Page 81 of The Heiress's Daughter
Race nodded absently. Where the devil had the girl gone to? London was huge. She could be anywhere.
Betty cleared her throat. “I reckon wherever she was going, miss, she might not have anywhere safe to put them. Better off leavin’ them here, where she knows they’ll be safe.” She gave Clarissa a hopeful look. “Which means, she’s intendin’ to come back at some stage, doesn’t it?”
Clarissa sighed. “Always assuming she can come back.”
“Now stop those gloomy thoughts,” Race said briskly. He stood up. “Fetch your hat and coat, both of you. We’re going out.”
Clarissa gave him a surprised look. “Where?”
“We’ll start with that orphanage she came from. See if they know anything.”
“It’s well after midnight,” Clarissa pointed out. “And you and I are in evening clothes.”
“Ah. Right.” He’d forgotten. “In that case I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning. Eight o’clock all right? They should be up by then.”
“The sooner, the better,” Clarissa said. “Oh, I hope she’s somewhere safe. I hate to think where she might be. London at night…”
“We’ll find her,” Race said with a lot more confidence than he felt.
“It’s that big white building just ahead,” Clarissa said, and Lord Randall signaled to the driver to pull up. He looked tired, and was wearing a smart greatcoat, fastened to the throat, which was odd, since the weather was quite mild. There was, however, a fresh breeze.
The other surprising thing was that he’d come in a hackney cab instead of one of his own carriages, quite a shabby-looking cab as well, but she was too anxious to start the search for Zoë to query it. There was room enough for four inside, which was all that mattered to her. A burly, shabbily dressed man clung on behind, apparently on Lord Randall’s orders.
Lord Randall alighted first and helped her and Betty down. She’d insisted on bringing Betty in case she had a chance to talk to some of the orphan girls while Clarissa spoke to the matron.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Lord Randall asked.
“Quite sure.” She had to do this by herself.
They entered the building and Clarissa asked to speak to Miss Glass. The woman ushered Clarissa into her office, leaving Betty in the hallway, as they’d hoped. Clarissa explained what she wanted.
Miss Glass looked smug. “So she’s run away, then? I told you that girl would bring you nothing but trouble.”
“There’s no trouble,” Clarissa said crisply. “I just need the address she was living at before she came here. The address where she was when her mother died.”
“That’s not possible. My records are private.”
“As her employer, I think you owe it to me to provide all relevant details. At once, please. Time is of the essence.” Zoë had been out all night, staying God knew where.
Secure behind her big wooden desk, Miss Glass shrugged. “I can’t help that. As I said, my records are private. I can’t go giving out details to whoever asks for them.”
“I’m not any ‘whoever,’ ” Clarissa snapped. “You were perfectly willing to hand over the girl to me when we came here first, so what possible objection can you have for furnishing me with details of her past?”
The woman sat back in her chair and pressed her fingertips together. “Rules are rules.”
Clarissa wanted to scream in frustration. The woman was infuriatingly obdurate, and Clarissa knew, she just knew that it was just to be difficult. There could be no possible reason why Zoë’s former address should be kept from her.
A shadow darkened the doorway. Miss Glass’s eyes widened, and Clarissa turned. Lord Randall stood in the doorway. To Clarissa he said, “I’m sorry, my dear, but I don’t like to keep the horses standing about in this wind. Did you get the address?”
“No, because this woman refuses to give it to me.”
He looked at Miss Glass and arched an eyebrow. “Introduce us if you please, my dear.”
The public endearments surprised her, as did the request. “Miss Glass, this is Lord Randall.”
“Miss Studley’s betrothed,” he added.
Miss Glass rose and came out from behind her desk. “Lord Randall, this is an honor.”
