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Chapter Twelve
The following morning, Baldwin walked purposefully along the pavement as he covered the short distance to Miss Dowding’s townhouse. He found that he needed to reassure himself that she was safe after the staged abduction, even though Oliver had assured him that she was. But for some inexplicable reason that didn’t ease his mind. He wanted to see Miss Dowding for himself.
Unexpectedly, Corbyn appeared by his side, matching his stride. “I received your missive last night.”
Baldwin glanced over at him in surprise. “Where did you come from?”
Corbyn tsked. “I had correctly assumed you would be on your way to visit Miss Dowding this morning, so I just waited for the chance to speak to you.”
“Why would you have assumed that?”
“Call it a hunch,” Corbyn remarked.
Baldwin tipped his head politely at a gentleman passing him on the street before saying, “I can’t help but think that Morton believes me to be expendable.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He keeps promising to give me a new life in the Americas, but I believe that to be an empty promise.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that someone used a scapegoat for their scheme.”
Baldwin nodded. “Regardless, I intend to see this through and stop their plan before it comes to fruition.”
“Do you have any leads on where Marie is?”
“Not at this time.”
Corbyn kept his gaze straight ahead as he remarked, “Until we get more information, I will hold off on warning Lord Liverpool, Lord Sidmouth, and Lord Desmond of the impending threat.”
“I think that is wise,” Baldwin agreed. “Furthermore, if what Morton said was true last night, then we need to start an investigation into Lord Desmond.”
“I agree, and I will assign an agent to the case.”
With a side glance at his friend, Baldwin remarked, “Thank you for your assistance yesterday at the pub.”
“You need not thank me,” Corbyn said. “I met a new group of friends.”
“You did?”
Corbyn chuckled. “They were all deeply in their cups, but they were a jovial group of men.”
“Did you discover why the blasted Runners took so long to raid the pub?”
“No, but I expected as much from them,” Corbyn muttered. “You can’t trust a Runner with even the simplest task.”
As they approached Miss Dowding’s townhouse, Baldwin reached up and adjusted his white cravat. “I did notice that the morning newspaper reported their heroics in rescuing those missing girls.”
“That should please the Bow Street magistrate.”
“I should hope so.”
Baldwin stopped outside of the black iron fence that surrounded the townhouse. “Would you care to call upon Miss Dowding with me?”
“Not in the least,” Corbyn said as he continued walking down the pavement.
Chuckling, Baldwin opened the gate and walked up to the door. He knocked on it and took a step back.
The door was opened, and the butler politely smiled at him. “Good morning, Lord Hawthorne,” he greeted, opening the door wide. “Please come in.”
