Page 67 of Barely a Woman
Three days later, Morgan stood outside Number Four Bow Street for several minutes in the misting rain while gathering her confession and bracing for what would likely become a harrowing set down. Her green dress was growing damper by the second. Twice she reached for the doorknob only to retreat again. The opening of the door spared her the continued agony.
“May I be of assistance, miss?” The office secretary, Mr. Jansen, eyed her with concern. She had conversed with him twice before, but as Mr. Brady. “You appear to be in throes of indecision. Do you wish to report a crime?”
She choked back a chuckle. “Of sorts. I must speak to Sir Nathaniel and Sir Hugh if they are in residence.”
“They are. Follow me, please.” She fell in behind him as he approached the office of the magistrate. Before he knocked on the closed door, the secretary cast a glance over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Have we met?”
“Of sorts.”
He frowned, shrugged, and knocked on the door.
“Enter.” Sir Nathaniel’s deep bass sounded from inside.
Jansen opened the door and motioned to Morgan. “A woman here to see you, sir. Miss…”
She took a deep breath. “Morgan Brady.”
Jansen’s eyes flew wide. He glanced away in confusion before staring at her again. Meanwhile, the magistrate unwound from his chair with a bewildered scowl. “Jansen. Fetch Sir Hugh.”
The secretary nodded with slack-jawed astonishment and left. Sir Nathaniel swept his eyes over Morgan as if disbelievingwhat he saw. He motioned to a chair across from his desk. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”
She obeyed the order from her employer and removed her bonnet. Sir Nathaniel descended slowly to his chair, his expression shifting as he studied her freed locks—or what remained of them.
“You called?” Sir Hugh entered the office and glanced down at Morgan. When she met his gaze, he froze. His head tilted dangerously to one side as he studied her face. He buckled into the other chair without losing eye contact. “Morgan Brady?”
She averted her eyes from his shocked gaze. “It is me.”
“But you are…are…”
“A woman, yes.” She looked up to find the magistrate locked between indignation and awe. She dipped her chin. “I masqueraded as a man because my family earns no income but for what I provide. In my desperation to keep my brothers from starving, I perpetrated the most audacious of frauds. For that, I am greatly remorseful and deeply sorry. I do not deserve your forgiveness, or any pay owed to me. I came only to confess my wrongdoing and to make clear that Steadman knew nothing of my ruse, and when he learned the truth, showed the utmost propriety despite the reprehensible situation.”
The men continued to stare at her in silence in the wake of her tumbling admission. She fought the urge to look away from the magistrate’s deeply furrowed scrutiny. If Steadman had taught her anything, it was the magical power of a confident, unblinking gaze. After what seemed like minutes, Sir Nathaniel expelled a pent breath.
“I see.” He worked his clenched jaw back and forth. “I cannot very well keep you on as associate editor of theHueand Cry. To allow such a bold deception to go unchecked would diminish the integrity for which we stand.”
“I understand, sir. And I whole heartedly agree.”
The magistrate slumped into the back of his chair, folded his arms, and stroked his chin. “Also, there is the matter of Steadman’s report.”
“Report?” She frowned as all manner of bleak scenarios played through her mind.
“Yes. He sent it a few days ago.”
She sat straighter in her chair to avoid collapsing into a heap. “What did he say?”
The magistrate motioned to Sir Hugh. The Scotsman offered a modest smile. “He described the results of the investigation, including the identity of the perpetrators, Lord Atwood and Mr. Dunwoody. He noted that a meeting with the men would occur two days after his dispatch of the report, at which time justice would be served.”
Morgan waited for the rest, but Sir Hugh fell silent. “So, he said nothing of me?”
Sir Hugh shook his head. “He had much to say about you.”
Her fingers found one another in a white-knuckled knot. “I am sorry.”
Sir Hugh’s modest smile grew more pronounced. “You misunderstand. Steadman described your canny interrogation of witnesses and suspects alike. He admitted how your measured approach rightfully countered his more contentious instincts. He told of your unflappable courage as you challenged alone a gang of ruffians, a fact even more remarkable now. In short, Steadman unabashedly sang your praises.”
She stared at Sir Hugh in disbelief. “He said nothing of my disguise? My sex?”
“Not a word.”
