Page 67 of When a Marquis Chooses a Bride
Major Horton gave a shout of laughter, but stopped when the door opened and his wife and child entered from one side of the hall at the same time one of the Bow Street Runners walked in from the side corridor, gripping Mrs. White’s chubby arm. Tears had made tracks down her powdered face and the blacking she used on her eyelashes ran, giving her a ghoulish appearance.
“My goodness.” Mrs. Horton opened her eyes wide and focused on her husband. “Lion, what is going on?”
Major Horton picked up his daughter and took his wife aside, speaking to her in a low voice. At one point, the lady gasped and cut a look first at the landlady, then at Dotty and Dom.
“Ladies, my lord, Major,” the Runner said, “we’ll need your statements as soon as possible.”
Dom inclined his head. “Of course, if there is a desk, we shall make them immediately.”
Once the Runner and Mrs. White left, Sukey cleared her throat. “I’ll take you to Mrs. White’s office. You can have your tea there.”
They all followed the maid to a small room at the back of the house. It was furnished with an old oak desk and several chairs. On one side of the desk stood a bookshelf filled with ledgers. While Dom sat and took several pieces of foolscap from the maid, Dotty searched the ledgers. Whatever else the landlady was, she kept meticulous records. They were filled with the household expenditures, names of the lodgers, and income. Mrs. White had kept records of her criminal dealings as well, including the amounts she received from her accomplices and either their initials or nom de guerre. At least that was what Dotty thought a name like “Snake” must be.
“Sukey, call Mr. Hatchet”
Dom raised his head. “Thea, what did you find?”
She held up the ledger. “She wrote everything down. If her victims are still alive, we might be able to save them.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You mean the Runners will be able to find them. You cannot go to Whitecastle or wherever the criminal gangs are. It’s far too dangerous.”
“Yes, of course.” He was right about that part, but this Miss Betsy’s was only a few streets away and the sooner she found the women, the better.
Chapter Sixteen
Dom sprinkled sand over his statement and relinquished the desk to his mother. The major and his wife were seated on the other side of the desk writing their accounts. Thea, on the other hand, was busy inscribing information from one of the ledgers into her pocketbook. Her green eyes sparkled with daring.
Dash it all, she was up to something. He truly did not think she would be reckless enough to try to approach the thieves alone, but what else could it be?
His uncle’s voice had been railing in Dom’s head for the past half hour, telling him that consorting with lower ranking members of society and the Runners was below his status as a Merton.
Remember who you are, Merton.
Shaking his head, he tried to clear it. The Runner, who was now collecting the ledgers, had told him that the selling of women and children, although rare in areas such as Mayfair, was common elsewhere in London. The man told him stories of young women who had come seeking respectable jobs, being kidnapped, and forced into brothels. Young children forced to steal to live, and those as young as five transported for crimes or simply because no one knew what to do with them. Lately, due to the war being over and so many military men out of work, the problem had grown. How had he not known about any of this?
The ugly thought came to him that this was part of what Worthington was so angry with Dom about. Had his votes and positions worsened England’s problems? If caring for one’s country was a duty, then it followed that doing something to help those in need was also a duty.
His uncle may have coddled Dom, protecting him from the harsher elements, but he had willingly remained swaddled. Perhaps now was the time to enter the real world. The one in which his cousin, betrothed, and even his mother, seemed firmly ensconced.
“My lord?”
Thea’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Lady Merton and I have decided to go to this Miss Betsy’s and fetch the women taken there.”
Major Horton suddenly began coughing.
The Runner turned bright red. “Miss, my lady, you really should leave well enough alone. It’s probably too late for those women.”
“What do you mean?” Thea frowned, her brow furrowing. “Are they dead?”
“Er, no, not exactly.” The man ran his finger under his neckcloth. “But they may as well be.”
Mama’s unbelieving expression matched his betrothed’s. Apparently, she had been converted to the reformist cause as well.
“If they are ill,” Mama said stiffly, “that is even more reason Miss Stern and I must find them.”
