The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(88)

“This is what the captain told her to do,” Green said. “If he told her to do this, then he must’ve had a reason.”

“He indicated that the gentleman I’m going to see would be able to help,” Poppy said.

Green looked at Brown with one eyebrow raised and an expression on his face that clearly said, See?

“I don’t like it,” Brown said again.

“I didn’t say I did ,” Green returned.

“Well, you sounded like—”

“None of us like it,” Poppy snapped.

They both looked at her.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Am I wrong?”

“Er, no,” one of them mumbled, while the other said, “No, no, not wrong at all.”

“Should we take a funny route?” Green asked. “Take ’em round in circles and whatnot?”

“Maybe,” Poppy said. “I don’t know. It’s probably just as important that we deliver the message quickly.” She thought of Andrew, of the men still holding him, all of them with guns, knives, and unpleasant dispositions. “Straight there,” she decided. “As quickly as we can.”

A quarter of an hour later, Poppy was standing in front of a gray stone building in a quietly elegant section of the city. “This is it,” she said. She had already made it clear to Brown and Green that they could not accompany her inside.

“Good-bye, then,” she said after thanking them once again for their assistance. She took a breath. She could do this.

“Er, Miss Poppy!” Brown called out.

She paused halfway up the steps, and turned.

“Good luck,” he said. “If anyone can save him, it’s you.”

She blinked, startled by the unexpected compliment.

“You’re tough,” he said. “Er, in a good way.”

“Mr. Farias told us what you did for Billy,” Green said. “It’s . . . ehrm . . . You . . .”

Brown let out an exasperated snort. “He means thank you.”

Green nodded. “God will surely look kindly on you. It was a proper good thing you did.”

“And we’re sorry about the sack,” Brown added. “And the, er . . .” He motioned toward his mouth. “The stuff. You know, that we used to . . .”

She gave him a wry smile. “Render me unconscious?”

His already ruddy cheeks turned a bright red as he mumbled, “Yes, that.”

“It is already forgotten,” she said. Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but considering everything that had happened after, it hardly seemed of consequence. “Now, go.” She shooed them away. “You can’t be seen loitering on the streets when I knock.”

They stepped reluctantly away, and then Poppy was truly on her own. The door was opened mere seconds after she brought the knocker down on its brass plate, and she was immediately taken to wait in a small but comfortable drawing room. After a few minutes, a gentleman entered.

She stood at once. “Mr. Walpole?”

He regarded her with some aloofness. “I am he.”

“My name is Poppy Bridgerton. I was told to come see you by Captain Andrew James.”

He did not react at her mention of either name—hers or Andrew’s, and in fact seemed almost bored as he walked over to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy.

Poppy did not remark upon the earliness of the hour. If he thought he needed brandy before breakfast who was she to argue?

He held out an empty glass, tipping in her direction.

“No, thank you,” she said impatiently. “It’s really most important that—”

“So you spoke with Captain James,” he said, his voice pleasantly bland.

“Yes,” she said. “He needs your help.”

She told him everything. There was nothing in his demeanor that encouraged such frankness, but Andrew had told her to trust him.

And she trusted Andrew.

At the end of the tale, she handed Mr. Walpole the note she’d been given by the bandits. “It’s written in Portuguese,” she said.

His brows rose. “You opened it?”

“No one told me not to.” At Mr. Walpole’s censorious look, she muttered, “It’s not as if it was sealed.”

Mr. Walpole’s mouth tightened, but he said no more on the subject. Poppy watched as he read the missive, his eyes moving from left to right six times before reaching the end.

“Will you be able to help him?” she asked.

He refolded the note, creasing it much more sharply than before.

“Mr. Walpole?” She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could tolerate. The man was all but ignoring her. Then she remembered Andrew’s most urgent directive.

She cleared her throat. “I was told to tell you that I long for blue skies.”

The envoy’s head snapped up. “That’s what he said?”

Poppy nodded.

“That’s what he said exactly ?”

“Yes. He made me repeat it.”

Mr. Walpole swore under his breath. Poppy blinked with surprise. He had not seemed the type. Then he looked up as if a thought had just occurred to him. “And you said your name is Bridgerton?”

“Have you even been listening to me?”