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The man’s profile confirmed my fear that I knew him. “We need to find Jess.”
My voice must have betrayed my tension because Dhruv stopped to face me. I couldn’t take my eyes off the straw-haired man, who had continued walking. “That’s the man Jess saw,” I murmured, “the one with East India buttons.”
“You saw the buttons on his waistcoat?” Dhruv asked, incredulous. “She only spotted them because she’d walked past him to get to the alley.”
I shook my head. “I know the man. Brian Desmond. I know it’s him.”
The black hansom turned the corner out of sight, and Desmond’s pace quickened. I started after him, blessing the height that gave me confidence in my relative safety, and Dhruv had no choice but to keep up with me or let me go. My eyes darted ahead of Desmond to the alley that bled into shadow beyond the bookseller, and suddenly I knew where Jess was. “Dhruv, can you go around to Pall Mall and stop the hansom that likely parked just outside that alley?”
He did not hesitate for one moment, and I might have fallen in love with him for that alone.
I shook myself and returned my attention to Desmond in front of me. He had just reached the entrance to the alley, and just as Jess had described, he slowed and darted a nervous glance around at passing foot traffic. I continued walking with purpose, as though the bookseller’s shop was my destination, trying to ignore the anxiety that was building with every step. The sight of Desmond had drummed up a fear that felt all too familiar, even though I’d turned my back long ago on everything associated with the time when I’d known him.
I reached the alley and strode into it, mindful only of the sounds of a scuffle somewhere up ahead. There, tucked into a doorway just before the alley opened to a yard, was Brian Desmond. His gaze was focused on a small figure who stood in the yard surrounded by three larger boys. The look in his eyes was predatory. I debated waiting behind him to see what he would do, and then realized I had another option at my disposal.
Very few men of any breeding whatsoever would willingly get in the way of a woman in a temper.
I strode forward, right into the fray, and grabbed Jess by her shirt collar, wielding every scold I’d ever heard my childhood housekeeper fling at a boot boy or errant messenger. I had no idea what I said, but I said it so fiercely that the three larger boys dropped back and away from us. After momentary surprise, Jess played her part perfectly, bowing her head and mumbling apologies as I hauled her toward Pall Mall and away from Desmond.
I continued the scold for effect until we reached the street, and as the black hansom cab passed by not having found its quarry, Dhruv ran forward to meet us.
I threw a meaningful glance behind me into the alley as I turned left, hauling Jess farther away from danger. Dhruv strode into the alley, and several minutes later we met him back on the King Street side.
“Empty,” he said. “Not a soul in sight.”
“The lads’d be long gone,” Jess said, straightening her shirt and brushing the wrinkles my grip had made from her collar.
“And Desmond?” I asked. “Any sign of him?”
Dhruv shook his head. “He must have come back out this way, and perhaps even met up with the hansom around the corner.”
“Was anyone inside the cab?” I asked as we fell into step next to each other. Dhruv shrugged in frustration while he took my hand and tucked it up around his forearm as he’d done before, making us appear like an established couple out for a stroll in Covent Garden. Jess walked next to me, her eyes darting around us for signs of a threat, and when my heart finally accepted that she was safe, I had to tamp down my urge to scold in reality.
“Was that one of your fighting ‘lessons’?” I asked her in as calm a tone as I could muster.
“I was tellin’ the lads I was done with fightin’ them, but I’d teach them to read if they liked.” Jess looked up at my face, perhaps to gauge my reaction, and then she smiled such a heart-meltingly lovely smile that the last of the fear faded from my veins. "Thank you for watchin’ my back,” she said simply, then included Dhruv in her look. “Both of you. But,” she added, her expression turning serious, “AJ’s still out there, and we’re no closer to findin’ ‘im.”
Dhruv glanced at me, and I felt the question about how I knew Desmond in his eyes. My chest was tight and full of all the unsaid words I’d kept locked in for so many years. It was several breaths before I could speak. “Brian Desmond,” I said, feeling the name on my tongue like something bitter and foul. “His father was a merchant ship’s captain who sailed for the East India Company, and Brian went to school in Hertford Heath at Haileybury and Imperial Service College, which was originally an East India Company school. He owns a waistcoat with buttons like the ones Jess described.”
I felt raw and exposed as Dhruv studied me quietly. I steeled myself for questions and perhaps accusations, but instead received only a thoughtful, troubled tone. “I saw only a glimpse of his face, and not enough to identify him in a line-up. With no actual evidence of his criminal intent, I can’t bring charges against him.”
I nodded, feeling my own grip tense on his arm. I consciously relaxed my hand, and Dhruv tightened his own on mine.
“We’ll just ‘ave to find ‘im and follow ‘im then,” Jess announced with all the confidence of the righteous and the young, and it was enough to let go of some of the tension that threatened to break my hard-won composure.
For his part, Dhruv seemed inclined to allow the subject to be changed on our walk home, and after a detour past Hertford House in Manchester Square, which had been left to Sir Richard Wallace, illegitimate son of the 4th Marquess of Hertford, and was filled with a most remarkable collection of art and armaments, we arrived at Grayson House more or less returned to our comfortable equanimity, but without having said anything of import at all.
That evening, a messenger brought another letter from Dhruv. I waited until my hair was down and brushed before I finally allowed myself to read it.
Dear Olivia,
I didn’t want to let go of your hand today. I walked away from Grayson House knowing there were things unsaid between us and wishing you could feel through my skin that you can trust me. So now I write the words instead. Olivia Mackenzie, you can trust me.
Your Jess is so avid, so alive and present in every moment. It is a joy to speak to her, to teach her, and to incite her interest. Her guardians are very lucky to have found her, and I hope they know it. It is no wonder to me that you strode right into that alley, and right into the middle of a gang of young toughs to drag Jess away. You are the heroine of this story – the strong one who knows what’s right and believes in justice. Is your story a mystery? An adventure? A comedy of errors? Is it a family drama or a tragedy? I hope not. I hope it’s a love story with a happily-ever-after ending, but one that’s actually a beginning of a love that lasts a lifetime.
I have discovered that Brian Desmond is indeed a constable with the Metropolitan police. I know where he lives, and I will spend the day tomorrow on his trail. Perhaps you’ll continue to write to me so that I can bring your words with me as I wait for him to lead me to Ajay?
Your,
