Pursuing Love

Pursuing Love by Karen Hall The Wild Rose Press www.thewildrosepress.com Copyright ©2009 First published in 2010 NOTI...

Author: Hall Karen

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Pursuing Love by Karen Hall

The Wild Rose Press www.thewildrosepress.com

Copyright ©2009 First published in 2010 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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CONTENTS Pursuing Love Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four 3


Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven About the author... Thank you for purchasing Other Historical Roses to enjoy ****

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She'd never had a proper beau. On the streets, she had not been permitted to have one and now every man who tried a little careless flirtation ran for the hills when he learned of her prison record. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "May I ask you a question?" Sharyn put down her fork. "What is it?" "With all your responsibilities at the school, why did you decide to open an orphanage as well?" "It's not really an orphanage," Sharyn told him. "I simply took in a family of four children who had no one else to care for them." She paused and added, "You of course know how I found Lacy." He ate for another moment before asking, "No other reason than to help children?" Sharyn tossed caution to the wind. "I know what it is like to grow up in an orphanage, Detective. You can be just as cold and hungry and alone there as on the streets. I wouldn't send my worst enemy to one of those places, let alone a child." He regarded her over the rim of his cup. "I didn't know you spent time in an orphanage," he said quietly. "Was that not in your dossier on me?" "No. Somehow that was omitted. I apologize if I seemed less than sympathetic in my questions about your motives." To her surprise, all traces of sly sarcasm had vanished from his voice. His grave expression did not mar his good 5


looks, but rather gave them added depth. Something like empathy shone in his dark eyes and in spite of a stern command to the contrary, her heart lurched again into a curious, rapid rhythm.

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Pursuing Love by Karen Hall [Back to Table of Contents]

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Pursuing Love COPYRIGHT (C) 2009 by Karen L. Seaton All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Contact Information: [email protected] Cover Art by Nicola Martinez The Wild Rose Press PO Box 706 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706 Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History First English Tea Rose Edition, 2010 Print ISBN 1-60154-629-7 Published in the United States of America [Back to Table of Contents]

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Dedication This book is dedicated to my beloved teacher and friend, Peggy Howard, because you taught me how to sing. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter One London 1896 "Does my mother know she's been giving money to a whore?" Arthur Daniels' leer gave him an uncanny resemblance to a bilious toad. "I spent time in prison for theft, Mr. Daniels, not prostitution." Blood rushed to Sharyn Winslow's cheeks but she refused to lower her gaze. "Your mother has always trusted me in the use of the generous donations she has made to my school. I am sorry you feel otherwise." Daniels waved dismissively. "Mother has never been the wisest judge of character. Did you tell her you have a criminal background before or after she agreed to give you money?" Sharyn raised her chin. "She said my honesty convinced her to become a patroness of the Lilac Street School." "A school for whores and pickpockets? What criminal tricks did you use to get her to support such an outrageous project?" Since murder would only put her back in prison, Sharyn tried persuasion. "Your mother understands that women returning to society need skills to support themselves." "Returning to society from prison," Daniels scoffed. "They shouldn't be permitted to move among decent people." "My students have completed their sentences," Sharyn defended. "The Lilac Street School offers them a chance to begin their lives again in dignity and peace." 10


"You took in street children, too," Daniels accused. "What kind of brats are they?" A simmering rage curled Sharyn's hands around the ends of the chair. "The Fletcher children had no place to go after their parents died. I will not have them sent to an orphanage when I can help them." "And just how did you get the money to start a school before you met my mother?" Daniels demanded. "Selling stolen items?" "Giving lectures about the school to women's groups and churches." Sharyn paused before adding, "And an unexpected windfall." He would have an apoplexy if he knew she had won it at the racetrack. In spite of her anger, Sharyn shivered. Judging by the meager fire in the parlor grate, Daniels counted coals as stingily as Scrooge counted coins before his night with the Three Spirits. She doubted even that trio could warm up Daniels' icy heart. Sitting a little taller, she tried again. "If I may just speak with your mother." "Impossible," Daniels declared. "She has pneumonia." "Oh, my." Sharyn's pulse quickened. "Is she terribly ill?" "Too ill to speak to you," Daniels said. "For now I am managing her affairs, so your little school will receive no more funding. It is a foolish waste of money." When desperate, try charm. "Please, Mr. Daniels, I do need your help," Sharyn coaxed. "Both the furnace and the kitchen stove needed to be replaced, so our savings are seriously depleted." 11


"That is hardly my concern," Daniels shrugged. His gaze narrowed and he asked, "If I opened your account books, would I see my mother's money spent as intended?" Sharyn ignored the insinuation. "You may inspect the accounts at any time. We keep our expenditures as low as possible so we can make good use of your mother's investment. "But your school brings in no returns for my mother's investment," Daniels said coldly. "I am a man of business, Miss Winslow. There is no place in business for sentimentality." And obviously none for human compassion. Sharyn swallowed her pride. "Please, Mr. Daniels. We are making great strides at the Lilac Street School. All of our students hold responsible jobs and some of them can now read Dickens and the Bible. They've changed—" Daniels rose, ending the interview. "Do not attempt to contact my mother, Miss Winslow," he ordered. "I will not have her recovery interrupted by your badgering her for funds. Good day." Sharyn stood and gathered her handbag, wishing she could get in just one good punch to his nose without being charged with assault. "Good day, Mr. Daniels." She left his office, took off her gloves and stuffed them into her handbag before beginning a forceful stride down the busy Marylebone street. It took four blocks before she slowed her pace to one more suited to a lady. "That old skinflint!" she declared. "Comparing him to Scrooge is an insult to old Ebenezer. How does one go about 12


summoning the spirits to scare Daniels into changing his mind?" "Talking to yerself, dearie?" A pushcart vendor called. "Yes," Sharyn said crisply, "And I often give myself good advice. Would you like to hear some?" The man grinned. "I can hear such at 'ome from my wife, miss," he said. "Don't need any more from young ladies, no matter how pretty they may be." Sharyn's cheeks warmed under his gentle tease. "I do beg your pardon," she said. Sighing, she began to walk to the omnibus stop. She had taken a hansom cab from the school, but now it appeared every shilling would have to do double duty. Where was she going to get the money? She was so deep in thought she did not hear the approach of running feet. A push sent her sprawling to the sidewalk, knocking the air from her lungs and she winced as her palms scraped along the pavement's dirty surface. A trousered figure grabbed her purse and darted away. "Stop, thief!" Sharyn scrambled to her feet. Ignoring her stinging palms, she took off in pursuit. The thief bobbed between people, pushing them aside. A burly man unloading boxes from the back of a wagon slowed the thief's flight just long enough for Sharyn to gain the advantage. She shouted again, "You there, with my handbag. Stop!" "'Ere, now!" The man jumped back. "What's goin' on?" The thief started to dash down a side alley, but Sharyn was too quick. She threw herself across the slender figure, bringing them both to the ground. 13


"Lemme go!" The thief squirmed beneath her. "Not so fast!" Sharyn gasped, gently pressing her weight against him. "What's all this?" A baritone voice out of her past called the traditional policeman's question. Sharyn craned her head to see the tall, broad-shouldered man who had arrested her during a suffragist rally in Hyde Park last month. Not to mention the man whose arrest of her six years ago sent her to prison and ended any hopes for a happy future. Detective Nicolas Tyler's curious expression turned to a grimace of recognition. "Good Lord. Sharyn Winslow." "It's nice to see you again, too, Detective," Sharyn said through gritted teeth. Of all the men on the Metropolitan Police force, why did it have to be him? Nick Tyler's return to her life after all these years was a blessed nuisance. Not to mention he was still the best looking man she had ever seen. Six years had given his face an interesting maturity. "So, Miss Winslow," Tyler drawled as Sharyn got to her feet and wrapped her arms around the still struggling youth. "How many riots have you started since the last month?" "I didn't start anything," Sharyn protested. "I only tried to keep that heckler from hurting my friend." "Let me see now, what were your charges?" Tyler tapped his fingers on his chin. "Ah, yes. Disrupting the Sabbath and assaulting an officer with a deadly weapon in the performance of his duties. Said officer being me." "Since when is a handbag a deadly weapon?" Sharyn returned his sarcasm. 14


