“I ain’t heard anything on Bow Street,” said Roger, proud of his new position. “I’ll keep my ears peeled.”
“A Peeler keeping his ears peeled,” barked Clayton. “Good one, except I believe the correct phrase is keep your eyes peeled.”
Roger groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Would this Rowlands try to find Miss Felton?” asked Ben, his nerves taut at the thought of that sweet lass in the path of The Vicar.
“He’s arrogant, not stupid. Yes, if he can find her, he’ll silence her. The bloody cull has no conscience.” Clayton studied Ben. “Are you worried for her, Ben?”
“I-I like her—and her father—and don’t want to see either harmed.”
“Maybe Sam could let her stay at Hospital Hope,” offered Gus.
Ben mulled that over. “Possibility.” Their brother Sam Brooks and his wife had opened a hospital for unwed mothers. The only option most of the unfortunate women had was to abandon their babes to a foundling home. The Magdalene House would take in repentant, wayward women, but they had to give up their children.
Roger shook his head. “Too many people there to identify her. No one can know where she is if she is to be truly safe.”
“Can she sew?”
Ben frowned at Clayton. “I don’t know. I assume so since she’s… you know, a female.”
Gus guffawed. “Don’t let Maggie or Nora hear you say that. They made sure we can all darn a sock if needs be.”
Embarrassment chased up Ben’s neck. “I can ask her. Why?”
“Genie was talking about hiring an assistant. The business is growing, and she needs help. It wouldn’t be hard to explain her presence.”
Clayton’s fiancée, along with her aunt, owned a dress and apparel shop on Clements Street. A random place to keep Miss Felton safe with no connection to her family or the murder. “Do you think Genie would mind a boarder for a week or so?”
“Let me talk to her. Find out if your girl has any skill with a needle,” said Clayton. “Now, that particular lovely woman is waiting to plant a kiss on me as soon as I grace her doorway.”
“Speakin’ of arrogant,” Roger whispered loudly.
Clayton only chuckled and hit the top of Roger’s head with his cap. “Let me see what I can find out. I’m meeting up with a few of the congregation after midnight.”
“Thank you,” said Ben, hoping Clayton was wrong about the scarred man.
The night was warm for April, and he walked along Bush Lane toward Cannon Street. His mind was crowded with thoughts of Miss Felton, murder, and his new client, Lord Tamber. When he stopped for a moment, he realized he was on Walbrook Street. There was a light on at the Feltons’, so before he overthought it, Ben knocked on the door.
Miss Felton called from the other side in a strange, husky tone. “Yeah?”
“It’s Mr. Cooper,” he said to the smooth wood, grinning at her attempt to disguise her feminine voice. “If you harm a hair on Miss Felton’s head, it will be your last act on this earth.”
The door swung open, and a brilliant smile took his breath away. He couldn’t name the exact feeling every time he saw this girl, but it was overwhelming and wonderful at the same time.
“Oh, Miss Felton,” he said in feigned surprise.
“You knew it was me,” she said, standing back to let him enter. “I appreciate the gesture, though.”
Ben walked to the table and stood by the chair he’d occupied that morning. Spread across the table were scraps of a variety of materials, along with buttons, shiny things, paste jewels, and lace. There were several different sizes of needles sticking out of a red wool pincushion. The clutter answered one question.
When he turned to see the door still open, it hit him. “I apologize, miss,” he stammered. “Propriety didn’t occur to me. I was walking, and thinking, and then I saw I was on your street…”
She laughed, and he realized her hair was down, black curls spilling over her shoulders. His fingers itched to see if the tresses were as soft as they looked. “It’s fine. I’ll leave the door open, and Mr. Mercer will hear me scream if you’re improper.”
His eyes flew to the ceiling, as if the image of a cackling old man would wave back at him. “I give you my word.”
“Did you come with news?” Her voice held hope.
