Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2) Read online

  Jacqueline thanked Providence for intervening. “One of the girls saw a man out on the street and was frightened.”

  At once, all tiredness vanished from the other woman’s eyes. “Shall I send for the constable?”

  “No,” Jacqueline replied. “We cannot be sure of the man’s intentions, and I don’t want the constabulary to think us raising a hue and cry over naught. Even if it’s someone bent on mischief, we are safe. Staff are taking turns watching the back gate to ensure no one gets in again.”

  Mrs. Sloane nodded, but her agreement seemed reluctant, and her eyes kept returning to their male guest with open misgiving. “Well, good night, then.”

  Turning, Jacqueline put them both behind her and went back to her room to panic in privacy. Having him here one night was one thing. Having him here indefinitely was entirely another. But there was no alternative that didn’t involve more people being made aware of the truth, which was something she desperately wanted to avoid.

  The way he’d looked at her tonight made her insides all wobbly. What am I to do? She set her candle on the bedside table. Her only hope was to maintain some distance from him. I must not indulge in foolish fantasies!

  Especially not when she knew as little as she did about Monsieur Danbury. The mild-mannered, scholarly gentleman was a disguise, not the reality. The sight of that poor, mangled animal hadn’t caused him a moment’s upset. He’d shown no fear at all.

  Reason told her that as a constable, he was probably accustomed to a certain level of violence. He’d taken charge, been decisive. He’d known exactly how to handle her staff and deal with Constable Coombs. And now he was coolly planning to entrap Boucher.

  The math teacher she’d come to know—and like, if she was honest—wasn’t real. He wanted her to ask her staff and students to let a stranger come and live among them.

  It occurred to her then that his “home” at Mrs. Hayton’s was all part of the facade. Where did he really live? Mortification filled her as she then wondered about the more personal aspects of his life. Did he have a wife? Children? If so, he’d been away from them for several months. No woman who’d married any but a sailor would tolerate that.

  He must be unwed.

  Again, reality asserted itself. What difference does it make? Blowing out her candle, she rolled over, pulled the blanket up around her ears, and tried to shut him out of her thoughts. But it was no use. Over and over, she kept reliving their interactions, her newly awakened mind seeking out clues, looking for the truth. Instinct told her he was a good man.

  Instinct has led me astray before.

  He genuinely cared for the students. Of that much, she was certain. He seemed to genuinely care for her, as well.

  He has already proven himself a skilled liar. He’d fooled her and everyone else here. No matter how much she told herself it was irrelevant, her heart ached at the thought that his affection might be a ruse. His physical attraction to her wasn’t in question. She knew enough to be sure that was real.

  And she was attracted to him, as well—to a veritable stranger.

  A stranger, yes. It would be easier to view him as such. Easier not to remember their informal tête-à-têtes over tea after classes, their quiet, shared laughter and relaxed conversations.

  But she couldn’t forget. And deep inside, beyond the hurt and suspicion fueled by past experience, she believed those interactions were authentic and not some contrivance.

  Do I trust him? That was the all-important question. Hers wasn’t the only life at stake. I must know if he really is who and what he says he is. It would be the height of folly not to look into his story and verify it.

  When she went to Lady Montgomery’s in the morning, she would indeed relay a warning to Lord Tavistoke. But that wasn’t all she’d communicate. If Constable Danbury was real, she wanted to know everything about him.

  …

  As he lay back on the couch, Will stared up at the high windows. There was naught to see but narrow slits of night. He wondered if he’d done the right thing. It was straining the limits of his already tenuous relationship with Jacqueline to ask to be quartered under the same roof, but it was the only way he could be close enough to act if anything happened.

  And he was certain it would. Boucher hadn’t set a watch on the place without intent. She was waiting for an opportunity to strike. He had to ensure she didn’t get one.

  Will began sorting the facts, examining each variable. He looked at every piece of the puzzle from all angles, lining it up with others in ways that would help him better see the situation as a whole and predict possible outcomes.

