Jo thought of Sally and gasped. Had she fallen into the hands of one of those women? She gripped the lapel of his coat. “Lord Reade, please. Can we look for Sally?” She meant to plead with him, but it sounded more like a demand.
“Which way did she go?”
“I…I didn’t see.” They were now in Bridge Street, which led onto the Westminster Bridge. She pointed back toward James’s Park. “They pulled Sally in that direction.”
“People fear arrest and are leaving,” he said. “It appears safe enough now.” He took a firm hold of her hand, and they descended the steps. “I doubt your Sally will have gone far. She will look for you.”
His big hand wrapped around hers in a comforting grip. Jo walked beside him past Queen’s Garden into Stafford Street. There were small groups huddled on the side of the road, but Sally was not among them. Jo quickened her pace to keep up with his long stride. Didn’t it occur to him that her legs weren’t as long as his? She hated to think she was a nuisance, something he wished to deal with quickly. He must have somewhere to go. Something important to do. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself and admitted how fortunate she was that Reade had come to her aid. It was distressing to see bewildered folk sprawled on the ground, some weeping and in pain.
“Why are the people so angry with the regent?” Jo asked as her bonnet tipped forward over her forehead. Impossible to push it into position with his powerful grip on her hand and her reticule clutched in the other. He surged ahead like a boat she’d seen on the Thames, driven by a high wind.
“My bonnet!” Jo cried, reduced to pleading.
Reade released her hand. “Hold still.”
He bent his knees slightly and rearranged her hat. As if she couldn’t do it for herself. He was such a complex man. She subtly studied him at close quarters. When he wasn’t glowering, it was such an appealing face, with his straight nose and high cheekbones. What was she doing? He probably knew a great deal about a woman’s apparel. Would she never be able to think in his company? She should thank him, walk on, and leave him. Take control of the search herself. But before she could put some distance between them, he caught her hand up in his again.
“People have good reasons for dissatisfaction with the government and with royalty,” he said, replying to the question she’d forgotten she’d asked, without lessening his punishing stride. “I don’t intend to go into it here.”
Meaning he wouldn’t tell her.
Jo was in danger of a breathless collapse when a golden head appeared among a group a few yards ahead. “There she is! There’s my maid, Sally!”
“Right.” He shouldered his way through, pulling her with him.
He released her hand at last, and Jo rushed forward.
“Sally, I was so worried something awful had happened to you.”
“I’m so glad you’re safe, Miss Jo. A kind gentleman assisted me. He offered to take me home, but I told him I had to help this little boy who is ever so distressed.” She stroked the blond head of the wailing child. About six years old, he had a dirty face but seemed otherwise unhurt. “Poor Sam has lost his mother.”
“Never mind, lad, we’ll find her.” Reade knelt to address the boy, a hand on his shoulder. “What’s your mother’s name?”
“’err name’s Alice Crawley,” Sam said with a shuddering sob.
Reade stood and shouted Alice’s name. His deep voice echoed around the buildings. Those wandering the street turned to stare at them.
A woman in an apron hurried over to them. “I know ’er. Alice works at the inn near ’ere.” She gestured with an arm. “Saw ’er up that way, ’round the corner.”
Reade hoisted the boy onto his shoulders and strode off with Jo and Sally hurrying behind him.
They turned the corner.
“Ma!”
Sam’s mother perched on a step in a lane that ran down beside the barracks. Alice held her handkerchief to her cheek. Blood dribbled down her neck. Reade put Sam down, and the boy ran and threw himself into her arms.
“Sam!” She gathered him up with a sob.
Reade shrugged off Jo’s effusive thanks as they continued along the street.
“People will be rounded up and questioned,” he said. “You don’t want to be here when that happens. I cannot accompany you home, but I will see you safely into a hackney.”
“We are most grateful,” Jo said, chagrined for her earlier disparaging thoughts.
They entered a busy thoroughfare, and he flagged a hackney carriage. When it pulled up, Jo gave the jarvey the address in Upper Brook Street, Mayfair.
Reade stared at her for a long moment. He opened the carriage door. “Remember what I told you. You can’t just wander around London unescorted. Your maid can hardly protect you in situations like this.” He assisted them both inside. “You, too, Miss Sally. Country girls come to London and fall into the wrong hands,” he said. “The brothels are full of them.”
