Escaping Notice (7 page)

Still clutching Ned’s shoulder, she pulled him towards the same
doorway. The man had to be one of the inquiry agents. From his
appearance, he must have just returned from some terribly secret
and dangerous assignment and was still in disguise.

She needed someone like that, someone who could keep a
secret.

Mr. Trenchard, the agent she had hoped to hire, was married to
Uncle John’s daughter. He was a member of the family, but now that
she thought about it, he might not be the best agent to hire,
p
articularly if she did not want anyone to
know she had been so irresponsible. He would certainly tell his
wife, and she would tell the rest of the Archers, and then everyone
would know.

“Wait, please,” she stepped through the door after him. “May I
speak to you?”

“Me?” His voice surprised her with its gentleness.

“Yes.” She stepped forward, dragging Ned with her. “I beg your
pardon for coming here so late, but may we speak to you in
private?”

“I’m not —”

Helen pressed past him and took rapid stock of the room, before
steering Ned towards one of the chairs facing the desk.

“I’m sorry. I realize this is dreadfully inconvenient,” she
said, aware that she was babbling, but unable to stop. “I suppose
you must have just returned from your previous case. You must be
exhausted, but I beg of you to listen to us.”

When he moved away from the door, Helen took the opportunity to
shut it behind him. Then she quickly took the seat next to Ned. The
man moved round the desk to the only remaining chair and seated
himself, clasping his hands atop the leather writing mat centered
in front of him in the middle of the polished cherry-wood desk.

“You’ve made a mistake,” he said.

Helen held out a hand. “Please, I realize this is sudden, but I
beg of you to listen.”

She glanced at Ned, who was leaning back with his head draped
over the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling. Unable to
stop herself, she looked up. A large mural of naked cherubs and
women — presumably angels — encircled the central chandelier. She
blushed, shook Ned’s shoulder and focused intently on the man in
front of her, who had also glanced up, following her gaze.

After a second, he grinned at her and sat back. “I’m
listening.”

“Mr. Brown is lost.” She patted Ned’s shoulder. He glared at
her. “That is, Ned seems to have forgotten where he belongs. We
really must find his family before they become unduly alarmed.”

The man turned towards Ned and studied him, before asking, “Is
this true?”

Dragging his gaze away from the naked ladies on the ceiling, Ned
shrugged.

“And your surname is Brown?”

Again, the boy shrugged, his mouth set in a thin, obstinate
line.

“There are a great many families named Brown, Miss — what did
you say your name was?”

Flustered by the question, Helen sat up straighter. The man
facing her was virtually a stranger, and they hadn’t been properly
introduced. Her older sister, Oriana, would be appalled.

“Miss Archer,” she said. “I’m Miss Archer. And I’m sorry, but I
did not catch your name?”

“Mr. Cast — uh, that is, Mr. Caswell. Now, Miss Archer, there
are a great many families hereabouts with the last name of Brown.
It’ll be extremely difficult to find one with a boy missing. There
are hundreds of runaways in London, and I suspect Mr. Brown
remembers quite well where his family lives. I encourage you to
save your money and take him home with you until he decides to
admit the truth —” He was cut off by the door opening.

A dark-haired man stood in the doorway, his black brows
furrowed. “May I help you?”

“Oh, no,” Helen replied immediately. During the past five
minutes, she had impulsively decided she liked the rather scruffy
blonde gentleman sitting opposite her. He seemed trustworthy and
kind, and his quiet manner encouraged confidences. “Your associate
is quite satisfactory. Thank you very much,” she added.

“My associate?” he asked, his voice edged with what sounded like
sarcasm. Sharp black eyes scanned each occupant in the room,
finally focusing on the man seated behind the desk.

She had the distinct impression that a message flashed between
the two men.

However, the internal affairs of Second Sons did not interest
her. Finding Ned’s family and her necklace were her only
concerns.

She felt confident that she had found the right agent to help
her.

“
If you
expect to have confidence placed in you, be sincere in all your
expressions ….” —
The Complete Servant

After a long carriage ride from Bath, Hugh had arrived at the
Second Sons Inquiry Agency and handed Petre’s letter of
introduction to Knighton Gaunt, the agency’s owner. Given Hugh’s
chosen disguise, it seemed necessary and he was relieved that Petre
had thought of it.