  There were gaps in his knowledge, holes he filled with logical assumptions. Each complete supposition was catalogued and filed away, to be retrieved should the future lead in a direction that made it applicable. Every scenario he could imagine was explored.

  Like a map, the school’s layout, which he now knew so well, spread across his mind’s eye. Weak points and strengths were noted, possible safe hiding places marked. Jacqueline had said this place was like a cloister in that there were limited ways to get in or out. While this was in many aspects an advantage to anyone trying to withstand a siege, it was also a drawback to anyone needing to escape.

  The best defense against any attack was vigilance. The more he knew, the better equipped he’d be to fight back when the time came. Of the utmost importance was knowing whom to trust.

  Boucher had someone on the inside spying for her, studying this place just as he had. He could feel it in his bones. The new kitchen maid, Sally, was his top suspect, but by no means was she the only one. He’d witnessed one of the other maids, a girl named Bethany, making bold eyes at one of MacCallum’s men while bringing water out to them not two days ago.

  The masonry workers themselves were all on the list. Any of them could be accepting payment from Boucher to gather information. A few sweet words to a gullible young maid could loosen her lips in more ways than one.

  Every possible vulnerability must be eliminated. Only those Jacqueline trusted with her life and the children’s lives should be allowed to go out into the city until Boucher was caught. He’d search Sally’s room, but even if he found nothing, he’d still watch her closely. If she balked overmuch when told she wouldn’t be going to the market, he’d go there himself with someone disguised to look like her and see if he saw anyone who seemed to be waiting.

  And then what?

  It hit him that he was an army of exactly one. There was no way to follow any lead that sprang from his observations without enlisting outside help.

  No. I told her I would not.

  Perhaps her friend the Archangel might have the resources he needed, but that meant asking Jacqueline to relay a message requesting such assistance.

  And who am I that the Archangel should trust me?

  He was certain Jacqueline would tell him all about her teacher-turned-constable. Only a fool would take him at his word after he’d lied so industriously, and she was no fool. The Archangel—whoever he was—would doubtless know everything about him before sunset tomorrow.

  Will cared a great deal about Jacqueline’s opinion of him. Being honorable was something he took great pride in, and it rankled mightily that she thought him a deceiver. Perhaps once the truth was verified by someone she trusted, she’d look on him again with friendly eyes.

  Never again would he speak falsely to her. Once this was all over and done, he’d show her he was worthy of her trust and, he hoped, her affection. There had to be a way to make sure the truth about her past never came to light. If he could guarantee it, he’d court her properly and—

  Courtship. Miss Witherspoon. With a jolt, he realized it’d been weeks since he’d thought of the girl. He tried to picture her, but blonde hair became sable, and blue eyes turned hazel. All he could see was Jacqueline.

  He recalled with chagrin his plan to one day settle down with Miss Witherspoon. Before coming here, he’d had his life neatly mapped out, and he’d thought
it a grand thing indeed. His life had been fulfilling. He’d been helping make his city a safer place. In bringing criminals to justice, he’d given a measure of peace to those they’d wronged. It had been satisfying, and he’d been content, but now it was no longer enough.

  He wanted to be here. With her. With their students.

  Her students. I’m not a teacher. But he was no longer just a constable, either. Punching his pillow, Will rolled onto his other side. I don’t know what I am anymore! All he knew was he had to protect them. He couldn’t save all of London. Not even the Archangel could do that.

  But I can protect her and these children.

  When he awakened to the sound of Mrs. Sloane’s jingling keys, it seemed he’d only just closed his eyes. It didn’t feel like he’d slept at all. Groaning, he forced his body up into a sitting position. “What time is it?”

  “Just after six,” said Mrs. Sloane. “I’m sorry to have awakened you, but the morning deliveries are expected.”

  Given the disapproving look she shot him and the way she was clopping about the room and rattling those keys, she didn’t seem very contrite. But Will was determined to remain civil. “From now on, you should open the door only to people with whom you are familiar.”

