Page 49 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Gabriel took another bag, this one small and of soft leather, from a pocket inside his coat and slipped the coins into it, then as quickly secreted it about his person. Abner, his avaricious gaze having followed the disappearance of the money, spat onto the palm of his right hand and held it out.

Gabriel indicated his broken arm and took the offered hand in his left one, having also delightfully spat onto it first.

The deal seeming to have been sealed in this rather bizarre and unhygienic fashion, both men looked satisfied. Did they each think they’d had the advantage and gained more than they’d lost?

Phoebe, who had not for a moment forgotten their other purpose, would have given Gabriel’s leg a kick had they been closer together. Instead she shot him a hard frown. Their other business interested her much more.

He leaned back in his seat and stretched, as though without a care in the world. “Do you recall when I was asking about the Frenchies that’re here in the rookery and the surrounding area?”

Abner shrugged. “I s’pose I does.” He didn’t seem much interested now he had his jewels. “Doan have much ter do with them since my old ma kicked the bucket.”

“I’m not talking about the Protestant ones,” Gabriel said. “Or at least, I don’t think I am. I’m after information about more recent arrivals. Those that were chased out of France by the revolution over there, starting twenty or so years ago.”

“Oh, them.” Abner sounded less interested than ever. “Them Papist lot.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I know full well your own father was a Papist.”

Abner shook his head. “So he were, but from a diff’rent direction. Irish born, he were. A proper bogtrotter. God bless his soul, the ole reprobate. Taught me a lot, he did.”

“Indeed.” Gabriel glanced at Phoebe who endeavored to give him an encouraging nod without being too obvious. But Abner wasn’t looking.

“Well,” Gabriel said. “I’ve a mind to try finding a particular one. The one I asked you about some time ago and you were kind enough to make inquiries about. I have new information about her now. So the search might well be more fruitful, as I have a bit more of a description of her and I believe it’s far more accurate. And this time the person I’m after might stand out a bit even here. Might have once stood out more, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I don’t even know if she’s still living. She was last seen twenty-three years since, in Soho Square.”

“You said that when you asked me last time,” Abner grumbled. “If you want better results you’d best have more than just ‘a Frenchwoman with graying hair’ to tell me wot to look fer.”

Gabriel nodded. “I do. The woman I’m looking for, who had dark-auburn hair then, not gray, was young and possessed of the most striking violet eyes. She herself was also striking in being tall and possibly beautiful. Her hair is probably gray now, if she still lives, but violet eyes are most unusual and will not have changed. I have this description from a reliable eyewitness.”

A sense of smugness crept over Phoebe as it had been her idea to question Mrs. Hawkins. This was indeed a different description of his mother. At least they now knew what she’d looked like twenty-three years ago. Although if she lived here in the rookery, or any of the surrounding streets which were only a little better, goodness knew what that sort of a life might have done to her by now, or even if she were still living.

Something flickered in Abner’s eyes. Had Gabriel seen it? Phoebe focused her attention on the shifty fence.

“She steal somethin’ from someone you know, did she?” Abner asked. He sounded begrudging of his help. “I c’n ask about, now you’ve a bit more of a description. You never know. Might come to somethin’.” He scratched his forehead, pushing his hat even further back. “I could get the lads out on the lookout, I s’pose. But if she’s alive, she might not even be here no more. Twenty-three years is a long time. Some people do get outta here, you know. We’re not all stuck in here for good.” He chuckled. “Mainly for bad, I s’pose.” And he laughed the harder at his own joke.

Gabriel got to his feet. “There’s gold sovereigns for you if your information leads me to her. And remember, she’s not to be touched. All I want is for you to find her and tell me where she is. If you have a message for me regarding this woman, you can leave it at the Angel on the High Street. I’ll get it. Your reward, of course, depends on the degree of your success.”

He glanced at Phoebe again. “Come on, Will. Time to get us something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Phoebe scrambled to her feet and, without a backward glance over her shoulder, hurried down the stairs behind Gabriel, immensely relieved to be out of that squalid little room. She’d quite forgotten how the streets were even worse.

Chapter Seventeen

Once out on the stairs and with Abner’s door safely closed behind them, Gabriel removed the bag of money from his inner pocket and handed it to Phoebe. “You stow it away inside your coat. There’s a special pocket sewn in on the left-hand side, up under your arm. The idea is it’s an unpickable pocket. If anyone’s been watching us come in and out of Abner’s they’ll think I have the money. No one’ll suspect you.” He grinned. “Probably.”

“You’re very confident of that,” Phoebe whispered, but she did as she was told and found the inner pocket which turned out to be more of a small bag stitched under her left arm. The bag of coins slid into it easily and her arm came down on top of it, which was a little uncomfortable but she could live with it. And yes, it would take an accomplished pickpocket to extract that bag without her noticing.

“Keep your arm close to your body and there’ll be no tell-tale jingle of the coins,” Gabriel said. “Now, time to move on. Never a good idea to linger too long anywhere round here.”

Fortunately for Phoebe, who felt as though she had a flag on the top of her head emblazoned with “I have money” in large letters, Gabriel led her, unerringly as befitted one who knew the rookery like the back of his hand, out of the crowded alleys with greater speed than they’d entered. They crossed the High Street near where the church of St Giles-in-the-Fields, its namesake fields now nonexistent, rose up before them, and before she knew it they were somewhere she recognized. Denmark Street. A haven of much-needed security.

Gabriel indicated with a nod of his head. “We need to leave the money at the orphanage on our way home. And I’d like you to meet some of the children we have in our care.”

Phoebe swallowed. Children were not something she’d ever had much to do with. Not since she’d been a child herself. She’d never even met her Uncle Robert’s three small sons, and had felt no inclination to do so. Well, there was always a first time.

Gabriel led the way to the neatly painted front door of the house she’d first seen, what felt like a long time ago now, in the dark middle of the night. It had not been prepossessing back then, and the grim, sunless light of day did little to improve it. Like the rest of the street, its construction from soot-covered bricks bestowed on it a rather sinister appearance. However, by comparison with where they’d just come from, it was at least in good repair. It stood on a street mainly devoid of litter and dirt, and had smoke issuing from its chimney pot. Bright curtains hung in windows that were clean, and the front step had been scrubbed only that morning to judge from its pristine whiteness. Despite its forbidding appearance, the orphanage had a look about it of being well-cared for that she’d not noticed by night. What more could one ask for?

Gabriel rapped on the door with the horseshoe shaped knocker.

After less than a minute, this door was opened a crack by the person Phoebe least wanted to see—Eliza Thorogood, leaning heavily on her wooden cane and peering out at them, suspicion etched across her plain face. This suspicion was quickly vanquished when she spotted Gabriel, although not before she’d flashed Phoebe an annoyed glare. Could she have recognized her, even in her guise as a boy? Or did she just resent anyone who turned up with the object of her desire? Highly likely.