Unfortunately, neither Petre nor Hugh had imagined one of Mr.
Gaunt’s clients would mistake him for an inquiry agent the minute
he entered the townhouse.

Before he knew it, he was seated behind a desk, his knees
bumping the drawers, listening uncomfortably to Helen Archer’s
story.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Hugh replied, when Mr. Gaunt
opened the door. Gaunt, though surprised, showed remarkably astute
judgment. He bowed and exited in silence.

Miss Archer stared at him, frowning, indecision clear in her
eyes. Apparently, she was not accustomed to enlisting the aid of an
inquiry agent and wasn’t sure how to go about it, or perhaps
whether to pursue it at all. Something about her seemed familiar to
Hugh. Certainly, she was no great beauty, despite the golden curls
peeping out from under the brim of her fashionable bonnet. Good
cheekbones, but a rather longish nose and a very square, determined
chin. Her eyes were her best feature. They were deep blue and
sparkled with humor and warmth. He frowned, but a sense of déjà vu
continued to tease him. On the whole, however, he decided he liked
her. She seemed to be the precise opposite of his erstwhile
fiancée, Miss Peyton. He could not imagine
her
concerned
enough about a little boy to take him to an inquiry agency.

There was no doubt as to Miss Archer’s good nature or her
concern over the boy at her side. As for the boy, his mutinous
expression told Hugh that he was not precisely lost. A runaway, no
doubt, who’d given her a false name, hoping to take advantage of
her sweet disposition.

Unfortunately, Hugh could not claim the moral high ground. He
had also taken advantage of her naivety when he did not correct her
false impression of him. Mr. Caswell, indeed! His collar itched. He
slid a finger inside to pull at the stiff fabric.

In the silence, the tension around her eyes increased and she
glanced worriedly at Mr. Brown. She really was lovely, and kind, in
a quiet way. He wished he could ease her concerns. And he wished he
did not want her to look at him and ignore the child. The feeling
was not particularly noble.

Normally, he ignored the diminutive lasses, preferring women
built along more Junoesque lines, who could stand next to him
without looking like badly-nourished children. Delicate porcelain
women made him feel like a clumsy, overgrown oaf one step away from
shattering them like a fragile, antique vase.

“We must find his parents. Or guardian.” Miss Archer smoothed
the boy’s collar and smiled when he wriggled away. “I cannot just
keep poor Mr. Brown. His guardian will be overcome with worry.”

Was there a limit to her good nature, then?

“Why can you not keep him?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I must go on a rather lengthy trip to Ormsby—” She
halted abruptly, her hand covering her mouth. “That is, I’m afraid
I have previous plans.” She glanced apologetically at Mr. Brown.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave you with my sister, Oriana —
t
hat is, Lady Dacy. Oh, dear, this is so
awkward. I do wish you’d remember where your family lives,
Ned.”

Ned gave her an angelic smile that made Hugh long to reach over
the desk and box his large ears.

Instead, he returned to her previous, unintentional declaration.
“You mentioned Ormsby, Miss Archer. Have you business there?”

She blushed, her hand touching the base of her neck with a
fluttering motion. “Yes — that is, no. Not precisely.”

“But you are planning to go there?”

A nervous expression flowed over her face, swift as the tide.
Her mouth trembled. Luminous blue eyes stared at him with that
peculiar intensity which indicates someone struggling to control
tears. After a few rapid blinks, she leaned forward, resting her
hands on the edge of the desk.

“I trust you, Mr. Caswell. Please,
please
do not tell
anyone else. But I’m afraid I, I misplaced something very valuable
on a recent visit to Ormsby. I simply
must
get it back.”

“That is easy enough, is it not? That manor belongs to the Earl
of Monnow, if I am not mistaken. Write to him.”

“Oh, no, I cannot!” Her gaze intensified again. She touched the
corners of her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. “Everyone thinks
I’m shatterbrained and this proves it, doesn’t it? If I write to
him, everyone will know that I lost the — the, well, I lost this
very valuable item. No. I simply
must
go and find it.
Somehow.” She brightened and her grip on the desk eased. “I thought
I might temporarily disguise myself as a maid. No one notices a
maid, and I could search for it in that guise.”

