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She presumed the new guardian would deal with such matters. For although she’d essentially taken on the role of housekeeper, amongst other things, she couldn’t impose and read someone else’s communications. To do so would be beyond the pale.

It seemed too intrusive. Too personal. Too great an invasion.

The brass lion’s head knocker resounded again. So caught up in her reveries, Mercy actually jumped at the jarring impact.

Botheration.

Whomever he was, he apparently wasn’t going away.

At this moment, she didn’t particularly consider persistence a virtue.

Mercy cast a longing glance in the direction she’d just come. She could escape out the kitchen or one of the other doors and let Mrs. Stanley answer.

But she wouldn’t.

Mercy was not a coward.

Squaring her shoulders and stiffening her spine, Mercy marched forward. She’d just tell whoever this person was the same thing she’d told all of the others. They’d have to await the convenience of the girls’ remiss guardian to have their delinquent accounts settled.

If Lord Ronan Brockman settled them.

Regardless, some merchants were becoming quite agitated in their demands. Mercy didn’t blame them, but what did they expect her to do? They must be aware she didn’t have access to Lieutenant Masterson’s funds.

Mr. Emile Ryerson, the owner of Ryerson’s Tailoring and Haberdashery, was beyond crotchety when he called yesterday. He’d declared that if Lieutenant Masterson’s outstanding bill wasn’t paid forthright, he would pursue legal alternatives. In fact, he declared he would contact the magistrate and demand the official confiscate property in lieu of the amount owed.

Then the philanderer had suggested a lewd and wholly abhorrent way in which Mercy might cancel a portion of the outstanding debt.

It wasn’t her debt, as he well knew, yet the tosspot had attempted extortion.

She might’ve brandished a fire poker aimed at an especially tender area of Mr. Ryerson’s anatomy as he rapidly and wisely opted to depart the premises.

That had been another reason Mercy had concluded she had no choice but to go in search of Lord Ronan Brockman. The merchants and creditors expected payments she could not make, and after Mr. Ryerson’s disgusting proposition, she worried about her own safety.

In truth, she had no idea why Joseph Bralen, Esquire had not settled those outstanding debts as yet. Her already less than flattering opinion of the solicitor had sunk even lower.

Somewhere above maggots and grubs but lower than vermin.

If the illustrious nobleman she was going to London in search of refused to do what was right, she would take Bellamy and Arabelle with her to Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women.

Mrs. Shepherd would not turn them away.

Of that, Mercy was fairly confident.

Nonetheless, Mrs. Shepherd would expect Mercy to swiftly find employment, which left the question of what to do with the Masterson sisters when she did?

Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women was not a charitable establishment. Anonymous sources paid exorbitant fees for each girl ensconced there. Castoffs and by-blows secreted a way to hide someone’s disgrace.

Knock. Knock.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

KNOCK.

Agitated and her temper simmering, Mercy yanked the door open amid the last impatient crack of brass upon brass.

“May I help you?” she asked a trifle more vehemently and less graciously than was her wont.

She had no time to dawdle if she were to pawn the brooch, purchase tickets on the mail coach, and return and pack for tomorrow’s predawn departure.