Page 10 of An Unbending Lady for the Desperate Earl
“I think you may be right.” Benedict stretched out his arms, a few old bones clicking. They hadn’t slept a wink and had dined on whatever Victoria had in her meagre pantry. Both of them were suffering for it—fraught and ravenous, their minds close to breaking point.
“What do you think that means?” Victoria rested her gaze on a barge carrying crates, with a woolen-capped fellow at the helm, a bluish spiral of smoke emitting from his pipe.
“It means he may have wealth,” Benedict replied. “Nobody would suspect another member of high society, which provides the perfect disguise. They could hide in plain sight, and never fear discovery. And they would have money and assistance at their disposal.”
Victoria’s heart pounded. “It would also mean he had a firmer grasp of who to target. He would know their weight, their height, their places of residence, and even their daily routines. Young ladies often go about some kind of business regularly, whether it be perusing the latest fashions at the dressmaker or the milliners. It would not be hard for someone to choose a precise moment to strike, if that person observed their victims for long enough.”
“You have a sharp mind, Victoria.” He only called her that when he wanted to compliment her.
“I need to,” she replied. “But… I am afraid to say that I am at a loss. I do not know where to proceed from here. We have evidence, and we have potentially uncovered the nature of this villain, but if he is a member of high society, then that means he will be protected.”
Benedict nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Oh dear…Victoria realized that, despite her protestations to the contrary, they may need some additional help after all. And Lord Galbury was precisely the sort of gentleman who might have the necessary outlets to move this investigation along. He held a high position and a high regard, and he might know of gentlemen who had curious reputations. It would be a starting point, if nothing else. And, thus far, they had reached a blockade. They needed a fresh injection of intellect, and a different perspective.
“What troubles you?” Benedict prompted. “I know that look.”
Victoria groaned. “I have the most awful feeling that we need to call upon Lord Galbury. He will likely turf me from his door, when he sees me.” She huffed out a sigh. “I do so hate to be proven wrong, and I do so hate to have to beg for outside help.”
“Humility is as much a part of this job as putting things right.” Benedict smiled, as if he had known this might happen all along.
“It is easy to say so, but it is much harder to put that lesson into action,” Victoria grumbled. “Do you know where Lord Galbury resides? I do not imagine he can still be at the Pelsley house.”
Benedict lifted a scrap of paper. “I made inquiries yesterday, just in case you changed your mind.”
“You did not!” Victoria gasped.
“I very much did.” Benedict chuckled as he got to his feet, taking his overcoat from the back of his chair and putting it on. Victoria moved sullenly to the coat stand by the office door and put on her heavy cloak. The afternoon looked sunny and bright, but she did not trust the autumn temperament. A chill would cut through that glaring sunshine; she had no doubt about that.
Together, they abandoned their office and hailed a cab on the street outside. The driver pulled up, looking suitably grim faced as the horse stamped impatiently.Ah, London…Victoria had often wondered if she might have an easier time of her investigative endeavors in a different city, or a different country, but this dreary place was home. And she did not know if she could leave, without it breaking off a piece of her heart.
The cartwheels rattled and bumped along the cobblestones as the cab headed away from the gloomy docks. Victoria pressed her face to the glass, watching the world flash past. Honest folks in their daily toil, finding humor and warmth wherever they could. She heard their cries and their laughter, and let it soothe her weary soul. But a nagging irritation remained.
How many of you will not live out the year? How many of you will find an early grave, through murder, and assault, and drowning your sorrows? How many of you will be mourned? How many of you will receive the same attention that these high society ladies have received?One thing was for certain, when the social elite called upon the Bow Street Runners, they arrived as swiftly as possible. When one of these, salt-of-the-earth individuals did the same… well, they were lucky if the Runners came at all.
But the bigger cases allowed her to live independently. They provided her with money of her own, and a sense of purpose. Maybe, one day, she would earn enough to strike out on her own. Maybe, then, she would be in a position where she could help those who were in most dire need, as well as those who offered the most in the way of remuneration.
I will serve more of you when I can. I promise you.She turned away from the window, feeling sad.
“Is something the matter?” Benedict asked.
Victoria shook her head. “No… nothing of consequence, anyway.”
“Are you worried about how Lord Galbury will respond?”
She laughed tightly. “Not so much, no. He seemed eager enough when we parted ways, and I doubt he will have much cause to bear a grudge when we are all trying to find his fiancée.”
Although, I did behave in a rather uncouth manner…She had to hope that his desire to rescue Lady Helena would outweigh the circumstance of their first, unfortunate encounter. Had the Duchess not exasperated her, Victoria might have been kinder about rebuffing his help. But she supposed she had only herself, and her sensitivities, to blame for her behavior. After all, she had heard it all before. She should not have let it get to her so gravely.
Some forty minutes later, the cab came to a halt outside a refined townhouse on the edge of Mayfair. They all belonged to the same, homogenized architectural structure. Once upon a time, they had impressed Victoria. Now, she had seen so many that they no longer had any effect on her whatsoever. They represented the residential uniform of high society, nothing more.
Victoria exited first, with Benedict following after. Holding up the hem of her cloak and her plain cotton dress, she ascended the stairwell leading to the grand front door. A brass knocker, in the shape of a stag’s head, sat in the center. Victoria wasted no time in lifting it, listening for the telltale rap of it echoing into the house beyond.
A few moments later, a dark-haired fellow with a hawkish visage opened the door. “Hello? What may I do for you?”
“Is Lord Galbury at home?” Victoria replied.
The man frowned. “He is. And who may I say is calling?”
