Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (8 page)

There were no servants hanging about in the back vestibule, so she hastened to the doorway. The cold night wind ruffled her hair, sending a chill down her spine. She put up her woolen hood and gathered her cloak about her more tightly. Then, with sure steps, she walked around the back garden and entered the side yard. She could watch for Pierce here, without being seen.

No need to even wait. Horses snorted, blowing steam and wheels crunched in the
icy
gravel. He was here. She
scurried
over to the front of the house as his carriage pulled into the semicircle of the driveway
, managing to keep her balance even as the ice caused her slippers to skitter
. She didn't even wait for the coachman to help her, but wrenched the door open and tumbled in on her own.

Pierce helped her over to the padded velvet seat. "How did you know it was me? You've never even seen my carriage before, my lady."

"Who else would be coming to Lady Winthorpe's just now? Supper has already started. This would be a most unfashionable time to make an appearance." Just being in the carriage with him was exciting. It was like he used up all the air in the room—she could scarce draw breath. Well, she could also attribute that to all
to her mad scramble.
"Wither are we bound?"

"The Gilded Lily." His voice was a da
rk rumble that made her heart dance in
a ridiculous patter. "I found the Barclay Agency, and visited it today."

"Oh, Pierce, that's marvelous. And did you see any sign of Cicely?"

"No. The Barclay is merely a front for a very exclusive prostitution business," he replied. "It took every connection I have to track it down. And now, there are two women with black hair and brown eyes waiting for us in the Red Room at the Gilded Lily. I need to sneak you in there so that you can identify them."

"The Barclay is a front for prostitution?
How bizarre.
" None of this made any sense. How on earth was someone like Cicely mixed up in that? "
And just h
ow do you propose to get me in to see these women?"

He shrugged in the dim light of the carriage lamps. "You'll need to make a choice. Whore or maid?"

Chapter Eight

Penelope stood outside a side entrance to the Gilded Lily. The keen wind bit through the shoddy wool of her maid's costume. Too bad she hadn't insisted on wearing her cloak, but Pierce wanted her to look like she had been working all night at the brothel. It wouldn't make sense f
or her to prowl the hallway in a
garment that clearly bore the mark of a French modiste's expert hand. She tugged her cotton cap down over her curls more tightly. If only Pierce would make haste. He promised he would go in the front, make his respects, and then come lurching out to find her as though he needed to relieve himself in the side bushes. But five minutes had passed and still no sign of him. She rubbed her arms to rid herself of the goose bumps. Surely Pierce wasn't inside making his respects—to one of the ladies. He was a thief-taker—but not a cad. Was that not so?

The wind picked up its pace and howled through the barren trees. Here and there a voice sounded in the darkness. Very few gentlemen were hanging about outside in this weather. An owl hooted from a nearby branch. Penelope jumped at the sound, and then giggled at herself. She was as bad as a heroine in a horrid novel, hearing evil and danger in every sound.

Oh, drat that man. He might be attractive, but he was draining every ounce of her patience. It was freezing out here. He knew that. She glanced over at the stables. The stable lads had a fire roaring outside on the gravel drive. If only she could pop over and warm herself at the blaze. She might succeed in asking them questions, where Pierce had failed. Or she could just sneak into the hallway and flatten herself against the wall. No one would see her, and she'd be out of the chill wind.

The door burst open, striking her on the arm as Pierce staggered out. "Ouch, you oaf," she cried through chattering teeth.

"Are you all right?" Pierce hissed. He grabbed her arm and rubbed it with a gentle touch.

She ignored the tingle that coursed through her being and snatched her arm away. "I am fine—or as well as can be expected having frozen to death out here. What took you so long?"

"I had to have a few drinks at least. Needed to make the appearance of getting drunk so I could come out here and get you. Had you worn the whore costume, you could have come in with me and stayed nice and toasty."

"And fended off drunken louts left and right. No thank you," she hissed. "I'd rather freeze out here and be a maid."

"The Ice Goddess in truth," he countered.

"That was rude." Her heart sank.
Despite everything, h
e still thought of her as he always had—as her ladyship, as the Ice God
dess, remote and frigid, a frivolous female of s
ociety. Had their few moments in the garden meant nothing? She would have to set him straight. "Moreover, you can stop calling me
Lady Annand
. As equal partners in this venture, I insist that you call me Penelope."