Tyler clutched his shoulder in mock despair. "I've seen what women carry in those things. But what do we have here?" Sharyn rested her chin on the youth's head. "He stole my purse just a few minutes ago," she explained. "Are you saying you tackled him?" Tyler's eyes widened. "I picked up a trick or two while I was in prison," Sharyn taunted. "As you should well know." "Did you indeed?" Tyler said. His eyes narrowed as he studied the boy. "Well, well. Good work, Miss Winslow. I may suggest putting you on the force." "What is that supposed to mean?" Sharyn tightened her grip as the boy continued to struggle. "That a former thief should nab the East End's newest pickpocket." Tyler nodded at the culprit. "Meet 'Light-fingered Lacy' Allen. I've been after him for six months." Sharyn peered around at the youth's smudged face and her heart turned over. He's a child! Tall for his age, but a child nonetheless. A watchman's knitted hat covered his head and his patched clothes hung on a thin frame. His encounter with the sidewalk had left a scrape on his cheek. Old memories shimmered in Sharyn's memory. "I'm sure there must be an explanation," she said. "You didn't mean to harm me, did you, son?" "Don't waste your time, Miss Winslow," Tyler warned. "He's got quite a list of charges against him. Come along, my lad." "Pah!" Lacy sneered. "Think you're so smart, Mister Fancy Pants detective? Look at this!" Green eyes glittered with 15


triumph as a small hand jerked off the cap, releasing a knot of short blonde hair. "I'm a girl!" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two "A girl?" Nick's mouth fell open as he stared at the laughing culprit. "Best kept secret in London," Lacy boasted. "You peelers always think you're so smart." "I'll be...." Only Miss Winslow's presence kept Nick from adding an oath. After ten years patrolling the streets, not much surprised him, but this was one for the books. At least he was not alone in his mistake. The entire Metropolitan Police Force in this part of London believed 'Lightfingers Lacy' was a boy. And Nick had never arrested a young girl before. Even though he had caught glimpses in all these months of pursuit, he had believed the elusive Lacy to be at least fourteen years old. Upon closer inspection, she looked no more than twelve. But remembering the demands from the press and pulpit that the police do something about the recent rising crime in the East End, Nick surrendered to his duty. A thief was a thief, after all. "Thank you, Miss Winslow," he said gruffly. "Your method of capture was unorthodox, but extremely effective. Good day." Producing a pair of handcuffs, he started to place them about Lacy's wrists, but Miss Winslow grabbed his hand. "Wait," she protested. "You can't arrest her." "Of course I can, Miss Winslow," he retorted, snapping the handcuffs shut. "Didn't you just say she robbed you?" 17


Her slender fingers tightened about his wrist. "I refuse to press charges against a child!" "If you do not wish to do so, there are plenty of those who will." Nick stared at the woman who had once been one of London's most celebrated pickpockets. A woman he had helped to send to prison years ago. A strawberry blonde tendril escaped from her hat to curl against her cheek and beneath her heightened color, a patch of freckles stood out. Her tackle of Lacy had left three buttons dangling from her suit and put a large stain on her skirt. Until their encounter last month at the Hyde Park riot, he had not seen her in years and had forgotten how pretty she was. She turned on Nick, her wide blue eyes sparkling with rage. "What kind of a man are you, to arrest a child?" "An officer who arrests a known thief," Nick growled in response. She pulled herself up to her full height but still only came up to his chin. "I will not have a child arrested for trying to steal my handbag. There's only 'bus fare in it, anyway." "Very well. I'll arrest you both." Nick put his hand around her upper arm. She stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. "You're arresting me? On what charges?" "Interfering with a police officer in performance of his duty," Nick recited. "Come along." Putting his hand under her elbow, he started to walk them both down the street. The soles of Lacy's shoes slapped against the pavement in tandem sound with the click of Miss Winslow's heels. He really didn't want to arrest Miss Winslow, 18


but he was not about to see months of hard work ruined by her interfering with his arrest of Lacy. "Wait!" Lacy jerked to a stop and stared at Nick. Her gaze flickered between him and Miss Winslow and Nick recognized the fear in her eyes. "She ain't done nothing," she quavered. "Let her go." "Very well." Nick released Miss Winslow and nodded at her. "Good day to you, again." He moved forward again, Lacy in tow, but a small knot of people had gathered to watch. One broad woman scowled at Lacy. "'Ey! That's the little hooligan who robbed me!" She lunged for Lacy, but another woman pulled her back. "Leave it be, Ruthie," she warned. "Tyler ain't gonna let Lightfingers get away with nuttin'." "'Bout time," a man called angrily. "Lightfingers 'as stolen from my shop more 'n once." He stepped forward but Nick held up a warning hand. "I can arrest you too, sir. A magistrate will hear Lacy's case and give judgement." He waved at a passing cab and the driver jerked the horse to a stop. Nick opened the door but not before Miss Winslow grabbed Lacy in a tight embrace. "Don't worry, my dear," she whispered. "I'll think of something." "I wouldn't get my hopes up, Miss Winslow." Nick pointed at the angry crowd. "Lacy's victims want justice." "We shall see," his opponent declared. "Dare I ask to which station you are hauling her away?" 19


Nick bundled Lacy inside the cab before lifting his hat at the angry young woman. "Ivy Street. Good day, Miss Winslow. No doubt I'll see you in court." "Miss Winslow, what are you doing here?" Magistrate Raymond Hudson demanded. "Rebecca isn't with you, is she?" Sharyn stood from her place in the courtroom's front row and gave the robed man on the bench her most charming smile. "Not today, Your Worship. Give her my love, won't you?" The spectators laughed. Rebecca Hudson's arrest record for suffragist activities was well known and a constant source of irritation for her father. Her fiery speech in Hyde Park last month had started the riot that brought Nick Tyler back into Sharyn's life again. Sharyn took a quick glance around the courtroom. Beside the magistrate's high desk, Lacy sat on a straightbacked chair. A sallow faced jail matron stood behind her. The girl's gaze met Sharyn's and a flicker of hope danced across her features. "So, why are you here, Miss Winslow?" Hudson demanded. "Seeking justice, Your Worship," Sharyn said, giving him her full attention. Hudson raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he said. "Are you suggesting there has been a recent lack of it in my court?" "Oh, no," Sharyn amended hastily. "I am here to plead on behalf of Lacy Allen."

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Hudson's mouth twitched and for a moment, Sharyn thought he would smile. "I don't recall women being admitted to the bar since we last met," he commented. Sharyn waited for the snorts of laughter to die down again. "No, but if they had, I can think of no one I would rather argue the case before than you." "Flattery will do you no good." Hudson turned to the bailiff. "What case interests Miss Winslow?" "A certain Lacy Allen, known as 'Lightfingers Lacy', attempted to steal Miss Winslow's handbag yesterday afternoon," the bailiff announced. "And I wish to drop all charges," Sharyn declared. "No doubt you want to describe what happened?" Hudson sighed, propping an elbow on his desk and placing his chin in his hand. "Yes, thank you." Sharyn described Lacy's grabbing her handbag and her pursuit of the girl. Hudson's eyebrows rose in interest. "How did you catch her?" "I tackled her," Sharyn said simply. The spectators applauded. "I need a good tackle for my rugby team," one called. "Crikey, imagine women doing that," another snorted. "That will do," Hudson warned. He glanced at the matron. "Have Lacy's parents been located?" "She won't tell us nothing, sir," the matron said. "Pro'bly they is thieves like her." Hudson ignored her comment and looked at the crowd. "I see Detective Nicolas Tyler is here. Are you involved in this?" 21


"I am, Your Worship." Tyler rose from the back of the courtroom and made his way to stand near Sharyn. "The Metropolitan Police thanks Miss Winslow for her help in capturing this thief. In addition to her attempt to rob Miss Winslow, Lacy Allen is accused of stealing from a number of merchants over the past six months." "She's a child," Sharyn argued. Hudson put up his hand. "Continue, Detective Tyler." Tyler took a small notebook from his jacket pocket and opened it. "All of the thefts took place near or in the neighborhood where I arrested the defendant. She is accused of stealing a bracelet, a lady's mirror and a gentleman's comb and brush set. Also taken were six loaves of bread, and several meat pies. The total amount of these items is four pounds, six shillings." The crowd gasped their disapproval and Hudson said, "Come here please, Miss Lacy." The matron put a hand on Lacy's arm and pulled her to stand before Hudson. Sharyn held back a sympathetic sigh. Since yesterday someone had rid Lacy of her ragged boy's clothes and given her a drab, gray dress. But it fit her poorly, the hem ending at least five inches above her battered shoes and her hair hung about her face. "So what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" Hudson's voice was not unkind. When Lacy remained silent, the frowning matron poked her in the shoulder. "'Ere now. You answer 'is Worship straight away." 22


"Ain't got nuttin' to say," the girl muttered, earning her a cuff to the shoulder. "That will do, matron," Hudson warned. When the woman stepped back, Hudson leaned forward and asked patiently, "Did you take those items, Miss Lacy?" Lacy peered up at him through a tangle of hair. "You talkin' to me?" "'Course he's talking to you, you little brat," the matron snapped. Hudson waved her to silence. "That will do," he said. "Yes, Miss Lacy, I am talking to you. Where are your parents?" Lacy's mouth tightened. "Dead. Ain't got no one." A soft murmur traveled through the courtroom and old memories tugged at Sharyn's heart. It might have been her standing there in that ugly dress, defiance and fear stamped on her face. "Detective Tyler, since yesterday have you spoken to the merchants who were robbed?" Hudson asked. The detective nodded and said, "Just after I arrested her. Four of them identified her as the person seen running from their shops or stalls." "But, Your Worship," Sharyn interrupted, "They thought Lacy was a boy! Even Detective Tyler did. The merchants could be mistaken. Perhaps it was a boy who robbed them." "That's because no one ever caught her," Tyler pointed out. "And just because she is a girl is no reason not to hold her responsible for her actions. The merchants identified her from a sketch they were shown." "What's that?" Hudson sat forward. 23


