How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (15 page)

Will smiled. Even here, Evie did what she could to introduce some color and beauty.

“I know it's not much,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she gazed about the room, “but it does allow us some privacy and a more normal setting when we meet with some of our charity cases. The men can get quite intimidated when they have to face Michael across a desk. Or me, in the case of the women. Most times, they find it hard to ask for help.”

“For anyone with a shred of dignity, it would be.” He nodded to a door behind the chaise. “What's in there?”

“That's Michael's office, although I use it when he's not here.” She walked over and opened the door. “It's where we keep correspondence and the ledgers relating to the charity. Michael takes care of most of that, although I handle some of the correspondence with our patrons.”

Will took a quick glance into the small room, noting the plain furnishings—a large desk and chair, fronted by two cane chairs. The desk was angled toward the door, revealing cubbyholes and drawers, one of which had a keyhole. That presumably locked drawer piqued his interest. “Do you keep any monies on the premises?”

“No. The funds are with Michael's bankers, or kept at his rooms. We both carry only small amounts when we come here and leave nothing in the offices.”

Will needed to search that mysterious locked drawer once he got Evie out of the way. “You mentioned that you help find positions for your charity cases. How does that work?”

She watched him with a puzzled smile. “Will, are you truly interested, or simply doing some footwork for Captain Gilbride?”

He wanted to put her question down to an understandable assumption that he would find talk of charity work boring—as would most men of the
ton
—but he suspected such was not the case. Though her smile had a teasing cast to it, it didn't reach her eyes. Behind her spectacles he thought he read a clear skepticism of his motives.

Not good
.

Evie's quiet manner had fooled many into thinking her less perceptive than she was, but Will knew she had a mind like a good magistrate—sharp, inquisitive, and prone to suspicion. That last trait was newly developed and one he needed to factor into his calculations.

“As I said, I promised Alec I'd look into things,” he answered with an easy smile. “But I wasn't exaggerating when I said that what is important to you is also important to me.”

“I'm glad,” she said, sounding a little breathless.

Her shy, grateful smile tore through him like buckshot and made him feel a complete cad. He
was
interested in the place for her sake, but not for the reasons she'd take from his words. Will made a promise to himself that once this was all over, he'd make as sizeable a donation as he could—and ensure Alec did too—to support her work at St. Margaret's.

If
the place didn't turn out to be a center for deadly conspiracies. He dreaded that possible outcome. Even if he could keep Evie from harm or suspicion, she'd never forgive him for spying on her once the truth was known.

“If you'll have a seat, I'll explain how we do things,” she said. Then she clapped a hand to her chest. “Oh, I'm sorry, I've been terribly rude. Would you like some tea? I can step into the kitchen and ask Mrs. Rafferty to make some.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I thought I'd take you to Gunter's when we're finished here. After last night I owe you a treat.”

Only after the words were out of his mouth did Will realize that her suggestion would have afforded the perfect opportunity to get her out of the room so he could do a quick perusal of Beaumont's desk. But her rueful grin almost made up for his blunder.

“You obviously haven't forgotten that I could never resist ices.”

“I've never forgotten anything about you, Evie,” he said quietly.

That was the simple but earth-shattering truth. For years, he'd allowed the pressing concerns of his life in the military to overshadow his feelings for her. But now that he was with her again, he realized she'd always been there, quietly waiting at the back of his mind and deep in his heart. In some mysterious way, she'd been a lodestone during the difficult years of the war—invisible but always exerting a subtle pull of memory, one that spoke of peaceful, happier days.

She stared at him, wide-eyed and uncertain. Her hand drifted up to rest gently against her pretty mouth. An overwhelming urge to kiss her flooded through him, and it took a forceful effort not to haul her into his arms and taste her sweetness, searching for the love she'd once had for him and hoping it was still there.

Footsteps clattering in the hall startled them both. Evie's gaze darted to the door. Her cheeks flushed pink and she made a funny little grimace, as if she'd just thought of something unpleasant. Then she seemed to shake it off, along with the fraught intimacy of the previous few moments.

“Have a seat,” she said, waving to the chair. “I'll see who that is.”

She opened the door to the hallway but didn't step fully out while she talked to whoever was standing there. Will's gaze drifted to Beaumont's office, but there was no chance of getting in there while Evie lingered close by. He suspected that he and Alec would need to make a midnight expedition to St. Margaret's sooner rather than later.

Rather than take a seat, Will tuned his ears to Evie's conversation. There were at least two people in the hall, one a man and the other a woman, both with heavy Irish accents. If he leaned over slightly, looking around Evie, he could see the edge of a bonnet and a slender shoulder and arm clothed in drab but serviceable fabric.

Will jerked fully upright when Evie turned around with a smile. She blinked, as if surprised to see him still standing in the center of the room.

“Will, I'd like to introduce you to these people. They live on the other side of King Street and have been coming to St. Margaret's for over a year.” She lowered her voice. “I thought speaking to them might give you a better sense of what we do rather than simply listening to me. Would that be all right?”

King Street was in the heart of the Irish rookery in St. Giles. Will was most definitely interested in meeting them.

“That sounds like a fine idea,” he said.

Evie opened the door wide and ushered the couple into the small space. Will moved behind the leather armchair to stand next to the hearth.

“I'd like to introduce Miss Bridget O'Shay and her brother, Mr. Terence O'Shay,” Evie said, smiling kindly at the newcomers. “Bridget, Terence, this is Captain William Endicott.”

