A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1) - Laura Beers (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📗

“My parents thought I would be safer at my cousin’s home in Stratford.”

“And your parents?” Lady Hawthorne inquired. “Have they been affected by the war?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard from them in over a year,” Miss Gaillard admitted, her voice hitching.

Compassion was in Lady Hawthorne’s voice as she expressed, “I am sorry to hear that.”

Tears came into Miss Gaillard’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “It is I that should apologize,” she said. “I’m afraid I am letting my emotions get the best of me.”

“You have no reason to apologize,” Madalene asserted. “I can’t imagine how hard it is, not hearing from your parents in all this time.”

“Thank you,” Miss Gaillard responded. “But I can’t dwell on the negative, no? After all, there is no good that would come from that.”

“Well said,” Lady Hawthorne praised.

Tabitha raised her hand.

Miss Gaillard directed her attention towards the girl. “Yes, Tabitha?” she asked.

“Shouldn’t this conversation be in French?” Tabitha asked innocently.

Smiling, Miss Gaillard explained, “I have a rule that only French will be spoken once you pass through that door, and I’m afraid the girls have taken it to heart.”

“Magnifique,” Madalene said. “Au revoir.”

After they filed out of the room, Madalene closed the door behind them. “I must admit that I have been rather impressed with Miss Gaillard.”

“I can see why,” Jane said. “She seems very bright.”

Miss Foster spoke up as they walked down the hall. “Madalene has ensured that only the most delightful women instruct the girls.”

“That may be true, but I can’t take the credit for Miss Gaillard,” Madalene shared. “My solicitor was the one who recommended her for the position.”

Madalene came to a stop in front of another closed door. “Now for our next lesson,” she said. “Miss Hanson teaches every kind of needlework. She used to work as a dressmaker before she was hired on here.”

“She sounds quite proficient with a needle,” Lady Hawthorne mused.

“I believe you will be rather impressed by her as well,” Madalene remarked as she placed her hand on the round door handle.

Chapter Eight

Dressed in a threadbare grey jacket, Baldwin walked down the narrow and muddy street with his usual confident stride, despite feeling nearly every cobblestone beneath him. The boots he had selected to wear for the evening had thin soles and small holes along the top. His ill-fitting trousers were held up by twine, and his waistcoat was a faded black with tattered edges.

Leaving no room for chance, Baldwin had spent his day preparing for the meeting with the radical group. He was aware that he might be searched so he had left his overcoat pistols at home but retained a muff pistol in his right boot.

Baldwin stopped outside of the dirty building, ignoring the filthy odors in the air. He could hear riotous noise coming through the open windows. No sign hung above the door to identify it as the Blue Boar, but he knew he was at the right place. He opened the door and stepped inside of the hall. Lighted sconces hung on the wall and candles sat on the mantel above the fireplace.

Long tables ran the length of the hall and serving wenches hurried around to bring tankards to the patrons. He walked further into the room and caught the eye of a tall woman wearing a gown that had a scandalously low neckline.

She wiped her hands on her gown. “Welcome, stranger,” she greeted. “Can I get ye something to drink?”

“I am looking for the back room.”

The woman bobbed her head knowingly. “’Tis straight back,” she said, gesturing towards the back wall with a closed door.

“Thank you…”

Baldwin had barely uttered the words when the woman turned away from him. He walked the short distance towards the back room and reached for the handle. He turned it, but it was locked. Balling his hand into a fist, he pounded on the door.

It opened slightly, and a man stuck his head out. “What is it that ye want exactly?”

“I’m here for the meeting.”

“Go away,” he ordered gruffly, pulling his head in and closing the door.

Baldwin waited for a moment before he pounded on the door again. This time, the door opened a little wider.

“I said ‘go away’,” the man repeated, brandishing a pistol in his hand.

“I spoke to Sam, Edgar, and Paul last night at Floyd’s Coffeehouse and they invited me to the meeting,” Baldwin explained.

“Oh, ye did, did ye?” the man asked in disbelief. “And I’m the king’s brother.”

A man’s deep voice spoke up from behind the guard. “Let him enter.”

The guard opened the door wide and put his hand out. “After ye, sir,” he mocked as he bowed.

Stepping inside of the small, rectangular room, Baldwin saw two crowded tables and men standing along the wall. They all stopped talking and watched him enter the room, their eyes full of distrust.

A brawny man with long dark hair tied at his neck approached him. His eyes were cold and restless. “What business do you have with us?” he asked.

“I heard that you are free thinkers.”

“We might be,” the man replied, “but we don’t know who you are.”

Baldwin offered him a smile, hoping to disarm him. “My name is Baldwin Sparrow, and I want to join the fight against tyranny.”

“How do we know you are who you claim?”

His smile faltered. “Meaning?”

The man took a step closer to him. “How do we know you are not a Runner after blood money for turning us in?”

“I can assure you that I am no Runner,” Baldwin replied. “I have a rather unfavorable view of them myself.”

A man in the back of the room shouted, “Search him!”

The brawny man nodded in agreement, his eyes not leaving Baldwin’s. “A Runner would be carrying weapons on his person,” he said. “You don’t by chance have any on you?”

“I do not,” Baldwin said, holding the sides of his grey jacket open. “I don’t even have the funds to purchase one.”

The man stepped closer. “Where do you live, Baldwin?” he asked.

“Two blocks over on Draper Street.”

The