After the Angels had tracked down Hargreaves’s victims, Charlie had spoken to them individually, asking them to help. When they learned they had not been Hargreaves’s sole target, they all agreed to tell their stories anonymously. Charlie then tapped a writer for a newspaper—whose mama had been a past client—and the writer published an exposé of “B.H.,” the predatory editor for a popular ladies’ magazine.
The article created an instant scandal and outrage. Given the male-dominated nature of society, the word of one woman was seldom believed; the stories of a dozen women, however, were difficult to sweep under the carpet. Fearing the court of public opinion, the owner ofThe Englishwoman at Homefired Hargreaves. He begged Bernadette to come back, which she agreed to…for a well-deserved raise and promotion.
“That is the power of sisterhood,” Charlie said.
“Well, I am ever so grateful. To them and to you. When my friend told me you knew investigators who could solve any problem, I wasn’t sure they would deliver justice. Please convey my sincerest thanks to these fearless and dedicated gentlemen.”
They are not gentlemen, but they are certainly fearless and dedicated.
To protect the identities of the Angels, Charlie had created the fiction that she used a network of male investigators. It never ceased to amaze how readily the clients bought her story. The concept of skilled female detectives seemed beyond the imagination of society, and she used the fact to her advantage.
“I will,” Charlie said. “If you encounter further trouble at work, you know where to find me.”
“I do not anticipate any problems.” Bernadette’s eyes held a twinkle. “My employer is allowing me to choose my own assignments, and I have decided to focus on the Great Exhibition. It is opening in less than three weeks, and I will be granted early access so that I may write articles about the latest innovations in home furnishings and fashions.”
Designed to showcase the progress of industry in England and around the world, the Great Exhibition was to take place in Hyde Park. According to the papers, it had taken five thousand navvies to erect the sprawling glass-and-steel building designed by famed architect Mr. Paxton. He’d cleverly incorporated nature into his modern “Crystal Palace” by enclosing trees within the structure, including a giant elm dubbed “Prometheus.”
Charlie, herself, planned to attend the exhibition.
“I know of no better candidate for the job,” she said sincerely.
“Thank you, my lady. I won’t take up more of your time.”
Bernadette rose, but her gaze lingered on the chair she’d just vacated as if it were a long-lost lover. Charlie didn’t blame her. The chair, and the three matching others, were divine, with curved backs, gilt frames, and cerise silk cushions embroidered with pastel birds and flowers.
“Out of professional curiosity, may I ask where you found these exquisite chairs?”
“Rather lovely, aren’t they? They were a recent gift from a friend.”
The “friend” was an appreciative client whom the Angels had freed from a blackmail scheme.
“She mentioned the upholstery was handwoven in Spitalfields,” Charlie added.
“I am partial to handmade fabrics.” Bernadette stroked the chair wistfully. “Whilst machine-made goods are all the rage, I prefer things made the old-fashioned way. Subtle imperfections have a charm, I think.”
“In people and furnishings.”
Bernadette laughed. “You’re a sharp one, my lady. Sharp taste too, if you don’t mind my saying. This chamber was designed by a woman who knows herself and has the confidence to show it. When it comes to decorating, there is no greater accomplishment than that.”
After the client departed, Charlie took a moment to appreciate her domain. For itwashers. Whilst Sebastian had left her the townhouse, he’d apparently never lived in it. From the moment Charlie had stepped over the threshold, she’d felt like she was coming home.
She’d never had a home before. Not with Papa, who’d dragged her from one makeshift camp to another. Definitely not with her guardian Sir Patrick Swainey, who’d afforded her nicer lodgings but expected her to pay for them with sexual favors. Not even with Sebastian, who’d given her a place of belonging, only to destroy it.
No, this was her first true home, the symbol of the life she’d designed for herself.
When she’d first arrived, the place had needed work, and she’d spared no expense in transforming her new residence. She had modernized and used the finest materials—Italian marble, Chinese rosewood, and French fabrics—to turn the tired Georgian edifice into a feminine retreat that suited her lifestyle. The drawing room had a gallery of statuary featuring Greek goddesses. Her suite boasted a dressing room that was fit for a queen. Behind the main building, the carriage house had been transformed into a training center for the Angels, including a sparring chamber and a room dubbed “Backstage,” since it stored the Angels’ costumes and disguises.
Bernadette was right: Charlie was her own mistress, and her home reflected that.
As fond as she was of her house, however, what gave her the greatest satisfaction was the group of four presently trooping into her study. The Angels did not bother to knock, for this was part of the ritual. Whilst Charlotte interviewed clients, they observed through squints from an adjacent room. This was done to preserve the Angels’ anonymity. Not only were investigations best carried out in secrecy, but these particular ladies also had reputations to protect.
Leading the way was Lady Olivia McLeod Wodehouse, the young Duchess of Hadleigh. Livy was a petite brunette with looped braids and jade-green eyes. Behind her was the former Lady Glory Cavendish, daughter of the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville, who had recently become the wife of martial arts master and healer Mr. Wei Chen. The glow on Glory’s freckled cheeks and sparkle in her hazel eyes conveyed that newlywed life was going well indeed. She was accompanied by her constant companion, Ferdinand the Ferret II, who had a comfortable perch on the shoulder of her mint-green walking dress.
Trailing Glory was Fiona Garrity Morgan, the Countess of Hawksmoor. A ravishing redhead, Fi had been experiencing morning sickness for the past few weeks, and Charlie was relieved to see that the lady’s constitution appeared much improved. Fi’s eyes were as vivid as her cerulean promenade dress, which was cleverly cut to conceal her early pregnancy.
Last, but not least, was Pippa Hunt Cullen. The pretty blonde had shadows under her eyes. This was hardly surprising given that she and her husband had recently welcomed a darling baby girl whom they’d named Gavina.
Fiona let out a gasp, dashing over to the chairs.