He wouldn't have needed the introduction to know they were siblings, although Terence O'Shay towered over his sister and had massive shoulders and stevedore hands. Bridget, who didn't look much older than Evie, was slender, fine-boned, and very pretty, despite her plain servant's garb and the drab bonnet on her head. They both had the pale complexion, dark hair, and blue eyes of the Black Irish. Their strong features included a chin that, on the young woman, was determined, but on the man looked stubborn and sullen. Bridget dipped into a curtsey, giving him a friendly smile, while Terence narrowed his eyes, only grudgingly taking off his rough woollen cap when his sister nudged him.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Will said in a friendly voice.

“I doubt that,” Terence muttered. Bridget cast her brother a stern warning glance before returning her attention to Will.

“Thank you for your kindness, Captain,” she said. She had a pleasant, low voice, softened by the lilt of her accent. “Miss Whitney just said you was interested in what we do at St. Maggie's and asked if we would mind chattin' with you.”

“I am indeed, if you don't mind.”

“Please, everyone, take a seat,” Evie said. “Terence, would you mind bringing in one of the chairs from Mr. Beaumont's office? That way we can all be comfortable.”

“I'll be standin',” came the surly reply. “I won't be stayin' long enough to bother meself with fetching the seat.”

His sister let out an exasperated sigh, sending Evie a little grimace of apology. Will had the impulse to shake the man for embarrassing his sister.

“As you wish,” Evie responded in a cool voice that made her displeasure abundantly clear.

Will found it interesting that Evie's habitual shyness had been replaced by a manner that signaled how clearly she was in charge. It wasn't brassy or false but seemed to slip easily over her, as if she were in her natural element. It stemmed, no doubt, from her need to manage the world and make it a better place.

She turned her back to Terence and ushered his sister over to share the chaise with her. Will waited until they were seated then took the armchair.

“What would you like to know, sir?” Bridget asked in a bright tone. The girl had an engaging and well-spoken manner that immediately disarmed.

“I was curious as to when you came to London, and what part of Ireland you hail from,” he replied.

“We come from Londonderry, sir, in the north. We arrived in the city two years ago this September.”

“And why did you come?”

“Because there ain't no work back home, thanks to you bloody English,” Terence growled. “Why else do you think we'd be leavin' our home and kin?”

“That's enough, Terry,” his sister rapped out. “If you can't be keepin' a civil tongue in your head, you'd best be quiet and let me do the answerin'.”

“That's the best idea you've had all day, girl,” Terence said, his mouth turning down with an ugly sneer. “Have your little chat with the swells. I got other business to attend to.”

On that trenchant note, the man slapped his cap back on his head and stalked out of the room.

Bridget's cheeks flew bright red flags against her pale skin. “Miss Whitney, I'm that sorry you had to see that. You too, Captain Endicott.” She grimaced. “Poor Terry hasn't been himself lately, what with the problems with work and all.”

Evie patted Bridget on the shoulder. “You're not to worry, dear. We completely understand.” She glanced at Will. “Terence lost his job last week, the third time in as many months. It's been very frustrating for both of them.”

“He's a good man, he is,” Bridget said earnestly, “but he's plagued by the blue-devils, and then he starts drinkin' and missin' work. Father O'Kelley's tried talkin' to him, but Terry just tells him . . . well, it wouldn't be proper to repeats what he says.”

“I'm sure you're doing your best to help him,” Will said.

Bridget pulled off a shabby glove to rub her temple, as if it pained her. “I try, but he ain't makin' it easy. I keep tellin' him we're that lucky to be here in London when things are so bad at home. But he won't hear none of it. He misses it, you see. Ireland,” she finished, her voice breaking.

“And I respect him for that,” Will said. “It's hard when you miss your home and your family.”

“But you've done well, Bridget,” Evie said with an encouraging smile. “You've made a splendid go of things, and you've been very helpful around St. Margaret's as well. We so appreciate everything you do.” She looked at Will. “When Bridget first came to us, she assisted Mrs. Rafferty with the cleaning and the mending. She still helps out on her day off, and whenever else she can.”

Bridget gave him a shy smile. “Mrs. Rafferty taught me all sorts of things, and Miss Whitney helped me find a position.”

“We're very proud of Bridget,” Evie said. “She's a maid in Sir Gerald Milbank's household, and we have every expectation that she will one day become a lady's maid or even a housekeeper.”

“I hope so, miss,” Bridget said. “I'm workin' hard to get there someday.”

Will had been nodding and smiling while the women talked, but the name of Bridget's employer had pricked up his ears. Sir Gerald was a wealthy magistrate with strong connections to the current government. Will knew he often held dinners for senior ministers like Peel or even the prime minister. Those men were not sympathetic to the cause of Irish republicanism, and it made him wonder if Bridget had any idea of the politics of the man she worked for.

He asked the girl a few more questions about her employment and where her brother lived—which was in a St. Giles tenement, not surprisingly—but made no objection when Bridget excused herself, saying she had to speak to Mrs. Rafferty before returning to work.

“What do you think?” Evie asked after Bridget had taken herself off.

“She seems a bright, capable young woman who stands to do you proud,” he said. “I take it that this is the main focus of your work—trying to secure gainful employment for your charity cases.”

Evie nodded. “That's the first thing we try to do. The men often find work as day laborers or unloading ships on the docks, but it's harder for the women. The only option sometimes is working in the mills. They're dreadful places, but the other choices are worse.” She shook her head, looking infinitely sad. “We've lost more than a few women to prostitution and thieving, I'm sorry to say.”

“But fortunately not Bridget.”

She brightened. “Yes, I'm so proud of her, because she's worked very hard from the day she first came to us, training with Mrs. Rafferty and taking as many of our classes as she could. I was thrilled when we were able to find her a place in Sir Gerald's household.”

“How did you manage it?”

“I know Lady Milbank, Sir Gerald's wife. Her grandparents on her maternal side were Catholics, so she's fairly sympathetic to our cause.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unlike much of the aristocracy, I'm sorry to say.”