Tyler presented him with a small piece of paper from his notebook. "I once got a good look at Lacy. I will admit I did not realize she was girl because of her clothing." Hudson opened the paper, glanced at it, and nodded to the bailiff to show it to Sharyn. "A remarkable likeness," he praised. "Thank you, Your Worship." Tyler inclined his head. Sharyn studied the penciled sketch with a sinking heart. It perfectly captured Lacy's profile. The initials 'N.T.' were penciled in the corner. Handsome, capable and an artist. She handed the sketch back to the bailiff, who returned it to a smiling Tyler. Hudson drummed his fingers on the desk. "Miss Lacy, is what Detective Tyler says true? Did you take those items?" Lacy shrugged. "Ain't saying I did, ain't saying I didn't. You won't believe me anyhows." "You do know it is against the law to steal, do you not?" A stern note crept into the magistrate's voice. "'Course I do. I ain't stupid." "Magistrate Hudson, please," Sharyn pleaded. "While the drawing is a very good likeness, I still say the merchants thought Lacy was a boy and it could have been a boy who robbed them." "The merchants do not care if the person who stole from them is male or female," Tyler returned. "They want to be compensated for their losses. They have identified the person in this sketch as the one who stole from them." "But—," Sharyn protested. 24


"Enough, Miss Winslow." Hudson interrupted. "We have already established you are not a barrister. I have enough problems with them without you joining their ranks." The crowd snickered, but a scowl from the bench silenced them. Nick glanced at Miss Winslow. Her blue eyes glittered at him with the same righteous zeal as yesterday. Without a doubt, she was a force to be reckoned with. And clearly, Miss Winslow was not finished. "Detective Tyler speaks of justice and compensation. Justice has been done, after a fashion. The court will be happy to know I have paid the merchants for their losses and they no longer wish to charge Lacy with theft." "What?" Nick demanded. Behind him the crowd buzzed in excitement. "You paid for the stolen items?" Hudson's mouth fell open. "Yes, Your Worship." Miss Winslow said primly. "After Detective Tyler arrested Lacy, I spoke with the merchants. They were quite willing to accept payment for the stolen merchandise instead of preferring charges against Lacy. They have no wish to see a child go to jail. All of them have children and grandchildren." "You paid them?" Nick repeated in disbelief. Hudson let out a laugh. "Miss Winslow, you are a wonder." "With no family or friends to take her in, Lacy had no choice but to turn to stealing to survive." Miss Winslow's tone pleaded for understanding. "No doubt she has a Fagin who helped her. How else would she have managed so long?" "I got a what?" Lacy demanded. 25


"Has anyone helped you with food or given you a place to stay?" Hudson asked. Lacy shook her head. "Just me. I know how to manage. Don't need no—whatever Miss Winslow said." Miss Winslow looked at the court, her face sad. "No one to help her. Who would blame any child for acting as she did?" I don't believe this. Nick watched Hudson's stern expression soften. "Your Worship, surely you don't believe a child could survive on the streets without help. She is simply refusing to tell us who it is." "So many orphanages are overcrowded and badly run," Miss Winslow countered. "Do you recall that scandal years ago when three little boys starved to death in one? Of course Lacy would not want to go to such a place, a place without love or caring." Several women sobbed and Nick choked back his annoyance. "I am not insensitive to Lacy Allen's situation, but she is still a thief." "But the items are now paid for and the merchants willing to drop charges," Miss Winslow said. "I have an idea." "Why does that not surprise me?" Hudson shot her a shrewd look. "Let's hear it, Miss Winslow." "Release Lacy to me," she said. "With me, she will have the chance to receive an education. If she has no parents, someone must be responsible for her. I will be saving the parish money." "Your Worship can't seriously be considering this," Nick argued. 26


"Give me thirty days," Miss Winslow insisted. "If Lacy gets into any kind of trouble, I will not stand in the way of Detective Tyler doing his job." "You already have," Nick muttered. "What was that, Detective?" Hudson called. "Nothing, sir." "Lacy needs an education," Miss Winslow continued. "Not sentenced to pick oakum or put together matches." "A bit melodramatic, don't you think?" Hudson said dryly. "Children aren't forced to pick oakum anymore." But Lacy trembled at Miss Winslow's suggestion. "I don't want to be a match girl, Your Worship. I don't want the phossie face. Please!" "An interesting dilemma." Hudson's gaze took in the trio and settled on Lacy. Nick watched with the feeling of a man watching the last lifeboat sail away from a sinking ship. At last Hudson spoke. "I will not have it said I do not concern myself with the needs of orphaned children. Miss Winslow, you may take Lacy Allen under your care for thirty days. At that time, I expect you both to report back to me." "Yes, sir." Miss Winslow beamed. "I am also mindful of Detective Tyler's hard work. He will meet with you once a week—" "Is that necessary?" She gave Nick a ferocious scowl. Hudson warned, "Miss Winslow, this is still my courtroom." "Yes, sir." She lowered her head in resignation. "Detective Tyler will meet with you weekly to learn Lacy's progress. If he finds she has returned to her old ways, he may do as he sees fit. Is this acceptable, Detective Tyler?" 27


"Yes, sir." Nick steeled himself to the inevitable. "Miss Lacy." Hudson directed his gaze at the little thief. Having already forgotten her earlier plea for mercy, Lacy's sullen expression had returned. "Yeah?" The matron raised her hand, but Hudson boomed, "If you even think of striking that child, I will put you in jail!" The woman shrugged. "Just tryin' to teach her a lesson." "Hopefully, her time with Miss Winslow will do that. Miss Lacy, you have a month for us to see if you can begin to change your ways. Do you understand?" Hudson asked. "Yes, sir." Lacy played with a strand of hair. "But do I gotta meet with that peeler? I so much as cross the street wrong, 'e's gonna haul me off to prison, or worse." "That 'peeler' is part of the arrangement," Hudson warned. "Unless you would prefer a workhouse?" "No, sir," Lacy said hastily. "I'll go with Miss Sharyn." "Very wise," Hudson pronounced. "Miss Winslow, thank you for paying for Lacy's past—ah, purchases. Court is adjourned." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three "Miss Winslow! A moment, if you please." Tyler's voice stopped Sharyn in mid-step. She turned and found him striding down the hall toward her, his expression proof he was far from happy with Hudson's decision. Lacy's hand gripped hers. "You ain't gonna let him take me back to jail, are you, Miss?" "Not to worry, dear," Sharyn assured. "You are in my charge now and there is nothing Detective Tyler can do to change that." But irritation at Hudson's decision twisted her stomach into knots. The last thing she needed was for Arthur Daniels to find out that a policeman was coming to her school every week. Especially this policeman. Her heart beat a little faster as Tyler halted before them. It should be a crime for a man to be so good looking. His tailored suit encased his broad shoulders and long legs quite nicely. Eyes the color of dark chocolate were fringed with equally dark lashes. Even the frown he gave her did not mar his features. Instead, it gave him an air of dangerous attraction, suggesting a smoldering sensuality just beneath the surface. He pushed back his hat and glared down at them. "You left before we could discuss our arrangements," he accused. "What arrangements?" Sharyn asked, fighting the temptation to bat her own eyelashes at him. 29


"Don't be perverse, Miss Winslow," Tyler warned. "Our weekly meeting regarding Lacy's progress. We need to schedule the day and time." "How can we possibly do that with any sense of regularity?" Sharyn asked in mock innocence. "You might be chasing someone over the London rooftops or arresting other children." Anger sparkled in his eyes and her spine tingled. Nicolas Tyler had been—and probably still was—a formidable adversary. "I am not in the habit of arresting children," he said stiffly. "Lacy was your first?" Sharyn taunted. "How lucky for her." "Miss Winslow, you may find this hard to believe, but I like children," Tyler insisted. "Do you have children of your own?" A muscle tightened in his jaw. "I'm a bachelor, Miss Winslow," he said. "But my two sisters have blessed me with nephews and nieces and I have rocked my share of babies." "Why do I find that so hard to believe?" Sharyn stared at his suit again and tried to imagine him bouncing a child on his knee or rolling about the floor in play. "I can call in the afternoon," he said, returning to the subject at hand. "Just choose a day and time." "You may call at the end of next week," Sharyn said. "Lacy needs time to adjust to our schedule. I assume you know where my school is?" "I'll find it. But—" "Next week," Sharyn finished. Good with children, was he? Why wasn't he married? "Come, Lacy." 30


She turned, but not before Lacy stuck her tongue out at Tyler. Sharyn started to scold her, but decided against it. Lessons in manners could wait. They stopped to exchange the gray dress for Lacy's old clothes. Outside, they found an omnibus that soon delivered them to their Clerkenwell stop. Lacy stared in wonder as they turned down a street lined with modest but well-kept houses. Her mouth fell as they climbed the steps of a three-story brick building. "This is it?" she asked. "This is it." Sharyn opened the door and led her inside. Afternoon light poured in through the sparkling front windows and the gleaming wooden floor smelled of fresh polish. After a wide-eyed glance, Lacy asked, "Do you have a butler?" Sharyn laughed as she hung her hat on the hall tree. "No. We have a cook and a handyman, but we all help keep the school clean. Are you hungry?" Seeing Lacy's hesitation, she added, "I'll wager the jail food was not very appetizing. Let's go find luncheon." "Hello, Mrs. Briarley," she called as they entered the kitchen. Inviting smells of cooked meat and vegetables welcomed them. "Here is Lacy Allen, our new student. We're both famished and hoped you can help us." A tiny woman looked up from chopping onions at a table and smiled at the pair. "Of course, Miss Sharyn. We had beef stew with 'taters and carrots just the way you like. Still on the stove, so it's nice and warm. There's this morning's bread to go with it and Apple Charlotte for afterwards." 31


