Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(99)

“Yes.” Isabel touched her throat delicately, wincing at the bruised skin there, relieved that he was properly appalled at Mr. Seymour’s actions. “Thanks to Mr. Makepeace and my footman. They both risked their lives to save me.”

Lord d’Arque stared down at Mr. Seymour’s body. “When you said Makepeace was in peril from Seymour, I thought your imagination had run away from you.”

“Yet you kept following me anyway?” Isabel asked softly.

“Seymour was acting very strange after the girls were found here,” Lord d’Arque said slowly. “Whenever I mentioned questioning the girls, he made sure to deflect my attention. And then he had become obsessed with Makepeace. Kept saying he was the Ghost of St. Giles and had killed Roger.”

“I was under the impression you thought that yourself,” Winter murmured.

Lord d’Arque glanced at him. “Maybe for a bit, but it’s simply too outlandish—that a schoolmaster should be a masked madman. And why would you have killed Roger anyway?”

“I wouldn’t have,” Winter said soberly. “I don’t know who killed your friend, my lord. I wish I did.”

Lord d’Arque nodded, looking away for a moment. “I suppose Seymour was behind this dreadful business with the enslaved girls? That was his moneymaking scheme?”

“Yes,” Isabel said. “He meant to kill us so his secret wouldn’t come out.”

“Awful.” The viscount passed a hand over his forehead. “To make money that way—by the labor of little girls and in such a wretched place.” He looked around the cramped little room, then back at them. “I cannot find any pity in my heart for Seymour. He more than deserved his fate, but his wife is a rather nice woman, you know. The scandal when this is revealed will kill her.”

“Then don’t let it,” Winter said. He smiled grimly. “We can say that the Ghost has claimed another victim.”

Lord d’Arque nodded. “Leave it to me.”

Chapter Twenty

For a moment, the Harlequin Ghost of St. Giles stood still, staring at his True Love, his palm upon her belly where their child grew. The True Love held her breath, for this was her only chance. If he did not recognize her, did not return to the day and to the living, she had no other means of waking him from the spell. So she waited, watching him, as the sun began to dawn on St. Giles…

—from The Legend of the Harlequin Ghost of St. Giles

ONE WEEK LATER…

“I have a letter for you, Peach.” Winter held out the paper with the carefully printed address toward the little girl.

Peach, who had been sitting with Dodo on her bed, practicing her spinning, looked up. She took the paper reverently, turned it over in her hands, and gave it back. “Please, sir, what does it say?”

Winter had received reports from all the teachers at the home since his return as the manager and wasn’t surprised at her request. Apparently Peach had never been taught to read.

A matter he’d soon see remedied. But for now Winter sat next to the little girl on her bed. She’d been assigned a bed and a small trunk for her possessions in the big girls’ dormitory, for after questioning, Peach had confessed her age to be eight years old.

“You see your name here?” Winter pointed to the address.

“P-E-A-C-H,” Peach carefully named each letter.

“Very good.” Winter smiled at the girl and opened the letter. He tilted it so she could see and ran his finger under the writing as he read:

Dear Peach,

I’m writing you this here Letter before my Ship leaves London. She’s called the Terrier and she’s Brilliant! When we come back to London, I’ll take you to see Her. I’m to sleep in a kind of Swinging Bed. The older lads say as it might take a while to get used to.

Anyway, I hope you and Dodo are Well. Mind you listen to Miss Jones and Mistress Medina and the rest, and if Mr. Makepeace should come back, you Listen to him, too. He’s…

Winter had to stop and clear his throat at this point. Peach looked at him curiously. “What does he say?” Winter blinked a little and continued:

He’s the Best Man in the World.

Your Friend,

Joseph Tinbox

Winter gave the letter to Peach. The little girl stared at the handwriting for a moment before sighing and folding it carefully.

“I wager you’ll be able to read that yourself by the first snowfall,” Winter said softly.

“Really?” Peach brightened for a moment, then looked doubtful. “Winter is a long ways away.”

“It’ll be here sooner than you think.” Winter stood but then impulsively squatted in front of the little girl, taking her hands in his. “I’ll be writing a letter to Joseph soon. Would you like to include a note of your own?”

“But I can’t write.”

“I can help you.”

Peach peered shyly at him. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“There you are,” Temperance called from the doorway.

“Sister,” Winter rose, went to her, and pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad to see you again.”

“Winter!” She pulled back, looking at him oddly. “What was that for?”

“I’m glad to see you.” He shrugged.

“But”—she glanced at the room full of children, all of them staring curiously, and pulled him into the hall—“you never hug. And did I see you holding that little girl’s hands?”