Page 37 of Lady Gambit
The lady raised her dainty chin. “It’s not for me to say, Mrs Haggert. I am merely Mr Flynn’s client. He is hard to read and shares his private thoughts with no one.”
From the pained look in her eyes, Miss Chance thought he’d kissed her as part of a rebellion. A way of secretly objecting to his father’s demands.
“My father’s plans for me are irrelevant,” he interjected. “Hence I see no need to discuss a selfish man’s motives.”
Mrs Haggert shifted her weight to her left hip. “Age is a dratted curse,” she said, urging them to sit so she might relax in a comfortable chair, too. “Tell me what you want to know and what you have to barter.”
Daventry chose the leather chair, leaving Dorian to sit beside Miss Chance on the small velvet sofa. They exchanged glances as their knees touched. Mistrust swam in her brown eyes. It didn’t help that she believed he’d been avoiding her since sharing a magical kiss.
Daventry waved for Dorian to offer terms.
“We need to know where Davey found Miss Chance and what she told you about her family.” He made no mention of her parents being buried in a pauper’s grave. Nor was he foolish enough to suggest Mrs Haggert was involved in their deaths. “We need to know how she came by the injury that stole her memory.”
Mrs Haggert shook her head. “Why should I help you? When a chick leaves the coop, it’s dead to me. Aaron Chance won the wager. She’s his responsibility, not mine.”
Yet two facts revealed an inconsistency.
Mrs Haggert never took girls into the coop.
If Mrs Haggert had cut the girl’s hair and dressed her in breeches, why was she found wearing a dress belonging to someone named Delphine?
“Flynn spent the evening trawling through witness statements,” Daventry said, revealing the reason Dorian had not dined with Miss Chance last night. “He acted on information that led him to a missing person. A criminal leading a secret life to escape his wicked past.”
Mrs Haggert gripped the arm of the chair. “Who?”
“Someone stupid enough to cross you.”
Anger flared in the woman’s black eyes. “If it’s that spawn of Satan, you’d better tell me now.” She clutched her throat, blind fury making it hard for her to swallow.
Daventry nodded. “The information is worth a king’s ransom. I know of no other man who’s betrayed you and lived to tell the tale.”
“Your husband is not dead,” Dorian added, dangling the metaphorical carrot. “I happened upon his secret location at dawn this morning and can confirm he is alive and well.”
Miss Chance looked at him.
When they were next alone, she would demand to know why he had kept her in the dark. Why he’d let her think he was avoiding her when, in truth, he had been working. Emotions would run so high he’d be tempted to kiss her again.
“Anything said here is confidential,” Daventry assured Mrs Haggert.
Hungry for information, Mrs Haggert spoke quickly. “Davey was out stalking foreign coves near the Pulteney Hotel. It was a few days before the Jubilee. He saw her hiding in the shrubbery near Green Park and brought her home.”
Miss Chance hung her head. “I don’t remember.”
“And she told you her name was Caterina?” Dorian pressed.
“It was the only thing she did say. The poor mite was frightened out of her wits. It took days before she found her voice and begged me to keep her safe.”
Dorian suppressed a mocking snort.
No one was safe in the hen house.
“And so you cut off her hair and passed her off as one of your boys.” He was careful not to accuse Mrs Haggert of being a criminal mastermind. “Was she literate?”
“She could read, write and play a decent tune on the old pianoforte. It took months to rid her of her faint accent.”
Miss Chance spoke up. “What sort of accent?”
Mrs Haggert shrugged. “Foreign. I ain’t no expert.”