"Beef stew?" Lacy blurted, licking her lips. "I ain't had that in donkey's years. What's Apple Charlotte?" The cook's gaze took in Lacy's thin frame and tattered clothes. "Just fancy apple cobbler, dear," she explained. "Have a seat at the table over there and I'll serve you." After washing their hands, Sharyn and Lacy took their places and Mrs. Briarley set a pitcher of milk and deep bowls of beef stew, smelling of parsley and thyme, before them. Lacy gobbled her meal, sopping up every last drop of the rich broth with her bread and guzzling the milk from her glass. It took three bowls of stew and just as much milk before she sat back and patted her stomach. "Ah, that's right fair, missus," she told the cook. "Can I have some of that apple thing?" Mrs. Briarley hastened away and Sharyn bit her lip. She had not quite forgotten how it felt to be hungry. When she was Lacy's age, stew and bread would have been a meal from Heaven. The cook returned with two bowls of the dessert. She sniffed repeatedly as she cleared away the rest of the dishes. After Lacy had demolished the dessert, she sat back in her chair and regarded Sharyn. "You might be all right, Miss, if we eat that way every day." Sharyn collected their bowls. "We do. Mrs. Briarley's cooking isn't fancy, but it is always very good." In a room off the kitchen, droplets of soapy water splashed onto the floor as Mrs. Briarley plunged the pots into the sink, scrubbing furiously while swiping at the tears running down her face. 32


"I'd like to get my hands on them up in Parliament who let children like that fend for themselves." The cook's scowl would have the nearest MP running for cover. "Teach 'em proper, I would." Sharyn hugged her. "You'd feed all the street children if you could." "Yes, I would. Maybe you better go see if Lacy needs anything else to eat." Still sniffing, Mrs. Briarley put a saucepan aside to dry. Back at the table, Sharyn found Lacy slumped forward, sound asleep. She touched the girl's shoulder. "Lacy? If you'll wake up, we'll go to your new room." The only answer was the deep breathing of a contented sleeper. Sharyn crept back to Mrs. Briarley. "Is George about?" George was Mrs. Briarley's husband and the school handyman. They had worked for Sharyn since she opened the school and had proved invaluable. "He's weeding the garden." Mrs. Briarley nodded in the direction of the back yard. "Why?" "Lacy's gone to sleep at the table. Do you think he could carry her up to the girls' room?" "As little as she must weigh, I'm sure he can." Mrs. Briarley ambled to the back door and opened it. "Mr. Briarley? Can you come here, please?" The man crossed the yard and wiped his feet on the stoop. Taking off his cap, he stuffed it into his back pocket and came inside. "Yes, Mrs. Briarley?" 33


Sharyn smiled at their old fashioned way of addressing each other. She had tried calling him Mr. Briarley, but he insisted she use his given name. "A new child Miss Sharyn brought us fell asleep at the table," his wife told him. "Could you carry her upstairs?" George nodded and with just a trace of the limp he received fighting in Afghanistan, lumbered into the kitchen. Lacy did not stir as he gathered her in his arms. "Poor kid," he said. "She don't hardly weigh nothing. But some of Mrs. Briarley's cooking should take care of that soon enough." Sharyn led him from the kitchen and up the stairs to the girls' room. Mrs. Briarley had already made Lacy's bed with fresh linens. George gently laid the sleeping girl down and padded away as Lacy rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Carefully, Sharyn removed Lacy's shoes and examined the cracked soles. She wore no socks and tears stung Sharyn's eyes at the sight of the girl's calloused heels. Blinking hard, she pulled the blanket over her newest pupil and crept from the room. Downstairs in her office, she took the school's ledger from her desk and studied the neat columns of printed figures lining the pages. Until the unexpected purchases, they should have been able to make do for several months. Local merchants often donated foodstuffs, saving them money on groceries. But now they only had twenty-five pounds in the bank. So unless Mr. Daniels was visited by Scrooge's spirits or something more malevolent, they needed an influx of cash soon. 34


Sharyn closed the ledger, put it aside and massaged her temples. Where to find the money? Her hands shook slightly as she considered selling the only things of value she owned. No. Not yet. Carrying the ledger, she made her way to the parlor to join her colleagues for their afternoon planning meeting and tea. "Good afternoon, ladies," she greeted. "We were beginning to wonder where you were," the shorter of the two announced. "But then Mrs. Briarley told us you had returned with Lacy, safe and sound," said the other. "Where is our newest pupil?" Cousins Leanne Ellis and Deborah McMillan had shocked their families when using a tiny stipend from a radical aunt, they trained as teachers and moved into rented rooms, living the independent lives of "New Women." They shared Sharyn's determination to help educate women who would otherwise be ignored and insisted on donating services. Sharyn poured their tea. "Lacy is upstairs sleeping." Leanne clapped her hands. "Excellent. What did Magistrate Hudson say?" "She stays here for the next thirty days and hopefully stays out of trouble. Then we report back to him," Sharyn told them. "You should have seen Detective Tyler's face when I told Hudson I paid for the stolen items and the shopkeepers agreed to drop all charges against Lacy." The others laughed. "I'll bet that went down a treat with Nick Tyler," Leanne said gleefully. Recalling Hudson's instruction, Sharyn sighed and set down her cup. "That's not all. Hudson also ordered Tyler to 35


make weekly checks on Lacy. So we are forced to tolerate him on a regular basis." "Oh, dear," Deborah sighed. "How very tiresome for you." "And of all the 'peelers' in London, why must it be the one who helped send you to prison?" Leanne added darkly. "Ironic, isn't it?" Sharyn asked. "The same police officer who arrested me years ago is now 'sentenced' to work with me. And he is as annoying as ever, so always sure he is right. Hard luck, but we have no choice but to endure him." "I'm sorry to learn you find me so difficult," a baritone voice called. "I shall make every effort not to test your endurance too much." The women froze and Sharyn, whose back was to the door, said, "Please tell me he's not standing there." "But I am, Miss Winslow." Tyler joined them at the table and bowed. "I would much rather be chasing criminals over the rooftops of London, as you so eloquently put it, but Magistrate Hudson has changed all that, hasn't he?" Cheeks burning, Sharyn rose and faced him. "Why are you here, Detective?" He reached into his pocket and took out a tattered piece of white cloth. "One of the women Lacy shared a cell with found this. She thought it might belong to her." Sharyn accepted it from his outstretched hand. It might have been a handkerchief once but now it was as thin and transparent as tissue paper. It was soiled and frayed, but in the corner someone had carefully stitched the letters, 'L.A.'

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Sharyn folded it and tucked it into her pocket. Good manners required her to say, "Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you." "You are most welcome," he answered. "Has Lacy settled in?" "She's sleeping." Sharyn's tone dared him to wake her. He directed his gaze at the others. "Are these your colleagues?" Sharyn pointed at her friends. "Miss Ellis and Miss McMillan." "Nicolas Tyler at your service, ladies." He flashed a smile and Sharyn thought Deborah would swoon where she sat. "Don't you agree here is better for Lacy than jail?" Leanne demanded, oblivious to the man's attempt at charm. "Of course. Children don't belong in jail, do they, Miss Winslow? I'll see you next Monday afternoon. Shall we say at five o'clock?" He bowed again and strolled from the room. The women watched his long-legged stride, and then Leanne turned to Sharyn. "Are you going to let him have the last word?" "Certainly not." Sharyn followed him into the hall. "Detective Tyler?" He turned and waited for her to join him at the front door. "Yes?" "What really brought you here today?" He shrugged. "To establish a truce. Our past association might make for a poor start at working together." She folded her arms across her chest. "That, Detective Tyler," she declared, "is a masterpiece of understatement." 37


