Page 94 of When We Touch

“That somehow, even the Royal House is involved?” Jamie asked.

“Well, they whisper about Eddy, you know. He’d been known to play in some areas of town not reputed to be of his ilk. Have you heard about this girl, this Annie Crook?”

“Yes, he’s said to have married her. But she was a shop girl,” Jamie reminded Randolph.

“Shop girls have been known to supplement their incomes, you know,” Randolph said sagely.

And that was true.

“And what did you discover?” Randolph asked.

“That, most probably, if the fellow isn’t discovered, someone else will die,” Jamie said. “I’m going to get some sleep, and you need to do the same. Then, we’ll pay a visit to a few of the fellows walking the beat.”

Jamie retired to his room, and opted for a very long bath, and a glass of his best port. He soaked in the water and reflected that none of his tension seemed to be easing.

He closed his eyes. For several seconds, the street scenes filled them. And then drifted away. Not the tension. He could think of nothing but cobalt blue eyes, and how the world itself had disappeared in an awesome feeling of being alive, when she had been at his side. He winced, reminding himself that if Charles were alive, they’d be having deep and lengthy conversations regarding the situation at hand, and that Charles would have something brilliant to say, perhaps an idea that would lead in the right direction. In his steadfast loyalty to the Queen, he would be out himself, no matter what his age or health.

But Charles was dead.

And no matter how he tried to mourn, Jamie kept losing his grasp on those memories, for here he was, in the room where she had been with him.

He jerked up in the tub. She had her wretched sense of passion for the East End!

There had to be a way to stop her from going there.

* * *

“Up!”

Mireau rubbed his eyes, wondering what rudeness had invaded his sleep. He blinked, and there she was. Maggie, smiling, looking absurdly like a mischievous angel, far too vibrant above him.

“Up?”

“We’re going back to the church.”

He groaned. “Maggie, don’t you think that you added to the drunkeness of the city enough yesterday?”

“I’ve arranged a large handout of food. Come along.”

He groaned again and asked, “Does Justin know what you’re doing?”

“Justin isn’t here. It seems my brother has taken up an interest in politics. He does have a seat in the House of Lords, you know.”

“And they’re in session?”

“He has a meeting, that’s all I know. Clayton told me. Now, get up!”

And so he did. Maggie allowed no other recourse. He grumbled as they took another cab.

When they arrived at the churchyard, Father Vickers was waiting for them. And several pony carts had come. Maggie had not just bought bread for her wayward masses, but bacon as well. The police were poised around the yard, determined on keeping order.

They watched as the people came, men and women, and at one point, Maggie slipped away to rest a spell in Father Vickers’s room.

Curious, Mireau followed.

When he neared the room, he heard a woman talking. It was the younger, pretty creature he had seen in the yard the day before. “I’m trusting you, because there is no other hope,” the woman was saying. “I’m desperate! So desperate. There are already rumors about, and sooner or later, I will be recognized. It’s not Eddy, you must understand. Ah, he tired of my sister, yes. But he was kind; and he would send funds, I think . . . if he remembered. The thing of it is, what if any of what is being said is true? Eddy would hurt no one, but surely there are those, blindly loyal to the Crown, who would seek to hurt the baby. God above us! No one, no one must ever know. She must disappear, and I will do so as well.”

“But you’re speaking of giving up the child,” Maggie said.