“You can best show thanks by keeping your head and saving those girls.” Aunt Aubrey came to her feet, her movements slow. “I didn’t spend years on your training to see you come to harm, girl.”
Unprepared for such a sentiment, Madelina stilled her hands. Those words had been almost…warm. “I won’t come to harm.”
Aunt Aubrey gave a sharp nod before thumping her way to the door. “I’ll send the cook to the market,” she said without looking back. “You can depart through the kitchen. I left some boots there for you.”
Madelina watched her aunt leave, a bit dumbstruck by the display of affection. She shook her head and forced her fingers to resume their work. When the final button released, she stripped off her dress.
The kitchen was silent as Madelina passed through, and the little garden provided more than enough dirt. In short order, she strode down the alley behind the tall buildings that housed many of London’s elite. She employed a long, much practiced masculine stride, her steps unwavering and her head high.
The clothing her aunt had provided appeared too nice for a thief or beggar, so the folk thereabouts wouldn’t worry she’d come to steal. Should anyone question her presence, she was a lad hired to leave a note or package, and that’s how she behaved. No one would look twice. They would see exactly what they were meant to see. Conversely, the odorous garments weren’t fine enough to imply she possessed anything worth taking, which would serve her well as she neared Mister Mclintock’s gambling hell.
It took longer to reach The Black Aspen than expected, daylight rendering both the rooftops and running too suspicious. Instead, Madelina trudged through increasingly narrow streets until the gleaming black sign, a leafless tree over the club’s name, came into sight. Not slowing stride, she passed by with hardly a glance, then rounded the corner.
She paced half the length of the street, along the side wall of what smelled to be a decent bakery, then ducked into the alley that ran behind the row of buildings. Near the far end, past the loading entrance to The Black Aspen, a group of men carried barrels into one of the tap houses. None glanced her way as she strode down the alley, cap pulled low and face angled to the rutted dirt. When she reached the Aspen, her heart set up a more frenzied rhythm as she sucked in a deep breath, pulling two long bits of metal from her belt. She strode to the door and, quick enough to make it seem like she used proper keys, sprang the lock. Without a look in the direction of the men down the street, she pushed open the door and stepped inside as if she’d every right to enter.
She darted her gaze around a dark room stacked with barrels and crates. No one lingered within sight. In the distance, she made out a woman’s voice, the words muted beyond understanding but the cadence one of lecture. Madelina crossed the room and put her ear to the door, trying to discern any shuffle or swish of movement beyond the surge of blood through her veins.
The woman’s voice sounded far off, so Madelina cracked the door open. An empty corridor extended to the front of the gambling hell. A smattering of closed doors lined the hall, and a narrow staircase rose right outside her door.
Aware that someone could step through a doorway or descend the steps at any moment, she hurried to the first door in the hall and pressed her ear to the wood. Hearing nothing, she peeked inside. Racks of bottled wine filled the room. She pulled the door shut and moved quickly to the next.
A shiver ran down her spine as she pressed her ear to the door. The staircase creaked and she flinched, darting a glance over her shoulder at the empty hall. The impression of being watched didn’t leave her.
Madelina sucked in another deep breath, trying to shake the feeling, and returned her ear to the door. No voice or movement sounded within. The tingling in her spine spread through her frame, rendering her movements jerky as she yanked open the door.
The empty room was set up as a parlor and had a connecting door to the final room on that side of the hall. Opting for the shelter of the empty parlor, she stepped inside and closed the door. For a moment, she leaned against it, heart pounding.
If anyone came upon her, she would attempt the bluff of nosy delivery boy. If that didn’t work, she’d fall back on violence. Not only was she skilled in hand-to-hand melee, but she also had her knives.
Head clearer and heartbeat less frantic, she crossed to the far door, wiping sweat dampened palms on her trousers as she went. Again, she listened for sound before boldly thrusting her head inside.
An empty and exceedingly tidy office greeted her.
Madelina slipped through the doorway, hurried to a row of shelves and pulled free what appeared to be an accounting ledger. She spent precious moments flipping through the neat pages but could find nothing to lead her to Madam Dequenne, not even mention of payments for the auctioned women. She did find repeated reference to money being funneled into something called Second Hope, which she assumed was Mclintock’s so-called charity. She memorized the address for future investigation. Perhaps she could prove to William that Mister Mclintock shouldn’t be provided with funds.
She replaced the ledger and turned to the desk. The drawers weren’t locked. Fortunate, because her hands shook enough that picking locks would be difficult. She shook her head, resolving not to tell Aunt Aubrey about her shaking hands She didn’t need her aunt’s censure and doubt.
None of the drawers contained anything of interest. She pulled out stacks of letters and writing tools, then tapped the backs and sides of the drawers, searching for secret compartments. Locating none, and nothing incriminating among the letters, she returned each item to its place.
She closed the final drawer and straightened to look about the dark-paneled room. She could search more. A rather lovely painting of an ancient castle atop a bluff, overlooking a gleaming sea, likely obscured a safe. The stunning Axminister carpet in coffee tones and tawny golds might cover secrets under the floorboards. The leather sofa could hide documents under the cushions.
Too keenly, though, Madelina felt the press of time. She was here to rescue the girls, not rob Mclintock and discover how to dismantle his business. She slipped from what she assumed to be his office, for the painting and carpet choices somehow reminded her of him.
Once more in the hall, she listened for a moment to be sure the woman’s voice still instructed somewhere deeper in the building, then crossed to the first door on the opposite side. This yielded a second office, one with enough feminine touches that Madelina wondered if Mclintock’s mistress was, indeed, also his business associate.
The tick of time drove her to a hasty search, though she was careful to return all to order. Again, nothing suspicious met her seeking hands and gaze, save a loaded pistol in one of the desk drawers. This, she took. No, she couldn’t travel the streets with a gun, but she could employ this one and then toss it away once she left. Feeling bolder with the pistol in hand, she returned the desk to order and slipped across the room to listen at the adjoining door. Hearing nothing, she slid it open.
An oversized, fourposter bed dominated the room. Flowery silk robes and lace garments peeked from the slightly ajar wardrobe; other clothing lay strewn about. Sighting a large dressing table, her fingers twitched with the desire to search, but she’d already lingered overlong in Mister Mclintock’s office. Madelina left wardrobe, bed, and table untouched and continued her search for the girls.
At the adjoining door, which must lead to the final room off the hallway, she stopped to listen. Nothing stirred. That all the rooms could be empty seemed too fortunate, though it was the mid of day and the gambling hell a place dedicated to the night. She took a steadying breath, cocked the pistol, and cracked the door open.
Within, she found a second bedroom, the walls and bedclothes decorated in matching umber. As with the first office she’d searched, the room was impeccably neat, which aggravated her. A man as morally depraved as Mclintock, the obvious owner of the chamber, shouldn’t be so bloody organized.
Teeth clenched, she stepped inside, inhaling cedar and cloves. Nor did a man as vile as he have any right to such an alluring combination of scents. She ignored the urge to search through his possessions, it being obvious the two young women were not present, and passed through the room to the hall door.
Pistol held low at her side, Madelina slipped from his chamber and back into the hallway. The woman still spoke somewhere near the front of the building, so Madelina crossed to the staircase and ascended. Another hall ran the length of the building, with more doors than the first. On silent feet, every nerve alert, she approached the nearest closed door. Anyone could be inside, or come from one of the rooms, or ascend the steps. The unnerving tingle crept up her spine again. As long as she held the gun, there was no way her guise would permit her to explain her presence.
She tried the knob. The door wasn’t locked. A gentle push revealed a small, unoccupied bedroom. She let out her breath.
