Page 27 of When You Rescued Me

“One of the footmen left immediately.”

“If anything had happened to her . . .” The gentleman released a shuddering breath. “This is my fault. I never should have let her go.”

“This is no more your fault than hers,” Miss Sophia said.

He frowned in obvious disagreement. “How bad is she?”

“She has a cut below her chin that will need to be seen by the doctor.”

Her calm, vague response—with no mention of her sister’s weakened state or loss of blood—surprised Samuel. Either Miss Sophia was protecting her father, or she was expecting Samuel to deliver the bad news. Unfortunately, the latter scenario was the most likely.

“What of the horrors she endured?” the gentleman asked.

“She has said nothing of that.” The young lady sidled up to the small table situated beside a large leather armchair, lifted the brandy decanter sitting there, and tucked it behind her back. “But as I promised Elinor I would return to Hannah’s bedchamber without delay, I shall leave Mr. Ross here to answer your questions.”

Samuel’s heart sank. He’d been right, but he very much wished he’d been wrong.

“Very well,” her father said, “but I wish to speak with the doctor after he has seen her.”

“Of course.” Miss Sophia inclined her head toward Samuel and then slipped out of the room with the brandy decanter in hand and her father none the wiser.

“Take a seat, Mr. Ross,” Mr. Dennington said. “As you can see, my movement is severely limited, and so I cannot offer you a drink unless you serve yourself.”

“Thank you, sir, but I have no need of one.” To have the responsibility of telling Mr. Dennington the troubling news about his daughter was bad enough. Samuel had no desire to explain the absence of the man’s brandy decanter as well.

He took the chair across the desk from Mr. Dennington. Though it had taken Samuel a while to connect Miss Dennington to his memories at Bailey’s pawnshop, he would have known her father immediately. Rather than sporting a white wig as he had that day, the gentleman’s naturally graying hair now hung loose and brushed the shoulders of his elegant black jacket, but in all other respects, his appearance was unchanged. As was his air of affluence and authority. Samuel could only pray that the gentleman was not so discerning that he would connect Samuel with the pickpocket he’d seen in the shop.

“Does this singling out of my carriage for robbery have anything to do with the recent events at the wharf?” Mr. Dennington asked. “The perpetrators must have assumed I was the one riding inside.”

Samuel’s thoughts spun. He had been preparing to give an account of the events on Primrose Hill. As far as he knew, the highwaymen’s actions were an isolated incident. But this was not the first time the wharf had been mentioned since he’d been with Miss Dennington. And Jealous had been sent down there posthaste this morning. Perhaps Samuel would be wise to ask some questions of his own. “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what you know of the events at the wharf,” he said.

“Almost nothing!” Mr. Dennington’s frustration was tangible. “My solicitor arrived here at noon with a letter from the clerk at the wharf, where my warehouse is located. It said, in part, that someone had broken into the warehouse last night and stolen three hogsheads of rum. Ellerby claimed to have sent a report to Bow Street, but I have received no further update. If it weren’t for this blasted broken leg, I would have gone down to the wharf myself. As it was, Hannah insisted on going in my stead. She had a letter with her to give to the clerk, in which I requested that guards be placed at the warehouse.”

Could the events be related? It was hard to see how, especially since, according to Clarke and Stephenson’s source, the highwaymen had preselected Primrose Hill for their attack. That was far from the direct route most would take if traveling from the Denningtons’ town house to the Pool of London.

“Can you tell me why your carriage was on Primrose Hill Road if it was destined for the wharf?”

Mr. Dennington groaned. “Hannah must have requested an alternate route. She has a deep-seated aversion to driving along Tyburn Road.”

Samuel’s curiosity burned. But this was not the time or place to discuss the reasons for Miss Dennington’s likes and dislikes. Not when she could very well be fighting for her life against blood loss or, in the very near future, infection.

“The highwaymen struck on Primrose Hill,” he said. “I am unaware of any tie between their attack and the events on the wharf, but I can tell you that Sir John sent Charles Jealous to the wharf this morning to investigate the theft there. I have yet to speak with Jealous, but I will seek him out when I leave here and would be happy to return with a report of any findings he may have made.”

“Yes. By all means. I am most anxious to get to the bottom of this and to ensure that no further thefts occur.” He eyed Samuel thoughtfully. “I need a gentleman I can trust to look out for my assets at the wharf, Mr. Ross. Fielding’s men have developed a reputation for routing out undesirables and capturing felons. That is what I need, and if you are willing to assist me, I shall pay you for your services.”

Guilt wrapped its ugly tentacles around Samuel’s throat. If Mr. Dennington only knew Samuel’s background . . . or how recently he’d started working at Bow Street . . . He swallowed against the discomfort. He was no longer that lawless young boy living under Thrasher’s rule. Captain Lund had drilled that into his head repeatedly, though he had said it most often when Samuel had allowed his speech to revert to its original form. And that had not happened in years.

He lowered his gaze, noticing the small spots of dried blood on his breeches. His jacket was in worse shape, and he was now without his best cravat. There was no reason to deny that additional income would be welcome, as would the opportunity to return to this house to follow up on Miss Dennington’s recovery. Besides, if Mr. Dennington desired someone who would expend his best efforts on behalf of a client, Samuel was as qualified as any one of Sir John’s men. “I would be happy to help you, sir,” he said.

“Excellent,” Mr. Dennington said. “Now, I wish to know everything that happened on Primrose Hill. I may not be fully functioning at present, but I recognize bloodstains when I see them. I sincerely hope they mean you and your colleagues caught the villains.”

“We were largely successful,” Samuel said, mentally preparing himself for a difficult discussion. “But in truth, most of these stains are from your daughter’s wound.”

Mr. Dennington paled, but to his credit, he kept his composure. He set his arms on the desk with his fingers tightly threaded. “From the beginning, if you please, Mr. Ross. And leave nothing out.”

Chapter 11

Hannah awoke to the pounding of rain outside the windows of her bedchamber. It was a sound that made her want to burrow deeper between her covers and spend the day lost in a good book. But as tempting as that sounded, it would not do. She had things she must see to today. She furrowed her brow, unaccountably struggling to recall what those things were.