“Because I understand you rather well, Captain,” Denis said. “I shall?—”
He broke off as his gaze became arrested by something behind me. I turned to see Lady walking toward us from the bakeshop, the brisk wind fluttering the gray ribbons of her bonnet. She halted between one step and the next, her half boot neatly avoiding a puddle on the cobblestones.
“I do beg your pardon, Captain Lacey,” she said in her smooth voice. “I had thought you finished with your conversation.” Lady gathered her skirts, ready to turn away. “I shall await you inside.”
“It is no bother,” I answered. “I will escort you.”
Denis was somehow in front of me. He lifted his hand to tip his hat and then removed the hat altogether, giving her a neat bow.
“Allow me, madam.” Denis offered his arm in the elegant cashmere of his greatcoat.
Lady regarded him, mystified. After one hesitant moment, she slid her fingers into the crook of his elbow.
Denis walked with her the few steps to the doorway of the bakeshop, opened its door, bowed to her again, and withdrew, settling his hat back on his head.
He turned to find the three of us—Brewster, Robbie, and myself—staring at him. Denis’s brow creased the slightest bit before he walked past us in silence, heading for the mouth of the lane. Robbie jumped and lumbered after him.
Brewster dove into the bakeshop ahead of me. He accepted a steaming mug of coffee from Mrs. Beltan’s assistant, thanking her graciously, before he stepped out into the lane again.
“I’ll just be here, guv.” He took a noisy slurp of the coffee. “Keeping an eye out.”
“Thank you, Brewster. Come inside if it’s too cold.”
“Be fine. You watch yourself.”
With that admonishment, Brewster turned away to eye the street, and I continued into the warm, baked-bread-scented shop.
Mrs. Beltan had settled Lady in the corner by the front window, her best table in the small space. A teapot, cups, and a jug of cream already reposed there. Mrs. Beltan fussed around Lady, recognizing gentility when she encountered it.
“Give me a shout if you need anything, dear,” Mrs. Beltan said to her as I approached. Before she retreated, she shot me a look that said I’d answer to her if I upset Lady in any way.
Lady had untied and removed her bonnet, setting it on an empty chair as I settled myself opposite her. “It is not the thing to remove one’s headgear in a public place, I know.” She poured a fragrant cup of tea, dolloping in a smidgen of cream, and pushed it to me. “But while this bonnet keeps the rain off beautifully, it is rather hard to see around, let alone drink tea in.”
She handed me the cup on its saucer and then offered the plate of petit fours Mrs. Beltan had provided. “Cake, Captain Lacey?”
“Perhaps later,” I said, politely demurring. “Though, I assure you, Mrs. Beltan’s pastries are excellent.” Her tea was not, unfortunately, but I would bear it for the sake of hearing what Lady had to say.
“The treats are enticing, I agree.” Lady set down the plate and took a sip of tea, making no comment on its quality. “Now, Captain, you must be wondering what I wish to ask of you. As I said in my letter it is nothing as dire as what you have spoken of with me before—at least I hope not—but is as important to me.”
I paused in the act of lifting the delicate cup, nearly lost in my hand. “Is everything all right?” I asked with concern. “Is someone threatening you?”
“Nothing like that.” Lady sounded amused. “I am perfectly well. I remain in the house where you met me and I am, as I have indicated before, happy there. The situation quite suits me, though you do not believe it. What I am consulting you on is a more personal matter.” She leaned toward me, her eyes taking on sudden and deep sadness. “I would like you to help me find my daughter.”
I sat back, barely stopping myself from blurting out, Your daughter? in great surprise.
But of course, she’d gone to the lying-in house for the same reason the game girls did—to bear a child she’d conceived out of wedlock. The father had declined to acknowledge his deed, and her own family had either turned her out or refused to help her raise the child. A woman with no money, no family behind her, no friends, and no support could only give up her child and hope for the best.
Lady studied me with the warm brown eyes I recalled, which held shrewdness behind their softness. I set down my teacup and pitched my voice so Mrs. Beltan and her helpers in the kitchen would not hear.
“If you will forgive me asking a painful question—who took the child when you bore her?”
Lady’s answer was calm—she’d mastered her emotions well. Only someone studying her closely would see her deep anguish. “I had spoken to a minister of the parish. I did not want my daughter sent to the Foundling Hospital. He agreed to find a family to foster her, and from there, he would look for someone to adopt her. He was a kindly man, and only lectured me on my sinful ways for a quarter of an hour. I was careful from whom I asked help.”
Because somehow, after she was compromised, this very young woman had cultivated an astuteness that kept her from relying on the wrong people.
“Did the minister do as he’d promised?”
“He did,” Lady said with approval. “Vicky went to a foster family who were a large, boisterous lot, but very caring. My daughter lived with them until she was three, then was adopted by a family in trade—they had a business importing carpets. The wife was no longer able to bear children herself, and she longed for a little girl. That was four years ago. Then recently, the husband died, quite unexpectedly, and the family has disappeared.” Lady’s hands tightened around her cup. “I wish to know what has become of Vicky. Not to interfere, you understand, not to try and take her back, only to know if she is well …”
