Page 52 of Saved By the Belle

“Yes.”

She peeked over her shoulder, and when she saw him, nodded and went to help him with the shirt. “This seems rather improper,” she commented, helping him get his arm through.

“If you think this improper, you have no idea what I wanted to do to you last night. Which, might I remind you, I declined to do. Because it was improper.”

“You may not remind me,” she said pulling the sleeve down his arm rather fiercely. It was his uninjured side, thank God. “And you needn’t worry you will ever have the opportunity again. I just want to find my father and be rid of you.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

She glared at him then stomped away, stopping before an armoire and throwing the doors open. “Lady Keating said you might need a coat.” She tossed out several garments. “Let’s hurry and put these on.”

Hew reluctantly accepted her assistance. It would have been counterproductive to refuse. He did reject the waistcoat, though. He didn’t want anything pressing on his wound. He took the coat, allowed Belle to tie his neckcloth in a manner that would have appalled his friends and acquaintances, and then shoved his feet into boots she produced that were a bit too small but would have to do. Hew took one look in the mirror and turned away. Just days ago he’d been wearing a fine coat from Schweitzer and Davidson’s. Now he looked as though a blind valet had dressed him.

What had happened to that coat? It had probably been covered in blood and cut off by the surgeon. He should have had it sent to Mivart’s instead of wearing it out of the shop. What he wouldn’t give to stop by his room there now and dress in his own clothing. No time for that at present.

The charwoman came in and informed them it was almost six in the morning. Hew sent her to tell the footman they needed a hackney. Thus, by the time he’d managed to cram his feet in the boots, the hackney waited outside.

Lady Keating’s butler intercepted them on the way out the door. “Mr. Smith will return in just a few hours, sir. He did say to make sure you stayed in bed.”

“Tell him I’m feeling much better, thanks to him. Sorry to have missed him.”

“Will you return for dinner?” the butler asked.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Hew had no idea what the day would bring, but the less the servants knew of his plans, the better. Obviously, the men seeking him either didn’t know where he was or couldn’t reach him, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t reach one of the servants.

Puddles still stood on the streets, indicating the rain hadn’t moved on completely. Hew stepped over a large puddle and handed Belle over it and into the waiting hackney. He climbed in behind her. “Fenchurch Street,” he told the jarvey. Then he closed the curtains and sat back, trying not to inhale too deeply the smells of wet straw and damp wool that lingered from recent customers.

Belle reached for the curtains, presumably to open them and look out, but Hew caught her hand. She tore her fingers from his then cradled her hand as though it were scorched. “Keep them closed,” he said. “If anyone is watching for us, I’d rather not be easy to spot.” He cocked his head. “How did you go to the shop this morning?”

“I walked,” she said.

Hew stifled a groan. She was fortunate she had not been the one abducted. She’d have been an easy target for the assassins or for any ruffian out and about in the early hours. “Don’t do that again,” he ordered. “A woman out alone in the wee hours of the morning is not safe.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself for almost twenty-six years. I don’t need your help.”

“If you insist on making idiotic choices, I beg to differ.”

She glared at him—he was becoming accustomed to her glares—and didn’t speak again until they turned onto Fenchurch Street and her shop came into view. Hew knocked on the roof of the hackney. Belle barely waited for the conveyance to stop before she was out and walking to her shop. Hew paid the driver then followed her. She called a greeting to another shopkeeper sweeping his front stoop, then pulled a key out of her skirts, and opened the door to the tea shop.

Hew stepped inside, feeling strangely comforted by the scents of tea and biscuits. And yet, the scent of smoke still lingered and made the hairs on the back of his neck rise in warning. Everything was as she’d described. The overturned shelves had been righted and the goods put back in their place. Glass and porcelain that had littered the floor had been swept up, and the burnt shades had been pulled down, the water mopped up, and the charred plaster scraped off the wall of the shop. Hew saw no sign of struggle. “Let me see the back room and the flat.”

She took him through, but he saw no indication of a fight. The back room was clean and orderly and the flat looked exactly as it had the night they’d been attacked. He’d made one last pass, looking for anything he’d missed. “We’d better speak to Mrs. Price.”

Hew could see Belle had a thousand questions, but she kept them to herself, staying quiet and out of the way as he studied the scene. Now she led him down the street, which was waking up as more shops opened and carts passed by. She entered a building, took a flight of stairs, then knocked on a door at the top. “Mrs. Price, it’s Belle Howard.”

The door opened immediately, and Mrs. Price beckoned them to enter. No sooner had she closed the door and bolted it then she pulled Belle into her arms. “Thank God you returned. I worried something might have happened to you as well.”

“Mrs. Price,” Belle said, voice muffled, “you remember Mr. Arundel.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Price.” Hew went to the front of the small room, where the curtains were pulled back from a window overlooking the street. Mrs. Price had a good view of all that went on, including who went in and out of the tea shop.

“Mr. Arundel! I would hardly have known you, sir. You look much recovered.”

“Thanks to you, Mrs. Price,” Hew said, turning and smiling. Belle snorted, obviously not appreciating his attempt at charm. “We have just been at the tea shop,” he informed her. “I saw no sign of struggle. Did you happen to see anyone go in or out when Mr. Howard disappeared?” Hew gestured out the window.

“Poor Mr. Howard!” Mrs. Price dabbed at her red eyes with a handkerchief. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Price,” Belle said, leading the woman to a chair. “This is upsetting to all of us.”

---