"Perhaps," he admitted. "But if we must work together, shouldn't we at least try to get along?" "Are you saying you find me difficult?" she challenged. He raised one dark eyebrow. "Miss Winslow, you are a very determined woman, but you can be quite charming. I simply don't want you to still think of me as the enemy. After all, a policeman's life is not the easiest." Whistling the constable's tune from The Pirates of Penzance, he left the building. After closing the door behind him, Sharyn leaned against it. "Drat, and double drat," she muttered. "If I must work with the most annoying man in London, must he be one of the best-looking as well?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four "Well?" Deborah asked as Sharyn returned to the parlor. "What did Tyler really want?" "Oh, listen to you!" Leanne scolded. "I thought we would have to send for smelling salts when he smiled at you." Deborah's cheeks flushed. "A momentary weakness, I assure you," she said. "I'm not happy about Tyler being here either, but what can we do?" Sharyn tried to ignore the furious thumping of her heart. "He wants to establish a truce because we must 'work' together." "Of all the arrogance." Leanne gestured with a napkin. "I should like to use this to wipe away that smug smile." "You are incredibly testy this afternoon," Sharyn noted. "And Deborah. Since when are you turned by a handsome face?" The cousins exchanged glances and apprehension rippled over Sharyn's skin. "What is it?" she asked. "Well, we have good news and bad news," Deborah began. "Though the good news might make you unhappy," Leanne added. "After seeing Nicolas Tyler again, any news would be good," Sharyn laughed. "I can always count on you two to give me different sides of the same situation. What is the good news that might make me unhappy?" "I mentioned the Fletcher children to the new curate at choir practice last night," Deborah said. "He said he had 39


known their parents from another parish and thought they might have cousins doing mission work in China." Sadness tore through Sharyn. The Fletchers had lived with her for almost a year. Their parents, church friends of the Briarleys, had died and without even asking, the couple brought the children—two boys and two girls—to Lilac Street. Sharyn fell in love with them on the spot. "I knew you would understand," Mrs. Briarley had said. "Them orphanages are terrible places. And they ain't got no other family that's we know of." Recalling her years at one such "terrible place," Sharyn tried to offer the children all the comfort she could. At first terrified and heartbroken, they remained distant. But slowly, under the loving care of the staff and the day students—who spoiled them at every opportunity—they blossomed. Sharyn could not love the Fletchers enough. For the first time in her life, she had someone to fill the empty place in her heart with the one thing she would never have. A family of her own. Having children was out of the question. After all, what decent man would marry someone who had served time in prison? "Does the curate know anything else?" she asked, hating her wish for a negative answer. "No," Deborah said. "But he said he would try to find out more." She covered Sharyn's hand with her own. "I know you talked about adopting them." "And it could be months before he knows anything," Leanne added. "Who knows where these cousins might be?" 40


Sharyn cleared her throat. "I think we best not tell them until we know something. They have suffered enough loss as it is. Even if it's only a fleeting hope, it's a hope and that's good news. What could possibly be bad after that?" "Two men came by to give us estimates on having the roof repaired," Leanne told her. The older home that housed the school was spacious but the roof had developed leaks in several rooms. Recalling the ledger's entries, Sharyn asked "How much?" "One said sixty pounds, the other seventy," Leanne reported glumly. "But we only have twenty-five pounds in the bank!" Fumbling, Sharyn opened the ledger. "Why is it so much?" "They said we have dry rot," Deborah explained. "And that we needed to replace it as soon as possible." Pushing back the image of a growing pile of bills, Sharyn said, "We'll just have to get another estimate. Let's put our heads together. Since we can't count on Mrs. Daniels, how do we raise the money?" "Perhaps you should try the same way you got funding to open the school in the first place," Leanne suggested slyly. In spite of her worry, Sharyn smiled at the memory. "The racetrack? I still marvel that I won one hundred pounds the very first time I went." "But we can hardly do that now we are teachers," Leanne teased. "We must set an example for our students and the children."

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"Perhaps we could hold a carnival with games and food," Deborah suggested. "We could hold a raffle as well. I am sure we could convince area merchants to donate items for us." "Or I could sell my mother's jewelry," Sharyn blurted. For a moment the only response was the ticking of the wall clock. "Indeed you will not!" Leanne declared at last. "I'm sure it's valuable," Sharyn insisted. "Perhaps the roofers will let us make monthly payments and—" "There are no 'ands.' Deborah patted Sharyn's hand again. "Her jewelry and Bible are all you have from your mother. We wouldn't dream of asking you to give it up." "And we will not," Leanne agreed. "It would be unspeakably cruel to do so. We'll find another way to raise the money." Sharyn blinked back her tears. "Thank you," she whispered. "Are you sure there's no way of squeezing a shilling or two out of Arthur Daniels?" Leanne's expression suggested she would enjoy the effort. "He was quite adamant in his refusal," Sharyn said wistfully. "Let us pray Mrs. Daniels recovers soon and will come to our aid. I have a speaking engagement this evening at a ladies' benevolent society. Hopefully they will be generous in their donations." "'Scuse me, Miss Sharyn," a voice piped up behind them. They turned to see a grinning Henry Fletcher in the doorway. The untamable shock of dark hair stood up on the back of his head and his grin showed an empty space where a front tooth should be. 42


Sharyn held out her hand and the little boy ran to her. "Good afternoon, Henry," she greeted. "Afternoon, Miss Sharyn," the little boy said. "Missus Briarley says to tell you all supper's ready." "What are we having, Henry?" Leanne winked at him. He patted his stomach in expectation. "Boiled beef, carrots and dumplings, Miss Leanne. That's my favorite." The women laughed. Everything was Henry's favorite and his and his older brother Ralph's appetites kept Mrs. Briarley busy. "I just hope there is enough for all of us," Sharyn said with mock solemnity. "I'll make Ralph share with you, Miss Sharyn," Henry promised. Taking her hand, he led her and the others to the dining room where his siblings stood behind their chairs. George stood with them, a giant among the room's other occupants. "Is Lacy not joining us?" Sharyn asked as Mrs. Briarley carried the large serving platter to the table. "I tried to wake her, Miss, but the child's out like a candle," the cook said. "I'll put a plate aside for her." After Deborah said the blessing, they seated themselves. The room rang with the chatter of children's voices and while table manners were not always perfect, the meal was a happy one. Leanne and Deborah agreed to stay and play with the children before putting them to bed. After dinner, Sharyn went to her room. Opening a drawer in her wardrobe, she took out a tiny box, lifted the lid and took out her mother's precious cameo. How many times had 43


she gazed upon the image and wondered about the woman who had been her mother? Too many to count. The old sadness crept around her heart as she traced the cameo's image. Mrs. Burton, matron of the orphanage where Sharyn had lived, knew nothing about her family. "You were left on the doorstep, Winslow," Mrs. Burton had taunted time and time again. "You and a Bible." Chuckling, Sharyn asked the face, "What would she have said if she knew you and the earrings were hidden in the Bible's binding? Probably sold you and claimed she need the money for my upkeep." She pinned the cameo to the collar of her dress, put in the earrings and hurried downstairs to a waiting George. He refused to let her travel alone at night and truth to tell, Sharyn was glad for his protection. Despite his limp, the man's powerful build combined with one of his scowls usually sent most pests on their way. Several hours later, Sharyn gratefully put two pounds from her lecture in the moneybox and locked the drawer. Then she climbed the stairs and crept into the boys' bedroom. They slept curled together in one of the beds, Ralph's arm wrapped around Henry's chest. He took his duties as eldest in the family seriously. Smoothing the blankets into place, Sharyn feathered a kiss against their cheeks. Hard to imagine what the school would be like without the music of their voices and their pounding steps up and down the stairs. Please Lord, she prayed, let me have them just a little longer. In the other room, a soft tandem snoring greeted her. Like their brothers, Daisy and Fanny Fletcher preferred to share a 44


bed. Each clutched the doll Sharyn bought them after their arrival. Recalling their excitement over the new toys, Sharyn blinked back the prick of tears. She hadn't dreamed having children in the house could be so much fun. Pushing down the painful swelling in her heart, she kissed the sisters before turning to the room's new occupant. Lacy slept with her face buried in the pillow, her breathing deep and even. How long had it been since she slept in a proper bed? Or had a decent pair of shoes? "Even if the Fletchers were to go, you can stay," Sharyn whispered. "It's not as if London isn't full of children who need someone to love and care for them. Perhaps I can find another child or two if—" Trying not to picture empty beds, she hurried down the hall to her room. How very selfish she must be to want to keep the Fletchers when they might have a family of their own again. After preparing for bed, Sharyn blew out the lamp and crawled between the sheets to say her prayers. "Dear Lord, bless the children under our care. Thank You for giving us hope about the Fletchers, but I'm sure You are very busy, so there is really no need to hurry. Thank You for Lacy and help her know she is safe here even if Detective Tyler wanted to arrest her. I won't ask You to bless him because that would be a lie and You would know it. Amen." And like her newest charge, Sharon turned on her side and instantly fell asleep. Pulling his felt cap lower, Nick slipped into the Flying Pig in Whitechapel and peered through the smoky gloom. The air 45


reeked of spilled ale and cigarettes. Dangerous business was done here and few crossed the threshold without good reason. Nick seldom came here, but Fat Charlie's note sounded urgent. Several of the regulars nodded to him. In his battered jacket and trousers, no one had yet recognized him as a policeman. Nick stopped at the bar long enough to order a cider and an ale before maneuvering past the crowded tables to a booth tucked in the darkest corner. The ancient leather seat creaked beneath him as he slid across it and placed the ale before the waiting man. "You sent for me?" he asked. Fat Charlie the forger walked both sides of the criminal street and occasionally brought Nick useful information—for a price. Nick suspected him of far more than forgery, but had never been able to prove it. The man negotiated his way through criminal London with an eel's slippery ease. But tonight his usual air of bravado was missing. Instead, worry stamped itself across his plump features. His fingers drummed an uneasy tattoo on the table and he stared into his untouched mug. Nick waited a moment before saying, "It's getting late, Charlie. Why did you need to see me?" Charlie shifted in his place, his glance flickering around the room. "Remember how you've always said you owed me?" "I've looked the other way more times than I can count where your activities are concerned," Nick growled. "That should be payment enough." "One more time, then," Charlie insisted. "Then we're even." 46


