“I won’t lie for you,” Clarke stated.
“Nor would I ask you to, but we both know that my father won’t ask about me,” Simone said dejectedly. “He hasn’t cared about me since my mother died, and don’t you try to deny it.”
Clarke’s eyes held compassion. “Your father cares for you,” he attempted.
“I do believe his actions speak louder than his words,” Simone said before she departed from the townhouse.
She knew Clarke meant well, but her father cared more about his reputation than his own daughter. Perhaps one day she would make him proud and he would finally see her for who she truly was. Until then, she was going to find these two French spies and finish the assignment.
Mr. Caleb Bolingbroke was tired of this blasted assignment.He had been scouring London for any sighting of the French spies, but he kept coming up empty-handed. It was as if they had vanished. But that was impossible. Someone must know where they had gone, or what their purpose was for being in England.
He would find them; it was only a matter of time. But what kind of havoc would they have released before he did so?
Caleb stood just beyond the entrance to The Dark Raven Tavern, observing the patrons as they came and went from the disreputable establishment. He was to meet his informant soon, yet he hesitated to step into the dim, musty confines of the tavern. Not that it was much better on the narrow, uneven pavement in the rookeries.
The air reeked of desperation, and as people with hollowed-out faces brushed past him, Caleb couldn’t escape the palpable sense of misery that clung to the surroundings. The buildings, blackened and collapsing in on themselves, housed entire families in uninhabitable rooms. It was a place of torment. There was no hope in a place like this. Despite Society’s inclination to turn a blind eye to such realities, the misery persisted, regretfully undeniable.
Caleb saw his informant approaching. Matthews was rather short and had a patch over his right eye. It was a sailing accident, or at least that is what Matthews had told him. But Caleb had his suspicions, considering his informant’s line of work.
Matthews came to a stop in front of him. “Shall we go inside for a pint of ale?”
Caleb had no desire for the watered-down ale that was served in this establishment but it was best if they got off the street. No good came from loitering there. He was dressed in tattered clothes with disheveled hair and dirt strategically smeared on his clothing. Despite being the son of a viscount, he convincingly portrayed the role of someone down on his luck.
Opening the door wide, Caleb said, “After you.”
Caleb followed his informant into the loud, rowdy tavern and they found a table in the back. Once they were situated, Matthews leaned in and revealed, “You are not the only one asking about information on the two French spies in London.”
“Who else is asking?” Caleb inquired.
Matthews rubbed his chin. “I don’t recall, but a guinea would refresh my memory.”
Caleb retrieved a coin and slid it across the table. “How is your memory now?”
“It is much better,” Matthews replied, depositing the coin into his worn jacket pocket. “A beautiful young woman named Hope has been asking questions. I do fear that she is in over her head but she pays well for information.”
Who the blazes was Hope, he wondered, and why was she asking questions about the French spies? “What have you told her?” Caleb asked.
“The same as I will tell you,” Matthews replied. “I don’t have any information on the whereabouts of the French spies. No one matching their descriptions has drawn attention.”
“They must be somewhere,” Caleb said.
Matthews shrugged. “Sure, but they are most likely hiding out somewhere, waiting to make their move.”
Caleb frowned. “That is what I am afraid of.”
As the tavern door swung open, a hush fell over the room. Miss Delacourt entered with poise, her head held high, displaying no sign of hesitation. Her blue gown was simple enough, doing little to flatter her figure, and her dark hair was neatly gathered in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. She was tall, with a thin frame, but she had the most striking green eyes. They seemed to assess everything, making him wonder what she truly saw.
Miss Delacourt’s eyes roamed over the room until they landed on him. Annoyance flashed in her eyes, and she did not appear eager to see him. Not that he blamed her. Thefeeling was mutual. They were supposed to be working this case together, but Simone had made herself completely unavailable to do so. Which was fine. He would rather work this case alone than work with someone that clearly disliked him.
Matthews spoke up. “That is her. Hope,” he said, gesturing towards Miss Delacourt.
“I should have known,” Caleb muttered.
“You know her?”
Caleb kept his gaze on Miss Delacourt as he replied, “Unfortunately.”
Miss Delacourt ignored the jeering of the patrons as she approached his table. “I need to speak to you,” she said firmly.
