a child would have been filled with a variety of noises and activity at this time of night. The relative quiet surrounding her now was briefly unnerving, though it was comforting to know she’d hear someone approaching from a long way off.

The gate in the rear corner of Warfield’s garden opened and closed silently, as expected since she’d made sure to have the hinges well oiled. After stepping into the mews, she paused and listened as she contemplated which direction she’d take.

Her position as Warfield’s housekeeper had kept her quite busy over the last couple weeks, and she hadn’t been able to slip away as much as she’d hoped. But since keeping her job was vital to her purpose, there hadn’t been much she could do about it. So far, she’d managed to sneak away like this only two previous times. Those prior sojourns had been focused on orienting herself, learning the deepest shadows while becoming familiar with the local lanes and alleys, as well as which streets tended to have more traffic and would need to be avoided.

Her talk with Gideon the other day had been productive in discovering who occupied some of the houses in the surrounding neighborhood—in particular, those that faced Curzon Street.

She now knew that just across the garden was a grand old mansion belonging to the Earl of Altham. His significantly younger countess and their five children most often stayed at their country estate, while the earl remained in town since he was active in the House of Lords. To one side of Altham was the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Elton, who’d lived in their home for more than forty years. And past them stood the bachelor residence of Lord Lowndes. To the other side of Altham was the very prestigious household of the Lord and Lady Hazelton, another older couple renowned for their charity work.

Beyond their front doors and across Curzon stood four more stately homes belonging to the Viscount Marlowe, a physician Dr. Kirby, Lord and Lady Dryden with their three daughters—two out in society with a third soon to leave the schoolroom—and a house previously belonging to a Lord Shelbourne, which had stood empty since the aged gentleman’s untimely death some weeks ago.

Harriet had been working as personal maid to the three Dryden girls when she’d sent her note and subsequently disappeared.

Moving on swift and soundless feet, Lark fled through the mews to the lane that would take her around to Curzon Street. Once free of the deeper shadows, she continued on more carefully. Though it was late at night in an elite residential area, there was still some potential to encounter people returning home after a late party or an evening at a gentlemen’s club. She had no desire to be noticed and possibly questioned on her purpose in being out and about at such an hour herself.

Turning onto Curzon Street, she experienced a heightened awareness. Her nape tingled, her ears twitched, and her nerves buzzed. The heightening of her senses was something she’d experienced frequently as a child on the streets—whenever she’d approached a particularly challenging mark.

Though she’d started as a pickpocket—typical for the youngest members of street gangs—her gift for tuning out distractions and focusing in on details that could warn of impending peril soon had her promoted to one of the teams that cased out empty houses. She quickly adapted to the skills and instincts needed for housebreaking and became a bit renowned for her success in bringing in the best loot.

The Dryden family’s home was a stately brick structure with white columns and black shutters. Despite the late hour, many of the main- and first-floor windows were well lit, and a few carriages were lined up out front. It appeared someone was entertaining.

She’d been advised the family would be attending the opera that evening, but apparently, either their plans had changed abruptly or they hadn’t included everyone in the household.

Taking up a position under the heavy, draping fall of a willow tree, she glanced to the small windows of the uppermost level. One of those had belonged to Harriet. She’d often written to Lark about the lovely view of the street she’d shared with two other maids. Lark knew from some careful inquiries that the only change to the household staff in the last months had been Harriet’s departure. Someone in that house had to know what had happened to her friend and where she’d gone.

Tonight, she prayed she’d get some answers.

It had taken significant persuasion and multiple correspondence with an old friend who had an acquaintance whose cousin was one of the maids who’d worked with Harriet, but she’d finally managed to arrange for a quick meeting with the maid who’d shared Harriet’s duties as personal attendant to the young ladies of the house. With the Drydens expected to be out for the evening, it had seemed a perfect opportunity to interview the young woman. Lark hoped the unanticipated party wouldn’t deter the maid from speaking with her.

She carefully made her way around to the rear of the house. Though lamps lit the street, there were plenty of dark paths winding between garden walls and carriage houses. Along the way, she noted any blind corners or hiding spots she could take advantage of if it became necessary.

The gardens of Dryden House were meticulously maintained with perfect rows of flowers and symmetric placement of trees and shrubs lining the paths. The not altogether unpleasant scent of dying flowers and greenery heading toward winter dormancy filled the air.

Crouching in the corner of a tall hedgerow, Lark tugged her hood farther over her face as she studied the back of the house, noting the two entrances and the ground-level windows. Though the maid was supposed to meet her outside, Lark did not discount the possibility that someday she might have a need to get inside herself. She’d have to get closer to determine the most accessible entry point, but from what she could see, it shouldn’t be terribly difficult.

Unfortunately, she detected no sign of the maid just yet. She hoped the girl would be able to get away.

A burst of merriment sounded from the house, and she settled more fully into the shadows at the rear of the garden. Just a few moments later, she heard movement. Furtive and uncertain. Then she saw a small, pale face peeking around the corner of the house.

“Hello?”

The low, whispered word urged Lark from her hiding spot. “I’m here,” she replied as she swiftly made her way along the wall toward the maid, who was glancing about with wide eyes as she twisted her fingers in her apron.

“You’re the one I’m supposed to meet?”

Lark wondered who else the maid thought she might be but replied gently, “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I only need a few moments.”

“This way.” The girl motioned. “Please. I can’t risk being seen.”

Lark followed the girl to an inset doorway that allowed them to step out of full view from any of the windows. The maid, who looked to be near in age to Harriet’s twenty-three, met Lark’s gaze with a wary expression.

“You wanna know ’bout Harriet, yeah?”

“Anything you can tell me would be appreciated.”

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