"Why should I do that?" Nick took a sip of his cider. Dismay sparkled in Charlie's eyes. "They've got my girl, Nick," he whispered. "They've got Alice." Alice was Charlie's only child. For years he had managed to keep his "day job" secret from her. But obviously something had changed and unease skittered over Nick's skin. "Who's got her?" "The Porter gang." The unease turned to a chill and Nick gripped his mug. The Porters' reputation was as ugly and black as sin. Like a spider's web, their network wove together every criminal enterprise London offered. For months, whispers circulated they were responsible for the rash of thefts in wealthy homes and exclusive shops throughout the city. Every lead Nick turned up led him nowhere. Until now. He stared at Charlie and asked in a hoarse whisper, "What do you mean, they've got her?" "One of them's been courting her." Charlie's expression turned fearful. "Turned her head with pretty things. But the bloke likes his drink and he's been telling her stuff when he's in his cups. Now she knows too much and—" "Is she working with them?" Nick broke in. Even in the gloom, he could see the color vanish from Charlie's face. "I don't know," he admitted. "But she can't get away from 'em. The bloke's threatened to kill her if she tries." Nick pushed away his mug. "What do you want, Charlie?" "If I bring you the Porters, will you be sure Alice ain't charged? Find us both a safe place to go? Our lives won't be worth tuppence otherwise." 47


"They're planning something, aren't they?" Nick guessed. "Something big?" "Yeah," Charlie nodded. "Leastways that's what Alice thinks." Excitement charged down Nick's spine. There wasn't a man on the Metropolitan Police Force who wouldn't give up a year's pay to bring down the Porters. If he could pull it off, it would be the greatest memorial he could bring to his parents. "Very well," he agreed. "You bring me the Porters, and I'll see what I can do." Charlie let out a sigh and took a long swallow of his ale. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "I've got something else for you. Kids is disappearing." Nick's excitement turned to apprehension. "What kids?" Charlie shrugged. "Street kids. One of Old Harry's best fingersmiths has gone missing. He's not been seen in days." Old Harry ran a gang of boy pickpockets and, compared to the Porters, was very small potatoes. "Where are these children supposed to have gone?" Nick asked. In spite of the noise around them, Charlie pitched his voice lower. "There's talk of some kinda secret factory or something. Kids are taken there and can't leave." Fighting back his disgust, Nick leaned forward. "Where?" Charlie shrugged again and sat back. Obviously he thought he had said enough. He drained his mug and set it on the table with a thump. Nick rose, pulled several coins from his pocket and tossed them on the table. "You know how to find me." 48


Only when he stood outside, did he let out a long, low whistle. The Porter gang. After years of cat-and-mouse pursuit, they might finally be within Nick's grasp. He would have to be very, very careful. He worked his way through the warren of streets, listening for any following footsteps as he mulled over Fat Charlie's other news. The thought of someone luring children off the streets for God only knew what filled Nick with loathing. Pickpockets or petty thieves they might be, they were still children. No child, not even Lacy, deserved such treatment. He grinned, recalling Miss Winslow's protective stance for her newest pupil. She was as feisty as a terrier and would present a challenge to work with. But no challenge, how ever pretty she might be, stopped Nick Tyler from doing his job. If Lacy Allen knew something about the rise in street crime, he would have it out of her. He made his way to the Ivy Street precinct and found Constable Stanley Hopkins waiting for Nick in the hall. "His Nibs wants to see you," he warned. "And he ain't happy." Nick grimaced. "His Nibs" was Alfred Dobbins, Nick's immediate supervisor and a pain in his backside. "What's upset him now?" "He heard about Magistrate Hudson lettin' Lightfingers go with that Winslow woman," Hopkins reported. "Don't know who's got him most upset—Miss Winslow or His Worship. Best ready yourself , sir, he's out for someone's head. Yours is the first he can find." "Then I'd better get on with it. Send my body back to my family if I don't survive the ordeal, won't you, Hopkins?" 49


The younger man grinned. "Yes, sir. Simple burial?" "Full police honors," Nick called over his shoulder. At Dobbins' office he rapped on the door and waited. Hearing no reply, he rapped again. "Come in," a bass voice bellowed through the door. Nick entered and closed the door. "You wanted to see me?" Dobbins directed his pebble gray stare at Nick's disheveled attire. "Where in blazes have you been?" Lowering himself onto the room's only chair, Nick took off his cap. "Working." Dobbins scowled. "You let Lightfingers get away," he accused. "Not true. I arrested her, but Magistrate Hudson had other ideas." Nick managed to keep the loathing from his voice. "You should have known he—I mean she—was a girl," Dobbins snapped. "You're supposed to be such a good police officer. How did you miss that?" The old unspoken enmity lay between them. Nick stared at the man who had ended his father's career on the Metropolitan force fifteen years ago. "I don't know," he said coolly. The word "sir" stayed behind on his lips. "Not good enough," Dobbins warned. "I'm catching hell from the Home Office about that MP getting his watch lifted in Hyde Park last week." "Hyde Park's out of my patch," Nick argued. "It doesn't matter where it happened, this rise in crime has to be stopped." Dobbins hit the desk with his fist. "I've been over this precinct for six months and things still aren't 50


running the way I want. If the thieving doesn't stop in this area, you can kiss that promotion to Inspector goodbye." Nick put on his cap, rose and locked his hands behind him. "Anything else?" Dobbins sat back in his chair and stroked his beard. "Always cocky, aren't you Tyler? You think that two years at university makes you better than the average peeler on the streets." The reason he left university started a slow simmer of rage in Nick's memory. "I've earned my promotions," he bit off. "No one's ever given me any special treatment." "You don't follow the rules," Dobbins continued. "Probably look the other way when your street contacts are up to their elbows in Lord knows what, instead of hauling them in. You won't work with anyone, either. Afraid someone will learn your secrets? Or perhaps you're hiding something?" "I get results, don't I?" Nick taunted. And yes, by damn, I'm hiding something. My catching the Porter Gang. Dobbins scowled. "Get out," he ordered. "And watch it." Somehow Nick exited the room without slamming the door. He found Hopkins still waiting for him outside his office. "Survive your ordeal, sir?" "Completely unscathed," Nick spread his hands in evidence. "What did Dobbins say about Lightfingers?" Hopkins asked. "He threatened my promotion if I don't personally halt the recent rise in crime." Nick mimicked Dobbins' bass growl. "Ah, that's a rum thing to do, sir," Hopkins protested. "Ain't no one can dig bits outta street folk like you. Half the 51


East End thinks you're one of them." He regarded Nick with a grave curiosity. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but wasn't your father Joseph Tyler?" "He was." Nick wondered what he had heard. Police officers traded gossip as easily as a roomful of dowagers. But Hopkins was new to this precinct. "My uncle Simon, him being my mother's brother, was a constable in Bloomsbury years ago," Hopkins said now. "He was—" "The constable who found my parents' bodies after the robbery." Old pain lanced Nick's heart like a freshly opened wound. "Uncle Simon used to talk about your father. He said he was the best detective he'd ever known," Hopkins praised. And might still be if not for Dobbins. But "what ifs" were a waste of time and could make one crazed. "It was a long time ago, Hopkins," Nick said softly. "Let it rest." Hopkins blushed. "Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to pry." Nick gave a quick nod. "Well, I'm off. I'll have enough to do with checking on Lacy Allen in addition to single-handedly stopping all the crime in London." "Lightfingers knows her stuff," Hopkins grudgingly admitted. "She'd have to, to survive the streets. Good night, sir." He ambled away and Nick considered what Lacy might have done to "survive." Not thoughts to insure a good night's sleep. Neither were the memories Hopkins' question stirred up. Memories Nick could usually keep locked away. 52


But now, he needed a stiff drink, a hot meal and a soft bed, all of which could be had at his boarding house. They beckoned like a siren's song and, calling good night to the desk sergeant, Nick headed for the door and into the night. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five "Who would like to read first?" Sharyn addressed her morning class. "Maryann, why don't you start?" Biting her lip, Maryann, a tall young woman, stood clutching her book. She read slowly, without error, her voice growing in confidence. When she had finished, the others applauded. "Nicely done, Maryann," Sharyn praised. She looked around the room, counting the seated women. "Where is Liz this morning, Sally? Is she not feeling well?" Sally twisted a lock of dark hair around her finger. "Can't say as I know, Miss Sharyn. She was gone when I woke up this morning. She'll be round later, I suppose." A frisson of worry tugged at Sharyn. Most of the women wanted to learn to read and write, but Liz Barker put forth little effort. Sharyn had offered to tutor her privately, but Liz refused, saying she had better things to do. Sharyn wondered what those things might be. Liz made no secret of having once worked in a brothel and boasted of how much money she made before going to prison for a year after robbing a patron. Her job in a bakery didn't seem to suit her, but it paid a decent wage and the owner let her come to the morning class. Pushing aside her worry, Sharyn said, "We'll welcome her when she joins us. Tabitha, why don't you try the next few pages?" She listened as Tabitha began to read in a slow halting voice. "Very nice, Tabitha. Who—" 54