"Fine, fine. If it makes you happy,
then I shall call you
Penelope. Listen, we have business to attend to. We can discuss these other matters later." Pierce raked his hand through his blonde hair, ruffling it to make it look more disheveled. "
Here is the plan.
We are going up the back staircase. Follow me. Don't make a sound, and keep your head down. No one pays attention to servants, which is why your costume should help us make our destination unnoticed. Are you ready?"

Yes. S
he was. Her heart pounded against her ribcage.
She nodded at him, her teeth chattering.

He opened the door and she followed him in, the warm air causing the blood to rush to her wind-frozen cheeks. His broad shoulders nearly touched both walls as they mounted the narrow staircase. As they reached the landing, Pierce put on quite a show, lurching forward and humming loudly as he wandered down the hall. She stayed a few decorous paces behind, hugging the wall as he bade her to do. A loud burst of singing rang down at the opposite end of the hall—a group of men, hundreds of them it sounded like, had launched into a bawdy song. She swallowed. Pierce was aiming straight for them. Could she make it through the group without being seen?

Pierce stepped back a few paces and grabbed Penelope, tossing her over his shoulder. She inhaled swiftly. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Trying to make it down the hall," he murmured. "Kick and flail a bit."

Pierce began to sing along with the group, and she pounded his back with her fists. As they neared the men, they sent up a rowdy cheer.

"That's the way to do it!"

"Good man, show her who's the master!"

Penelope closed her ears to the more colorful chants as Pierce shouldered by them, exaggerating his stagger a bit. "Thanks, lads!" he called. "Had my eye on this wench all night." He opened the last door on the right and swayed inside, dumping her unceremoniously on a large, soft bed draped in a plush, red velvet coverlet. She sat up and watched as he turned the key in the lock.

"Made it," he breathed.

Two young women sat in scarlet and gilt chairs, clad in almost nothing at all. Their sheer night rails left nothing to the imagination.
Heated blood rushed to Penelope's cheeks
. They also, very strangely, wore identical black masks. Their tresses, the color of rich warm brandy, tumbled down their backs.

"They didn't say nothing about no maid," one of the young women stated flatly. Behind the mask, her eyes widened. "Do you want three of us at once?"

"No, no." Penelope jumped up. "We're here to ask you about a friend of mine. She's vanished, and I can't find her. Perhaps you've heard of her? Her name is Cicely."

Pierce strode further into the room. "Allow me to clarify the situation. We've paid for your time, but we don't want…anything of that nature. This is
Lady
Annand
, and I am Pierce Howe. We are trying to find her maid, who's gone missing. We thought we could ask you a few questions."

The young woman's eyes reflected her relief. "Can we take off these bloomin' masks?"

"Of course." Penelope walked over and untied the masks from both young women. "What are your names?"

"We'd rather not say." The young woman darted her glance around the room. "You can call me Miss A, and you can call her Miss K."

"Very well." None of the women looked familiar. They both had the same coloring as Cicely, but the resemblance ended there. Whereas Cicely always seemed fragile and innocent, these women seemed worldly-wise. Of course, their near nudity—and the strangeness of the situation—probably added to that illusion. "Cicely disappeared a few days ago, and someone told us that we should check for her with the Barclay Agency. Have you seen her?"

Miss A shook her head.
"No, that name doesn't sound familiar. Have you ever heard that name, K?"

"Yes. I did hear of a Cicely." The other young woman crossed her arms over her chest. "She came in with another girl. But I haven't seen or heard of her since."

"Came in where?" Penelope grabbed the coverlet off the bed and passed it to Miss K, who accepted it with an uncertain smile. Then Penelope knelt on the rug near the fire. She was still chilled to the bone.

"Well, to the Barclay Agency. It's in a townhome in Mayfair. The girl your maid was with was looking for a position. I don't know why your maid was there, she kept mum and didn't give me much of an impression, to be honest." She paused and wrapped the coverlet more tightly around her. "The girl she was with had blonde hair and blue eyes—she was snapped up for a position right away."

"I'm not sure we should say much more than that. The people at the Barclay are very nice, but very discreet," interrupted Miss A. "We have many toffy clients that must be protected."

They were so close to finding out what they needed to know. She could feel it. At least one of the young women had seen Cicely. That was more information than they had found in several days of work. To give up now—what an anticlimax. She tried again, giving both women her most ingratiating smile. "I understand," she replied. "But I am very concerned about Cicely. Can't you tell me anything else about her visit to the Barclay?"

