“I am sorry,” he says. “It would be a lovely ending.”
“Yes, but even if we told ourselves he seems fine with Dorrit, I’d been obligated to give him the choice.”
“Remove the rope. Open the gate. See what he does.”
“And I hate to do that without Dorrit being there to see it. So we can talk to her and show her what Bobby wants.”
I stand on the corner, looking up and down the street . “Do we stay here, lurking, until she returns? Block her into the courtyard? I hate that.”
“As do I.” He clears his throat. “Would you like my advice?”
I exhale in dramatic relief. “Please.”
“I suggest we look for her, without giving chase, and attempt to speak to her, without cornering her.”
I nod. “Try very hard not to scare her.”
“Which means, if we spot her, I need to hang back.”
I squeeze his arm. “Please.”
Finding Dorrit isn’t nearly as difficult as I feared. Mostly because she’s a smart girl. As a smart girl, she’s not running in a panic. She fled, and then apparently hung around to make sure we left. Gray spots her as soon as we start walking away. So we keep walking away and then circle back.
We expected her to scoot into the courtyard and grab Bobby, but she hovers on the next corner, watching down the lane. Watching for us to return? Or waiting long enough for the old woman to retreat to her apartment?
Gray and I have split up. Neither of us blends well. My plain dress helps, as do the shadows I’ve wrapped myself in, staying out of the late-afternoon sun.
I watch as Dorrit rocks back and forth, peeking and pulling back. My heart goes out to the little girl. She did rescue Bobby. Yes, it would have been better if she’d told us this morning that she had him in safekeeping, but I get it. He’s a very sweet dog, and she saw the chance to make him her own. After all, everyone thought he was already gone.
I consider coming up behind her, but that will only scare her into running for the courtyard, and I really don’t want to trap her there. If I come down the lane between her and the gate, she’ll flee the other way.
Damn it, I just want to talk to her. Explain that?—
Dorrit flies backward. One second, she’s peeking around the building, and the next, she’s rocketing back.
As if someone grabbed her.
I leap from my hiding spot and sprint toward her, which requires hiking up my skirts and breaking into the closest thing to a run I can manage.
Running through the Old Town is never a good idea, even at this time of day. I get maybe a dozen strides before a shopkeeper steps into my path, arms crossed over his barrel chest.
“And where do you think you’re going, lass,” he rumbles.
Apparently, that’s supposed to stop me, as if he’s filling the entire street. I duck past him and keep going, and he only shouts after me. But it slowed me down enough that when I reach the corner, there’s no sign of Dorrit. I scan the area and spot a young man leaning against the wall in that time-honored pose of young men, one leg bent, boot braced on the wall. When I look his way, his gaze goes up and down me, and he grins. He doesn’t straighten, though. After all, I was the one checking him out.
I stride over. “There was a girl on the corner. What happened to her?”
“Lots of girls on lots of corners,” he says.
“A child. Someone grabbed her.”
He shrugs. “Then you know what happened. Why ask me?” His gaze settles on my chest. “If you want to know who grabbed her, I’ll require a little compensation for my?—”
He looks down farther, eyes going wide as he sees the derringer pressed into his stomach.
“I hate to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” I say. “Details. Now.”
