Chapter 7
“My lady, please do not go alone,” Mr. Conway pleaded as Bridget approached the front door. “This is not a place for a lady of your station!”
Bridget had been surprised at how easy it was to procure information about Warren’s valet. After only a small moment of hesitation, Mr. Conway had confessed that the valet, William, had family in the rookeries and often visited a pub named Yorkies when he was not working.
After finding out her first destination, Bridget went to Eve, who was roughly the same size as her, and gave her one of her gowns in exchange for one of hers. The plain brown-and-white frock was a bit tighter than what Bridget preferred to wear, but it made her look the part, and that was all she cared about.
After Bridget donned the dress, Eve helped her take down her hair and braid it loosely. With a plain brown hooded cloak to complete the look, Bridget was assured by Eve that she would blend right in.
“I will be perfectly fine, Mr. Conway,” Bridget insisted, gathering her courage. Sheneededto believe that. Needed to push the weakness from her spirit. “I will not dally. I will find William, demand that he tell me where my husband is, and then I will bring him home.”
Mr. Conway’s bushy gray brows drew together with worry as he nervously tapped his fingertips together. Then he let out a heavy sigh, bowed his head respectfully toward her, and opened the door.
Bridget took an unmarked carriage to the district in question. She watched out the window as the scenery changed from large, beautiful homes and gardens to plain brown brick establishments to shanties. She breathed in the air, noticing how the fresh scent of summer flowers faded into odors of garbage and filth. Then she began to think of her mother.
What had it been like for her to live in such a place? What work had she done to finally afford the small brooch that she had left with her only child the day she gave her up? Had her mother known love from her husband? Even for a short while? Or had she been stuck in a loveless marriage as Bridget was?
Bridget reached for her throat, even though she knew her mother’s brooch was not there, and felt a longing in her heart for something—someone—she never knew.
I will find your brooch, Mama. Iwillget it back.
Bridget’s thoughts turned back to the present as the carriage drew to a stop on a busy street. Instead of waiting for her door to be opened, she let herself out and turned to the driver, Farley.
“You must be most careful, my lady,” he said in a low voice as he leaned down to speak to her. “Do not let anyone touch you.Filchers have the quickest hands. You will not know you are missing something until long after it has been stolen.”
Beneath her cloak, Bridget grasped the small dagger she had tucked into her belt with one hand, and the small sack of coin she had tied to the other side with the other. She gave a grave nod of understanding.
“Follow the alley directly ahead of you for about thirty paces. There will be a wooden plaque with two pints of beer painted on it. That is Yorkies. If William is here, that is where he shall be.”
“Thank you, Farley,” Bridget replied.
He gave her a nod of respect, then pulled his dark brown, wide-brimmed hat down low over his eyes. Bridget turned from him, drawing in a deep breath for courage, and stepped into the crowded street. She soon found Farley’s advice impossible to follow as she was jostled strongly by those around her. Hungry, desperate eyes shot toward her as she joined the throng, as if they knew that she did not belong even with her disguise, and her hands tightened around her belongings.
After several tense moments of being shoved and shouldered, though, Bridget finally spotted the sign for Yorkies. She drew her hood away from her face as she stepped inside and marveled at the new sights.
Sticky floors, filthy walls. Broken tables and mismatched chairs. She had thought the smell outside was bad, but the scent of beer, sweat, and urine seemed to intensify as she walked further inside. It was hard for her to fathom a member of her staff, all of whom were always clean and dressed in uniform at her home, fitting in there. Yet as she walked past the busty barmaids and their loud, drunk patrons, she found one of them.
William appeared vastly different compared to the times she had seen him with her husband. His clean-shaven face was littered with red and blonde scruff. His well-styled copper hair was a mess atop his head. Sharp, pale blue eyes appeared dull and glassy as he smiled lasciviously at one of the barmaids while he tugged at her long blonde braid. The woman did not seem to mind, though. In fact, she leaned obediently toward him as he tugged at her hair, bringing her rather impressive bosom closer to his face.
Bridget’s cheeks flushed with color as she realized what she was about to interrupt, but she had come this far, and she was determined not to leave without answers.
“William,” she greeted calmly as she stepped up to him and his barmaid.
His blue eyes darted to hers briefly before they dropped to her chest. As if he did not like what he saw, his eyes drew back to the busty blonde.
“Sorry, love. Not interested this time,” he said dismissively.
Bridget began to bristle at his disrespectful nature, then smirked as she stopped and realized something. It was good that he did not recognize her. She had wanted to be able to blend in so as not further sour her reputation, and she had obviously succeeded.
Was this how he behaved outside of our home?
“You heard him, love,” the blonde barmaid said when Bridget did not move. “He’s not interested in small pillows today. Take ‘em elsewhere.”
Suddenly, having had enough of being disrespected by men and their careless actions, Bridget snatched out a hand and grippedWilliam’s jaw tightly, forcing his face toward hers.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, glaring at her. “What do you—Oh, God in Heaven.”
Recognition sparked in William’s eyes as his ruddy complexion began to pale. Bridget’s right brow perked as she held his gaze and felt him begin to tremble.
