Page 60 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
Before Anne could answer, a little girl gave a great wail and threw herself at Anne’s legs. “No, Lady Wynters! Ya can’t, ya can’t!”
“Now, Eliza,” Mrs. Godfrey said, attempting to pry the girl off Anne, “this won’t do. It is for Lady Wynters to make her own decision, and...”
“But without lady Wynters,” the girl bawled, “Ma and me’ll have to go back to Pye Street, where we was ten to a room and the roof leaked and there was never anything to eat. I’ll not go back there. I won’t. I won’t!”
Michael saw dozens of pairs of wide, watery eyes staring at Anne beseechingly. Anne knelt down and wrapped little Eliza in her arms. “There, there, Eliza. Don’t cry. Lord Morsley was just having a joke.” She glared up at him over Eliza’s shoulder.
After a few minutes, the little girl calmed down and Anne stood. “Now, what were you trying to tell me, Mrs. Godfrey?”
She bit her lip. “I’d best let Mr. Branton explain it. He’s waiting in your office.”
Chapter 22
Anne strode into her office, annoyed that Michael followed close upon her heels. She found Samuel seated at her writing desk. “Mr. Branton, good morning.”
Samuel crumpled his half-finished note. “Lady Wynters, thank God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to convey this in a letter. I just received word that…”
Samuel paused as Michael squeezed into the room. She sighed. “Mr. Branton, allow me to present Lord Morsley, my childhood friend whom I know I have mentioned. Michael, this is Mr. Samuel Branton, who is a dear friend in addition to being my barrister.”
Michael pumped Samuel’s hand. “Mr. Branton, a pleasure. What Anne meant to say is that I am her childhood friend, and, as of last night, her betrothed.”
Anne turned to glower at him. “I already told you, the wedding is off. Must you keep telling everyone that?”
Michael gave her his full Obstinate Face. “Absolutely everyone.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Samuel. “What news, Mr. Branton?”
Samuel’s eyebrows were raised, but he chose not to comment. “Last night I went to Bow Street. The runner I’ve been working with, Charles Hoskins, agreed there was sufficient evidence to arrest Lord Gladstone.”
“Gladstone?” Michael asked. “What does Bow Street want with—”
Anne silenced him with a look, then turned back to Samuel. “Please continue.”
“I called at Bow Street this morning to see if the arrest had been made. It has not. By the time Hoskins arrived at the ball, Gladstone had left, and he has yet to return to his house.”
“Perhaps he moved on to a second entertainment,” Anne said. Although it made her nervous that Gladstone was still at large, it was common enough for men of his class to stay out all night. “A gaming hell or some such. Did Bow Street set a watch on his house?”
“They did, and at first I thought that seemed sufficient. I was just getting ready to leave when the news arrived that a body was pulled from the Thames this morning. It belonged to Nick and Johnny’s former master, Mr. Smithers.”
“Who,” Michael asked, “are Nick and Johnny, and who is—”
Anne held up a hand to silence him. Her heart was flying in her chest. “Could it have been an accident?” she asked Samuel.
Samuel shook his head. “The coroner’s report is pending. But I’m given to understand there were stab wounds.”
Anne started to pace the room. “He knows. He knows the net is closing in around him. Lord Scudamore must’ve warned him—” She turned and found Michael looming in her path. “What?” she asked, exasperated.
He looked slightly deranged; Anne had certainly never seen that eye tic before. “I demand to know what the hell it is you’re mixed up in, that involves Bow Street and a stabbing and dead bodies being pulled from the Thames, is what!”
Anne sighed. He was never going to let it go. “Fine. What happened is this…”
When Anne’s tale began with her going into Holborn to square off with a criminal who bought four-year-olds to send up burning chimneys and the unprincipled scum who would employ such a man, Michael’s blood began to simmer.
When she came to the part where she decided the best course was to question the prime suspect herself, his blood began to boil.
By the time she reached the not-exactly-startling conclusion that the type of man who sold children to their almost certain death did not scruple to commit murder in order to save his own worthless hide, steam was all but coming out his ears.
“So,” Anne said, “our first concern is Johnny and Nick’s safety. If Lord Gladstone is eliminating witnesses, he will surely target them next.”