  A snort erupted from the woman. “And I suppose if I don’t know them, I’m to refuse to accept the morning’s milk and eggs? Are the children to go hungry?”

  “I’m simply advising caution. If you must, send a message to the suppliers.”

  “And I’m to tell them what, exactly?” she asked, eyeing him with open disdain. “We don’t need anyone thinking there might be a problem paying our bill next month—which is the first assumption they’ll make if I let on there’s been trouble of the sort we saw last night.” Steely eyes glinting, she drew herself up, thrusting her ample bosom out like the prow of a battle frigate. “Now, you just be getting on with your morning, sir, and don’t be worrying yourself.”

  “I do need to see myself to Mrs. Hayton’s and change clothes,” he said, glancing down at his wrinkled shirt. “I’ll be back before class begins.”

  She nodded and waited for him to don his jacket and shoes.

  On arriving at Mrs. Hayton’s, he was greeted with a great deal of fuss and inquiries from his landlady and her cohorts. The cryptic note he’d sent to let her know he wouldn’t be in last night due to “trouble at the school” had greatly upset her.

  “I worried so that I hardly slept a wink,” she honked. “Just look at the circles under my eyes!”

  “All is well, madame,” he soothed. “You have my word. Everyone had a bit of a fright, but no one was harmed. The constable called and looked into the matter, so you can rest assured we’ll soon have it all sorted. It was likely nothing more than a juvenile prank.” He crossed his fingers and hoped no one from the school told her any differently.

  Miss Flanagan spoke. “Oh, you’ve met Constable Birdsley, then?”

  A pink tinge colored her normally sallow cheeks, and Will marveled at the tiny smile on her pale lips. First Mrs. Sloane, and now Miss Flanagan. Geoff had certainly made an impression with the ladies of Dover Street! “No. We spoke to Constable Coombs—he’s temporarily covering Birdsley’s route while he’s away visiting family.”

  A puzzled look entered both women’s faces.

  Miss Flanagan spoke first. “Constable Birdsley has no family. They all died of a sickness when he was a boy.”

  “What about extended family?” he asked.

  “He has none.”

  Mrs. Hayton spoke up. “His mother was an only child and his father the last of his line. Geoffrey was raised by the Church.”

  Geoff had never talked of his youth. Now Will knew why. “Perhaps he has a fiancée tucked away somewhere—Coombs said he’d mentioned a wedding. It may be he was referring to her family.”

  Mrs. Hayton shook her head. “Geoffrey has vowed never to marry—though some persist in doubting his resolve,” she added with a meaningful glance at a blushing Miss Flanagan. “I’ve known him quite a long time. He has many friends, but I can say with absolute confidence he would never allow himself to form a deeper attachment.” Now her face flushed red. “He told me he suffered greatly over the loss of his family and could never bear to endure such pain again.”

  Miss Flanagan gazed at her companion with an expression of open astonishment.

  Apparently, Mrs. Hayton knew a good deal more about their constable than she’d let on to anyone else.

  His landlady wrung her hands. “I don’t know who this Coombs person is, but he’s a liar.”

  Will’s neck prickled with foreboding. “When was the last time you saw Birdsley?”

  “He came around yesterday morning to warn us there had been reports of a suspicious person lurking about at night,” answered Mrs. Hayton. “He was concerned for our safety, the dear, and advised us not to be out after sunset. I was beside myself with worry for you until we received your message. I thought perhaps you’d been accosted.”

  “I thank you, ladies, for your thoughtful concern,” he said, his unease growing. “I shall henceforth employ extra caution on my way to and from the school. If you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I mustn’t linger. I’m expected back before classes begin.”

  The women fussed over him all the way to the stair, pressing him with warnings and advice. Escaping into the relative peace of his own rooms, he at once changed clothes, all the while ruminating over their conversation.

