“Yes, of course.” Dobson lowered himself back into his chair with a sigh of relief while the Angels took the seats facing his desk. “Now, how may I assist?”
Fi repeated the story about looking for the talented baker.
“Never heard of Martin Wheatley,” Mr. Dobson said, frowning. “But there was a fellow a few years back who matches your physical description.”
With tingling excitement, Fi asked, “What was his name?”
“Oddly enough, he had the same initials. Michael Wilkes.”
Fi thought this was no coincidence. When people chose aliases, they often stuck to the same initials. Easier to remember and no need to change monograms.
“But I don’t think Wilkes is who you’re looking for,” Mr. Dobson went on.
“Why do you say that, sir?” Livy asked.
“Because as talented as Wilkes was, he was also a lazy sod,” Mr. Dobson said dourly. “Never stayed long at any job. I doubt he’d put himself through the trouble of creating an exceptional product.”
“Did you know him well?” Glory asked.
“Enough to know that he could make a pie crust as light as a feather. The trouble was that his morals were even less substantial. During his apprenticeship, he went through several masters. He always had complaints and problems, blaming others for his own shortcomings. Yet he had an astounding ability to charm his way into anyone’s good graces, and it got him through apprenticeship and even landed him several plum positions. None of them lasted, however.”
“Why not?” Fi asked.
“Because Wilkes had no interest in putting in a hard day’s work. He believed that he was simply entitled to wealth and success. Our guild’s motto isPraise God for All, and Wilkes seemed to think of himself as the Almighty. Unfortunately, he had a way of making people around him believe the same thing. Masters, other apprentices, employers—you would be amazed at how Wilkes could wrap them around his finger.” Mr. Dobson snorted, waving a gnarled hand. “Oh, and don’t get me started on the females.”
Fi sat up taller. “Females?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Women—milkmaids and ladies alike—would show up at the hall, looking for Wilkes. Many were slavish in their desperation to find him. My guess is that the blackguard strung them along until he had no further use for them.”
A chill pervaded Fi.What will happen to Lillian once she no longer serves Wilkes’s purposes?
The furrows deepened on Mr. Dobson’s forehead. “I say, you ladies aren’t looking for Wilkes for, ahem, personal reasons, are you?”
“Not for the kind you mean,” Livy said. “The truth is that one of our friends, who is only nineteen, has gone missing, and we’re trying to find her. We’ve discovered she was involved with an abusive fellow who we now believe to be this Michael Wilkes.”
“The poor girl.” Mr. Dobson sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.”
“Do you have any idea where we might find Mr. Wilkes?” Glory asked.
“Believe me, I would help if I could, but I haven’t seen the scoundrel in years…” Mr. Dobson scratched his head, then began rummaging through the drawers of his desk, finally pulling out a worn ledger. “We do keep records of our members and their employment. Now this will be several years out of date…”
“Any information would be helpful,” Fi said gratefully.
Mr. Dobson rifled through the record book. “Ah, here it is.” He tapped a blunt fingertip against a page. “According to my last entry on Michael Wilkes dated 21stof April 1845, he was…ah, yes. How could I have forgotten? That was a coveted job, that one. Many of our guild members would have given their eyeteeth for it. And they would have been right to do so, given the business’s current success.”
Fi’s pulse accelerated. “Where was Mr. Wilkes employed?”
“Back then it was a small but promising bakeshop located in Soho. Now,” Mr. Dobson said, “you may know the company as Fisher’s Fine Foods.”
Thirty-Two
That evening, Hawk found himself enjoying supper at the Hadleighs. After the delicious ten-course repast, the guests, who included the other Angels and their husbands, gathered in the drawing room for postprandial drinks and conversation. Lady Glory, the only unmarried miss, had been partnered with the Duke of Hadleigh’s friend, Master Chen, for supper.
A healer, Chen apparently operated an innovative clinic in the East End that specialized in treating opium dependency. He was about Hawk’s age, with chiseled, noble features and black hair clipped short. At present, he was having a lively conversation with Lady Glory in his native tongue while her pet ferret watched from her shoulder.
Hawk liked seeing Fiona with her fellow Angels, who were clearly birds of a rare and spirited feather. The ladies shared a propensity for mischief and fun. They chatted and teased their spouses, who did not seem to mind. Indeed, Hadleigh and Timothy Cullen, Pippa’s husband, regarded their wives with amusement and obvious pride.
Hawk understood how they felt. Having a wife as special as Fiona made him feel ten feet tall. As if sensing his thoughts, Fiona, seated beside him on the divan, gave him a flirty grin.