Miss K nodded toward Miss A. "She's right. I've probably said too much already."

Tears stung the backs of Penelope's eyes. To come so far—really, further than she ever imagined, to be honest—and have them give so little was beyond frustrating. She cast a pleading glance in Pierce's direction. Surely he could step in and assist her.

***

Her eyes did it. Even in that ridiculous maid's costume, even in a situation that most women would find daunting—to say the very least—Penelope held herself erect and graceful, a lady to the core. But when she turned towards him with her large emerald eyes glittering with unshed tears, he was undone. His heart surged with an emotion he dared not name. At that moment he would have moved heaven and earth to help her. At the very least, he could step in and take over the questioning.

"Of course, ladies. We understand," he replied smoothly. "We have no wish to put you in an uncomfortable position."

"Too bad.
" Miss A giggled.

He gave a perfunctory bow at her jest and allowed a smile to twitch at his lips. Better not let the flirting get too outrageous. "What was the name of the girl she was with? The blonde with blue eyes?"

"It was something that started with E. Was it Emma or Emily?" She pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side.

"It was Emma. I remember because I knew a girl once named Emma and I despised her," Miss K replied with a smirk.

Pierce spotted a small stand with a decanter across the room. Several reasonably clean glasses rested on it. He glanced over at Penelope. She was still shivering—he could practically hear her teeth clacking together. He crossed over to the decanter and poured three stout brandies, handing the glasses around with a courtly bow.

"Civilized, that's what he is." Miss K jerked her head in his general direction. "You're lucky to have a gent like that helping you out."

"Yes, I know," Penelope murmured, gazing at him over the rim of her glass. Her shivers had stopped, and roses were beginning to bloom in her cheeks. He tore his attention away from her and back to the present.

"I don't suppose you recall her last name. Or anything else about her, for that matter."

"Well, she was a little slip of a thing and mentioned she needed money badly. She seemed a little taken aback when she learned what she'd be doing. I guess she expected a job as a maid." Miss A sipped her brandy with a thoughtful air. "By then, you know, she was back in the house with the rest of us and we told her a little bit more of what she'd need to do—"

"We like to give fair warning," Miss K interrupted. "Sometimes the girls are shocked, you know."

"Why would they be shocked?" Penelope spoke up. "Surely they know what they are getting into."

"No, not all of them. Some of them think the Barclay is an agency for domestics. They don't understand that it supplies the Gilded Lily, as well as gentlemen's house parties."

"Did Cicely seem taken aback when she found out about the real purpose of the agency?" If she hadn't, then that would make her disappearance more puzzling—well, than it already was.

"Cicely never came back to stay with Emma. I don't suppose she made it past the interview process. Some young ladies aren't selected, and others cho
ose to leave of their own will,
" Miss K replied with a shrug.

"Where is Emma now? Perhaps we can talk to her about how she knew Cicely." They really had exhausted what the young women could tell them—he was beginning to feel it in his bones. It was time to conclude the interview and get Penelope back out of this hell. He hadn't liked the necessity of bringing her, and he was ready to get her back safely home.

"Emma was taken to a house party in Derbyshire. Some gentlemen were having a gathering and needed nice girls to liven things up a bit. She left a few days ago." Miss A smiled with what looked like a bit of regret. "I think she was a little nervous, but the position pays handsomely."

He nodded. "Thank you both for your help. Did the Barclay send just Emma? Or did other girls go too?"

"Oh no. Several girls went. I would have gone, but the men's taste ran to blondes and redheads."

Penelope rose from her crouching position by the fire. "Where in Derbyshire did they go?"

"Well, I couldn't say for sure."

Miss K kicked Miss A in the shin. "You really have said too much. And me too."

"We don't want to get anyone in trouble," Penelope pleaded. "What these gentlemen do is really no concern of mine. I just want to find my friend, that's all. If you two are worried about losing your posts, I would be happy to offer you positions in my home, or in the homes of my friends. We are ever in need of good help, and it's respectable work."

"Thank you," Miss K replied. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, your ladyship. But the blunt I earn on my back is my money. I like what I do, and I feel it's respectable enough. The Barclay is a good employer, and they take care of us well."

"I agree." Miss A smiled at Penelope. "I don't want to get sacked, but I am not worried about coming to harm. I will tell you—at the risk of another bruised shin from my chum here—that I was invited to a house party in Derbyshire last
Christmas
. I can't say it is the same place, but mine was at Lord Adams' country seat."