“She wouldn’t have gone with Compton herself? Perhaps believed herself in love with him?”
“No!” Isobel’s denial was immediate. “I know Lucy. She would not transfer affections so quickly from someone she loved to another. And the more I’ve learned of Mr. Compton, I am particularly convinced that she would not have chosen to throw her lot in withhim.”
“Howhaveyou uncovered what you have?” he asked. “Coming to Paris couldn’t have been a wild shot in the dark.”
“A shot in the dark? No.” She laughed without humor. “A rather desperate measure. As to your question, I had a variety of sources. Da hired a Runner initially. When it became clear he would not—wouldn’t recover...” Her breath hitched, but she quickly rallied. “He entrusted the reports to me. Although,” she added wryly, “however much he trusted in my good judgment, I doubt he expected I’d use the reports in this way.” She coughed.
He passed her the wine jug.
“Thank you.” She tipped some into her glass, drinking enough to soothe her dry throat before continuing. “The reports listed names of people the Runner had interviewed. I was able to reconstruct a partial timeline of Lucy’s social activities and her companions from that time. It helped also that she keeps a book of her engagements.” She smiled fondly. “I have never been so diligent about it myself and can only be thankful she is. Although my own at her age would have consisted mainly of attending tea with other officers’ wives and the dubious excitement of the occasional regimental dance. Lucy is the social butterfly I’ve never been.”
Present tense, describing her sister. “Had the Runner connected Lucy’s disappearance to Jeremiah Compton?”
“One of the final reports tied Mr. Garnewood’s gaming debts to Mr. Compton.”
“Did this Runner interview Compton?”
She shook her head. “I do not think so. I think he thought the connection tenuous. It was one of several possibilities outlined in the report. Perhaps with more time and more money he’d have pursued it further, but Da’s illness was—” She compressed her lips. “The report stated only that he had encountered some indications that Mr. Compton might be involved. He had no evidence as of yet to support it. Rumors only. I did try to speak with the Runner, but he was temporarily assigned outside London. And no one else would speak with me of it.”
Impressive.Following nebulous clues, with few resources—grieving the loss of her entire family all the while—she’d uncovered enough to land her in Paris and directly on the fringes of Compton’s operation. It spoke volumes about both her cleverness and her tenacity. That she had little idea or little care for just how dangerous a man Compton was, was rather beside the point just for the moment.
“So you followed up on the information yourself,” he stated.
“I did.” She traced the edge of the table with a careful fingertip.
“How did you make the connection to Paris?”
“I found a source of information of my own besides the Runners.”
He cocked a brow at her, waiting.
“A former officer in the Greys, Frederick Berry. The Earl of Buxton’s second son. I met him as a homesick fifteen-year-old cornet new to Jamie’s regiment. He has since sold out from the Greys and is very much the quintessential young man about town. And I knew from the Runner’s notes that Mr. Compton is part owner of a club in London. No doubt you know of its existence as well.”
“Aye, Hewards.” More properly a gaming hell than a gentlemen’s club. He’d been there himself in the course of fact-finding.
“The Runner’s notes listed it alongside Theodore Garnewood’s gambling debts. I asked Mr. Berry if he could gain entry to make some inquiries for me.”
“And off trotted Mr. Berry immediately?”
“I may have twisted his arm a bit. Entirely figuratively, of course.” She smiled, a dimple surfacing at the right corner of her mouth.
He stared at it a moment longer than he should have.
“He played cards there a few times, not too deep to get himself in trouble. He’s not foolish, only young, or else I’d not have asked it of him.” She fiddled with her glass, placing it just so and then rotating it first a quarter turn one direction, then a quarter turn back. She stopped abruptly and looked across at him. “I did not mention my sister to Freddy at all, let alone my suspicions. For one, I’m not sure he’d have helped me had he realized why I wanted information. I also did not wish to put him in the position of having to keep that secret. I asked only that he keep hisears open for any mention of Mr. Compton’s business interests outside Hewards.”
“And this proved fruitful?” It was a good strategy, one he utilized himself regularly. Some men were indiscreet while in their cups, especially with someone else who seemed to share their interests.
“It was from Freddy that I learned ofThe Sparrows, Les Moineaux. It was recommended to Freddy as a place to have a certain itch scratched, as he put it, if one were to visit Paris.”
“And you’ve deduced precisely what Les Moineaux is.” He rather thought from the color in her face that she did. “Or did Mr. Berry tell you straight out what it is?”
“Oh, he was at first rather reluctant to disturb my tender feminine sensibilities.” Her tone was sardonic, but she was smiling.
“I take it you prevailed upon him to change his mind?”
Her smile turned to pure mischief. In it he glimpsed who she must be underneath the toll enacted by these past months.
“I put on my sternest face, looked him in the eyes, and told him that he’d damned well better tell me what he knew because if he’d thought to protect my sensibilities, he bloody well shouldn’t have dropped his trousers on a sodding dare while saluting his commanding officer, most particularly when that officer’s wife was just arriving for a visit, most especially seeing as he had roped another subaltern and several enlisted men into the scheme. It wasn’t even just his own bare arse on full display, now, was it, but a good half dozen. So, I informed him, he was a few years late if he thought to spare me embarrassment.”