Footsteps pounded heavily in the corridor and the door banged open. A panting Liz burst into the room, her auburn hair tumbling about her shoulders. "Morning, Miss Sharyn," she gasped, slamming the door. "Sorry to be late." "Are you all right?" Sharyn watched her wind her hair into a bun and secure it with pin. "Yes, Miss. Just overslept a bit," Liz huffed. Her green eyes, not unlike Lacy's, darted toward the door, but she gave Sharyn a confident smile. Sharyn's apprehension returned but she had long ago decided to stay out of her students' private lives unless they asked for her help. When everyone had read, Sharyn divided the women into two groups for their spelling exercise. "Jo, would you please spell the word 'sad' and use it in a sentence." "S-a-d," Jo spelled. "He pinched my purse and I was sad." "Fit to be tied is more like it," one of the women called and the others laughed. Sharyn grinned at the former pickpocket's example. "Good work, Jo. Hester, try spelling—" A sharp rap of knuckles preceded the door swinging open to reveal Nick Tyler on the threshold. His grim expression suggested he was not the happiest of men this morning. "Miss Winslow, a word with you in private if you don't mind." His voice could have sliced steel. "I don't believe we have an appointment scheduled for this morning, Detective Tyler," Sharyn said coolly. "As you can see, I am in the middle of teaching." "It's important," he countered. "Perhaps we could go to your office?" 55


"Perhaps you would like to wait in the parlor until I have finished," Sharyn retorted. "You can't keep popping in and out of my school like a jack-in-the-box." The women howled in laughter. Tyler's dark eyed glance swept over the students and halted on Liz. She made a face at him. "Like what you see, copper?" she sneered. "I done it with a copper or two in my time." Tyler looked at Sharyn again. "Miss Winslow, I think when you learn the reason for my calling without an invitation you will understand. If you would be so kind as to—" "That's her! That's the one that robbed me!" A small, well dressed man, belly barely contained by his waistcoat, pushed past Tyler. Pointing a trebling finger at Liz, he shouted, "That's the hussy who stole my watch!" "Mr. Coburn, I told you to wait at the station," Tyler snapped. "There's been some mistake." Sharyn sent Mr. Coburn her haughtiest glance. "Liz has no need to steal from you." "She bumped into me while I was buying this morning's World News not half an hour ago," Mr. Coburn insisted. "All smiles and I beg your pardons, but she stole my watch!" He started towards Liz but Tyler grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "Mr. Coburn, I want you to wait in the parlor. Miss Winslow, would you bring your student to your office where we can talk privately?" Sharyn watched the glowering little man leave, her heart shuttling into an uneven tempo. She turned to her students and said, "Jo, will you lead the rest of the exercise? Liz, come with me please." 56


Liz tossed her head and flounced for the corridor. Tyler's face remained without expression. Only a flicker in his eyes betrayed he felt anything at all. Hands bunching the insides of her pockets, Sharyn trailed after Liz. Behind her, Tyler followed with a silent tread. No wonder she hadn't heard him coming. But halfway down the hall, Liz bolted for the front door. She might have made it outside if Tyler had not flashed past Sharyn in a burst of speed and grabbed her around the waist. He carried her back to Sharyn as she struggled against his hold. "Lemme go, you flatfoot!" Liz jabbed at his ribs with her elbow. "Not just yet." Tyler tightened his grip. "Miss Sharyn, help me," Liz pleaded, squirming frantically. "I ain't done nothing wrong." "Detective Tyler, is this necessary?" Sharyn demanded, not wanting to believe the scene before her. "Would you have her get away before I can question her?" he asked gruffly. "If she doesn't have the watch, then she has nothing to worry about." "At least put her down and let her walk to the office," Sharyn insisted. "You won't try to run again, will you, Liz?" "'Course not. I ain't done nothing," Liz repeated. Tyler hesitated before setting her down and moving his arms away. Liz pivoted and, raising her hand, raked the side of his face with her fingernails. She raised her hand again, but in one 57


fluid movement, Tyler spun her around and pulled her arms behind her. "You're hurting me!" Liz howled. "You may file a complaint if you wish." Tyler nimbly took a pair of handcuffs from his trouser pocket and clamped them about Liz's wrists. Wrapping his hands about her upper arms, he asked, "Miss Winslow, would you please search her clothing?" Heartsick, Sharyn reached into Liz's skirt pockets. Her hand curled around a heavy, round object and slowly withdrew a man's watch. "That's mine!" Coburn shouted from the parlor door. He ran forward and snatched it from Sharyn. Opening it, he gave it an exaggerated inspection. After a moment, he grudgingly admitted, "It appears undamaged." "No doubt you'll want to press charges?" Tyler tightened his hold on the still squirming Liz. "Of course!" the little man huffed. "Thank you, Detective Tyler. I will certainly tell your superiors of your fine work here today." "Need some help, sir?" A tall, gangly constable stepped into the hallway and Sharyn wondered how much of the exchange he had witnessed. Tyler thrust Liz at him. "Take her to the station and book her on charges of theft, Hopkins." "Right you are, sir." Hopkins gripped Liz's upper arm. "Come along, Liz. I've got a cab waitin'. It'll be like old times." 58


He moved back as Liz spat at him, and gently but firmly moved her out the front door and down the steps. Tyler watched them go, then took out a handkerchief and held it to his face. Flecks of blood seeped through the white cloth. "Mr. Coburn, I see no reason for you to remain," he said. "You may file charges at the Ivy Street station." "Thank you again, Detective," Coburn said. He gave Sharyn a departing scowl, but left without speaking. The door slamming behind him spoke of his disapproval. Tyler folded the stained cloth and put it away. "Miss Winslow, if I might use your washroom please?" She pointed down the hall and stepped back as he moved past her. Leanne's students as well as her own had come into the hall and watched in silence. Deborah, teaching the children's class, had wisely kept the door closed. Thank goodness Lacy hadn't seen. She might have fled behind Liz, never to return. Trembling with angry frustration, Sharyn looked back at her students. Several of them were in tears, but Sally's glance held only wide-eyed terror. She stood massaging her hands and dread cascaded down Sharyn's spine. How much did Sally know about Liz's activities? Forcing herself to calmness, Sharyn waved her students in the direction of their room. "Everyone please go back to class. I will join you presently." The washroom door opened and Tyler stepped back into the hall. Evidence of Liz's wrath marked his face in long red scratches, but the bleeding had stopped. 59


"I wish Liz had used vitriol on that handsome face of yours, peeler," a woman from Leanne's class shouted. "That'd take care of you good and proper." Some of the others chorused in agreement, but Leanne retorted, "And just how did that watch come to be in Liz's pocket, Agnes? Think on that. Let's return to our work." She herded them back to her room, but Sharyn's students remained in the hall. Scowling, they stared at the detective as if by the force of their look they could drive him away. Tyler ignored them and met Sharyn's scrutiny. The old unease—the same one she felt whenever dealing with the police—beat under her pulse. But Tyler was on her 'patch' now and she had no reason to be afraid of him. She hoped. Still, those scratches must smart. "Are you badly hurt, Detective?" she asked. "I've had worse, Miss Winslow," he said. "It's often part of the job." Torn between anger at Liz and at him for "doing his job," Sharyn could not help saying, "Ah, yes. Policemen don't have very happy lives, do they?" His mouth tightened and she could almost hear him grind his teeth. But he only inclined his head and said, "Thank you for your concern, Miss Winslow. I apologize for interrupting your schedule. Good day." He stepped past her. A silent George opened the front door and closed it behind him. "Bloody rouser," he pronounced. "Got nothing better to do than make trouble for us." 60


"But Liz brought the trouble," Sharyn said sadly. She returned to her students, their expressions a mixture of rage and fear. They followed her to their classroom and once they were seated, Maryann asked, "What are you gonna do about Liz, Miss Sharyn?" "I don't think I can do anything." Sharyn spread her hands. "She had Mr. Coburn's watch in her pocket, so..." "We can't just let her go back to prison," Jo protested. "I ain't got money for bail," Hester said. "Why would Liz do something stupid like lift a watch from a swell like that?" "Honest job, nice place to stay, free lessons here and she threw it all away for a watch?" Maryann asked scornfully. "Hester is right. It's just plain stupid what Liz done." "Perhaps we should adjourn for the day," Sharyn suggested. "I'll see you tomorrow. Sally, may I speak with you, please? Murmuring their farewells, the women gathered their belongings and trooped from the room while Sally remained, her eyes downcast. Sharyn closed the door behind them and went to sit in the desk beside her. "Sally?" Sally clutched the sides of her desk, a single tear trailing down her face. Taking the woman's icy hands in her own, Sharyn said, "Tell me what you know about Liz." [Back to Table of Contents] 61


