Page 82 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Indeed.” He smiled down at her and the woman bridled, smoothing her skirt self-consciously. Clarissa watched. The rake at work.
“Now, Miss Glass,” he almost purred, “you cannot provide the address—the former address—of Zoë Benoît, one of your charges—a former charge? Surely you keep records.”
“Yes, of course, but there are rules,” she said.
“One little address? I could, if you prefer, speak to my friend Sir Cedric Greenspan, who I believe is one of the governors of this establishment—I saw his portrait in thehall. He’s a busy man, I know—his son and I went to school together—but of course if there are rules…”
Miss Glass compressed her lips. “No, of course, there is no need to bother Sir Cedric over such a small matter.” She pulled a heavy ledger from a desk drawer and flipped the pages over. She propped a pair of pince-nez on her long nose and consulted it. After a moment she huffed. “Well, it seems she’s not listed here, see?”
She turned the ledger around so Clarissa and Lord Randall could see, and indeed, there was no Zoë Benoît listed.
“Try looking under Susan Bennet,” Clarissa said. “Zoë said you claimed her real name was foreign and outlandish and you changed it to Susan Bennet.”
The woman gave her a sour look and brought up another page. “Oh yes, here she is,” she said, feigning innocence. “Crookneedle Lane.”
Lord Randall grimly made a note of it. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Glass. Come, Miss Studley, let us be off.”
They collected Betty and climbed into the carriage. Lord Randall gave the driver directions and climbed in after them.
“That woman!” Clarissa exclaimed crossly as they drove off. “And you! Of course she was all helpful compliance when you swanned in with your title and your charm—andyour old school friend.”
He laughed. “I never met Sir Cedric Greenspan in my life. Or his son, if there is such a person.”
She turned to him. “But you said…”
“I saw the fellow’s portrait in the hall—there was a brass plaque with his name under it, and I took a gamble. It worked, didn’t it? Why are you so cross?”
Because she’d wanted to handle it herself, and she’d failed. If it hadn’t been for his interference, they would have come away with nothing, so it wasn’t reasonable that she was cross. But she was. And she was worried about Zoë.
“Did you find out anything, Betty?”
“Just that she used to talk about artists living there, miss.”
Lord Randall nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right. I’ll drop you two home first and then—”
“What? We’re not going home. We’re going to look for Zoë.”
“No.” He waved the slip of paper with the address on it. “This is a most insalubrious district. It’s not fit for a young lady—or her maid.”
“Then it’s not fit for Zoë, either, and we’re going to get her out of there as soon as we can.”
“It’s too risky. You don’t even know she’s there.”
“Then the sooner we go and look for her, the better. I’mnotgoing home. And if necessary I’ll walk to this Crookneedle Lane or if it’s too far I’ll take a hackney cab myself.” Clarissa crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Me, too,” Betty said.
He rolled his eyes, gave Clarissa a long look, then got the driver’s attention and gave him the address. “But you’re not getting out of the carriage,” he told her.
She shrugged, not committing herself.
“I’m serious, Clarissa. Neither you nor Betty know London very well, and you have no idea how dangerous some of those districts can be. Now, where Zoë lived isn’t the worst of them, but it’s far from a wholesome environment—no don’t argue, I know you don’t want her to stay there a moment longer than necessary—if she’s even there. Neither do I. But either you promise to obey me in this or I turn the carriage around and head straight back to Bellaire Gardens.” He seemed in deadly earnest.
“Oh, very well,” she said crossly after a minute. “I promise.” But it went against the grain to just sit and wait tamely in the carriage with her maid while Lord Randall ventured into possible danger, searching for her sister.
He leaned forward and took her hands. “I know it’s hard, love, but it’s bad enough that your sister is lost. I couldn’tbear it if you were lost or put in danger, too.” His voice was low and sincere, and the look in his eyes…She felt tears welling, and looked out the cab window, fiercely blinking them away.
She sighed. “I’ll be good.”