He laughed, but when he realized she was perfectly serious, he
stopped. She stared at him, her deep blue eyes brilliant with
hope.

Then it struck him.

The idea was mad, of course. He should not even consider such a
crazy notion and yet … it was so perfect. Obviously, he thought
with a spurt of satisfaction, Miss Peyton had done him a disservice
when she claimed he was dull beyond endurance. Would a boring man
embrace such a bold plan?

No.

Of course, neither would a prudent man. But once the idea gently
nudged and then docked in his mind, he could not cut the ropes. The
notion held him fast.

“Miss Archer, I also need to go to Ormsby.” When she smiled at
him, he
knew
he had plotted the right course. “For a
case.”

“A case? At Ormsby? What an odd coincidence.”

“Yes, it is an odd coincidence.” He nodded and decided not to
mention that a number of guests had visited Ormsby from London for
his ill-fated ball, so perhaps it wasn’t completely inexplicable.
He felt reluctant to discuss recent events, even with someone as
sympathetic as Miss Archer. “Perhaps I can accomplish both of our
objectives—”

“No,” she cut him off. “I’d rather search for this … object,
myself. I don’t wish its loss to become widely known.”

“I see,” he replied, struggling to keep the grin off his face.
“Then you are determined to go to Ormsby?”

“Yes.” She gazed at him shyly. “Although I confess I will feel
much better knowing you are in the vicinity.”

“Have you already made plans, then, to be hired as a maid?”

She shook her head. “I thought … I considered going there in the
hopes ….”

Holding up a hand, he shook his head and leaned back. “Trust me
when I tell you, they would never hire a maid, or any other
servant, without proper references.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously deflated.

“However, I believe I have the answer to our problems, with the
possible exception of Mr. Brown’s inability to remember where his
family lives. I’ve made arrangements to be hired as a servant at
Ormsby. Perhaps we can expand this to include both of you.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“What?” Mr. Brown sat up. “I’m not going to Ormsby.”

Hugh stared at him. “Any particular reason?”

“No. Just not going.” Mr. Brown flashed a quick glance at Miss
Archer before adding truculently, “I can’t remember much, but I do
know that my family is in London. That’s why I was headed here when
I met Miss Archer. I’m not leaving.”

“If you don’t want to go with us, then I’ll be obliged to remand
you into the care of one of our fine orphanages. I’m sure they’ll
find room and work for a sturdy boy your age.”

Mr. Brown paled, but stoutly refused to agree. He shook his head
and kicked his heels against the carpet.

“Of course Ned will accompany us. If you think he can?” Miss
Archer asked.

“Would you find it acceptable if I arranged for us to travel as
two brothers and their sister? I’m to be Hugh Caswell, of course,
and Mr. Brown will be my younger brother, Ned Caswell.”

“And I shall be Helen Caswell. It’s perfection!”

What was perfect was the disguise. A man his size arriving alone
at Ormsby, when the Earl of Monnow was missing, might cause
suspicion and gossip. However, a man accompanied by his younger
brother and sister would be far less likely to raise suspicions,
despite any resemblance he might have to the missing earl.

After all, there must be dozens of his father’s by-blows
littering the countryside.

“I can arrange for you to be the lady’s maid to the earl’s
cousin, Miss Eloise Leigh. She’s scheduled to move to a cottage
near Ormsby, but she should still be at the house long enough for
you to find whatever it is you’re searching for.” He examined
Ned.

The boy glared back at him and kicked his heels even harder,
thumping them until there were definite ridges in the carpet. But
the boy did not attempt to argue.

“You, Mr. Brown, will be the steward’s room boy.”

“I won’t.”

“You will, unless you wish to stay at an orphanage until your
memory returns. I’ll make sure they realize you’ve had difficulties
with your memory, and are likely to wander off. They will certainly
see to it that you don’t get lost again,” Hugh delivered the
warning in a detached manner he felt sure would frighten the boy
more thoroughly than any angry words.