  Either Coombs had misunderstood Birdsley at some point during the changing of the guard, or he’d lied to them last night. Considering Birdsley had come around here yesterday and had mentioned nothing of an impending absence, Will was inclined to believe the latter. And if Coombs had lied about Birdsley, there had to be a reason.

  He remembered the way Coombs had handled the incident at the school. Cool, detached, and efficient—Will could find no fault in his procedure. In spite of this, however, the disquiet he’d experienced while escorting the fellow returned.

  Sir Gonson had, on more than one occasion, praised him for his keen instincts. Though somewhat clouded of late by sentiment, they were not to be ignored. Coombs wasn’t to be trusted.

  One question loomed large in his mind: where was Birdsley? Going to his writing desk, Will snatched up a quill and drew out a fresh sheet of parchment. If the fellow was missing, someone at the local constabulary would know of it.

  In addition to inquiring after Birdsley on behalf of the worried residents in Number 16, he also inquired of his temporary replacement, Coombs, requesting that the good gentleman pay another visit to the school to discuss his findings concerning last night’s reported incident, as well as to discuss the subsequent sighting of a suspicious person lingering on the street outside in the wee hours.

  Sealing the missive, he packed a change of clothes into a satchel along with a few necessities. It wouldn’t do any harm to be prepared. On returning downstairs, he drew Mrs. Hayton aside and gave her the letter. “It is of vital importance that this be delivered at once,” he urged. “I have reason to suspect this Coombs fellow and want to confirm we have not been hoodwinked.”

  Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “I shall have Mr. Bartleby take it immediately.”

  “Make certain he puts it directly into Edward Deering’s hands and none other.”

  “Yes, of course. Mr. Woodson, tell me the truth—is there any danger to the school?”

  “I’m uncertain as yet. But fear not, Mrs. Hayton. I shan’t allow any harm to befall the school or its occupants.”

  Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. “I knew you for a good man the moment I laid eyes on you.” Again, she wrung her hands. “Oh, I do hope this disagreeable business is settled quickly. My nerves simply cannot abide prolonged stress.”

  He repressed a snort of disbelief. If such were indeed the case, then she was in the wrong business. Dealing with boarders was notoriously taxing. “I hope so, as well, madame.” Bidding her a good day, he let himself out.<
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  As he walked back to the school, he kept his eyes open and paid close attention to his surroundings. All the while, he continued to ponder Mrs. Hayton’s words. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious of Coombs he became.

  It was later than he’d have liked when Mrs. Sloane let him in, and he went straight to the kitchen to grab a bite before class began. Heads swiveled as he strode into the dining hall, and eyes followed his progress.

  She asked them.

  Jacqueline’s face was inscrutable, giving him no clue as to their response.

  He sat down at the table with her and the other teachers. None save Jacqueline looked at him. His heart sank.

  “Monsieur Woodson, I’ve ordered the office next door to Dr. Horton’s exam room prepared for your stay with us. It’s a small space, but it’s all I can offer.”

  To say he was dumbfounded would’ve been an understatement. “They agreed?”

  Nodding, she elaborated. “Though it will take some adjustment, we all feel it’s in our best interest to accept your kind offer. Needless to say, recent events have unsettled many among us, and the idea of your being here is a comforting one, especially for the students.”

  He looked around and saw that every head was turned toward him, watching and listening to the adults’ conversation. “You’re certain?” he asked, looking into their anxious faces.

  Nods, some vigorous and immediate, others more hesitant, answered the question.

  Taking a deep breath, he returned their gesture with solemnity. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.” Quietly, he then addressed Jacqueline. “How much have you told them?”

  “Everything concerning what was found in the courtyard last night, save the exact wording of the message. They already knew about our nighttime observer.” She inclined her head toward her fellow staff. “We have all agreed to watch in shifts throughout the night until this is resolved, as well as limit outings strictly according to necessity. When needed, designated staff will go in pairs, trios if possible, for safety.”