One Night in London by Caroline Linden Read Free Book Online Page B

once. Mr. Watts threatened one with his cane, and Mr. Jenkins swears he heard quarreling just last week.”
    “Quarreling? Between whom?” Francesca eyed the woman with a mixture of intense curiosity and apprehension.
    “Mr. Watts and Mrs. Haywood!” exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins in indignant glee. “Going at it like furies, they were. And those two babies howling right along with them.”
    Francesca was speechless. Ellen was quarreling with her brother? They had moved away without notice to anyone? Tradesmen had been threatened with violence? Georgina was being treated like a servant? “But where have they gone?” she asked again with forced patience. “Surely they couldn’t have decided overnight to leave. Someone must know . . .”
    “No one here.” Mrs. Jenkins gazed at her with pity. “Mr. Brown at the end of the street is the landlord’s agent for most of us here, and he didn’t know, either. They were three weeks behind on the rent, and when Mr. Brown came to collect it, the rooms had been quite cleared out.”
    “Mr. Brown.” Francesca latched onto the name. “At the end of the street?”
    “Number two,” said Mrs. Jenkins. “He’ll tell you just what I’ve done. Mr. Jenkins and I had him ’round to tea just Wednesday, and he related every detail.”
    “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you very much.”
    Mrs. Jenkins’s gossip was sound. Mr. Brown confirmed that the Haywood family had left without word, and owing several weeks’ rent. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, until she told him she was Georgina’s aunt—and then had to grit her teeth when Brown referred to Georgina as Ellen’s daughter—but once he realized she might be able to find his wayward tenants, he readily told her how late Ellen always was with her rent payment, how he’d had to threaten to turn them all out, how she’d wept so pitifully and begged him to have mercy for her babies’ sake, while Mr. Watts stood sullenly at the side doing nothing. By the time he finished, Francesca was shaking with anger. She thanked Mr. Brown, marched back to her carriage, and looked at her coachman.
    “Back to Berkeley Square, Mr. Hotchkiss,” she told him. “Posthaste.”
    She had changed her mind about confronting the dreadful duke.

Chapter 4
     
    J ames Wittiers responded with gratifying alacrity to his inquiry. Edward had chosen him carefully, after a discreet investigation of several solicitors. Wittiers was reputed to have a keen, quick mind, a thorough understanding of the law, and was something of a specialist in probate cases. He had won the infamous Cowley case just last year, claiming for his client a barony that had been in abeyance for nearly a century. It was quite a surprise that anyone succeeded, for the Cowley family had been a large one. One newspaper had reported there were at least five people with legitimate claims to the barony. But Wittiers had directed the case and won it, and that made him very appealing to Edward.
    The man himself was modest in appearance, except for the intelligence that all but crackled off him. He listened intently as Edward explained his needs, then asked several pointed questions. His clerk sat beside him, scribbling notes as fast as Wittiers could speak. The solicitor understood was what needed and what must be avoided. He had a plan, and an alternate plan. His mind seemed to work much faster than normal; twice he realized Edward’s point before the conversation had reached it. He broached the subject of the fees very frankly, but Edward waved it off. Whatever the man charged to secure Durham to him and his brothers would be well-earned. He was demanding a great deal of the solicitor, and was happy to pay for it. By the end of the interview Edward was well pleased with the arrangement, and from the expression on Wittiers’s face, so was he.
    “I’ll send word to Mr. Pierce that he should expect you.” Edward rose. He’d already told the Durham solicitor that he would be engaging