Chapter Six Nick read over a constable's report from the night before. A few drunken brawls, a minor theft or two, and a rather rowdy fight between a Mr. and Mrs. Jones after he lost most of his wages in a dice game. Her choice of a frying pan had certainly proved effective to Mr. Jones' person. After "disarming" her, the constable sent Mr. Jones to a neighbor's and let Mrs. Jones off with a stern warning. Just another spring night in London. Nick put the report aside and reached for a file from the stack on his desk. He settled back and scanned the first page. This should prove— Raised voices in the hall brought his reading to a halt. Through the door's frosted pane, he could make out Stanley Hopkins' familiar silhouette. The other belonged to a woman— A rapid knock was followed by the door's swinging open. Hopkins lurched back as Sharyn Winslow crossed the threshold, her walk showing her to be a woman on a mission. But a very pretty woman on a mission. Twin spots of pink graced her cheekbones, but her raised chin suggested she had come prepared for battle. Nick rose and steeled himself for the encounter. "Miss Winslow, you can't just come in here," Hopkins declared. "Detective Tyler is busy." "It's quite all right, Hopkins," Nick told him. "I'll call you if I feel threatened." 62


"Yes, sir." Giving a conspiratorial wink, Hopkins retreated, closing the door behind him. Nick studied his visitor for a moment. Her blue suit matched her eyes and did amazing things for her figure. Cocking his head, he said, "So, Miss Winslow. How may help you?" "I want to see Liz." She sat in the chair in front of his desk without an invitation. "Out of the question," Nick retorted, taking his seat again. "Why not?" Nick affected a puzzled expression. "Because she's in jail?" "She's my student," Miss Winslow insisted. "Was your student," Nick countered. "She is now charged with theft of an item over fifty pounds." She paled at his words. "Fifty? So much?" Nick nodded. "Mr. Coburn brought a statement of appraisal. Your Liz is in a great deal of trouble and in jail she will stay. Was there something else you wanted?" She fixed him with a marble gaze and opened her purse. In amazement, Nick watched her put three men's watches, all well made and expensive, on his desk. "Where did you get those?" he asked. "Sally found them in Liz's bureau yesterday afternoon," she said, closing her purse. "She asked me to bring them to you." "Who is Sally?" Nick picked up one of the watches and whistled. It probably cost half his year's salary. "Sally Pettigrew is—was—Liz's roommate. She knew Liz was stealing, but didn't want to say anything." Miss Winslow gave him a bitter smile. "Honor among thieves, you know. 63


But she was afraid Liz would implicate her and if she brought them herself, you would think she was stealing as well. Sally has worked very hard since leaving prison and has an especially good reason for staying out of trouble." "And what would that be?" Nick looked up from examining another watch. "Sally is engaged to a haberdasher's assistant," Miss Winslow explained. "She would hardly risk a happy life for a drawer full of watches. None of my students would." "So other than Liz, they have all completely reformed?" Nick asked. "Why do you find that so hard to believe?" she challenged. She glanced at the files on his desk. "Perhaps you are reading up on my students? Or on me?" Nick considered before answering. Sifting through the files, he chose one and opened it. "Sharyn Winslow, twenty-one years of age. Charged with theft of an item over thirty pounds in value. Sentenced to five years in prison, but released after two when her partner exonerated her of all involvement." He closed the file. "How did that happen?" "It was four years ago, Detective," she said simply. "Are the details not in your file?" "No." "Then why do you want to know? Are you considering sending me back for the rest of my sentence?" Nick propped his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "Call it professional curiosity." She sighed. "I had given up 'the life' and was trying to convince my friend, Nancy, to do the same," she said. "But 64


while we were shopping one day, she couldn't resist taking a bracelet and slipped it into my handbag. The shopkeeper found it missing and stopped us from leaving. He, of course, didn't believe me when I said I didn't know how it got there." "The evidence was against you," Nick pointed out. "But you had never been caught before, had you?" Unexpectedly, she grinned and the breath left Nick's lungs. By Heaven, she was pretty. Sharyn Winslow was what his father would have called a "real stunner." "I was good," Miss Winslow said. "Years on the street and never caught. But my Fagin promptly abandoned me after my arrest." "By me," Nick recalled. Her smile vanished. "By you," she echoed. Memories of his younger self from six years ago crowded into Nick's brain. He had triumphed in arresting the pickpocket so many had pursued. The blue eyes staring at him now had stared at him then with something close to hate and a faint remorse twisted through him. Prison life of any length was harsh and unpleasant and even life on the streets, hard as it was, might not have prepared her for a stay in a prison cell. A stay he had helped come about. "And so you went to prison." Nick said now. "Why did Nancy finally exonerate you?" "She 'got religion'," Miss Winslow explained. "You are, no doubt, familiar with the Army of God, the religious society that does prison ministry?" 65


Nick nodded. In their blue and gold uniforms, the street missionaries were a familiar sight in London. They worked in some of the worst slums, with people conventional churches long ago dismissed as unsalvageable. "After Nancy's conversion, she told the warden what she had done," Miss Winslow continued. "He believed her and commuted my sentence." Nick considered. "And now you are a qualified teacher and have opened a school. With the exception of the suffragist rally, you have managed to stay on the right side of the law." "Like Sally, I have no desire to return to prison." She fixed him with her marble stare again, but her hands trembled as she clutched her handbag. "What about Sally?" she asked. "Are you going to arrest her?" He could do that, of course. The whole affair seemed too easy, too convenient. Sally could have helped Liz but ready to let her take the fall to protect herself. She could have even put the watches in Liz's bureau. But Miss Winslow had brought him the watches. To save Sally, she had sacrificed Liz. "I see no reason to bother Sally," he concluded. "Will you thank her for me?" She blinked and cleared her throat. "Thank you. Do you think I could see Liz for just a moment? Please?" Her abrupt change in manners startled him. "Why do you want to see her?" "I want to ask her why she stole the watches," she said plaintively. "Why risk going back to prison?"

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Gesturing at the evidence, Nick said, "They're worth far more than any wages she could earn. No doubt she intended to sell them." "But prison! To go back to that life." She shivered and again Nick wondered what horrors she must have witnessed. "Maybe she found life on the outside too dull, too predictable," he suggested. "Some criminals like the excitement of the chase, the give and take with the police. They liken it to a game." "The cold, the hunger, the brutality," she countered. "Oh yes, those are surely reasons to risk going back to prison. I would like to hear it from Liz herself. You arrested her. Surely you can arrange for me to see her for just a minute or two." How easy it would be tell her "no." She had already made enough trouble for him since their meeting again. But something in her eyes drove logic from its place. Under her feisty armor, lived a passionate woman. One who would storm the battlements for what she believed in, even for someone like Liz. Such a woman was—admirable. "Very well." He rose and gestured for her to follow. Outside he led her through the hall to another door and down a flight of stairs. At the bottom, he led her down another corridor. A heavyset matron rose from behind a desk. "Good morning, Detective Tyler," she greeted. "We need to see the prisoner in cell six," he told her. Taking the key ring from her belt, the matron chose one and inserted it the steel door behind her. It creaked open and she followed him inside. Stale, fetid air from unwashed bodies 67


assaulted them. Miss Winslow quickly covered her nose and kept close behind him. At the end of the row, they stopped before a cell and Nick called, "Liz?" A huddled form on the stone cot stretched out and rolled over. She sat up and glared at them. "What'cha want, Tyler?" "I've brought Miss Winslow to see you," Nick said. "Don't do me any favors," Liz sneered. "What is she to me?" "Liz, talk to me." Miss Winslow stepped up to the bars. "Just tell me why you took those watches." "Because I could," Liz boasted. She stood and sashayed to face her teacher. "Easy as can be, bumping into some fat fool and making eyes at him while you slip your hand in his pocket. You think I can live on pauper's wages? Woman like me has to have nice things." "But to risk prison again—" Liz's glance silenced her. "Sally finked on me, didn't she? I shoulda known she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Give her a message for me." She spat in Miss Winslow's face. "That's for both you and Sally." Returning to the bench, she lay down and turned her back to them. Instinctively, Nick took out his handkerchief but she shook her head and took out her own. In the dim light, he saw tears brimming in her eyes. She wiped her face and put away her handkerchief. "May we go now, please?" "Of course." Silently they walked the corridor's length and he opened the door. The matron gave them a curious look but said 68


nothing. The silence between them continued until they reached his office. Regarding her sad expression, Nick asked, "May I offer you a cup of tea? It was rather cold downstairs." Even the flowers on her hat seemed to droop. "Yes, thank you." He opened the door for her. "I won't be a minute." At the canteen, he ordered two cups and returned to his office. He found her in the chair, her expression still sad. Handing her the cup, he said, "I didn't know how you take it." "As is will be fine." She took a sip and made a face. "Someone likes their tea strong." "Gillian makes the 'meanest cuppa' outside of Dublin," Nick told her. "It packs a wallop, doesn't it?" "A bit more than that, I would say." She took another sip and put the cup on the desk. "Thank you for allowing me to see Liz." "Always glad to be of assistance, Miss Winslow." Her lips twitched. "I doubt that. Good day, Detective." "Would next Monday after four be convenient?" She blinked at his question. "For what?" Was she being coy? "Our meeting with Lacy." Before she could reply the door swung open again and a breathless Hopkins hurried inside. Nodding at Miss Winslow, he gave Nick an envelope. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Acting Commissioner Foster sent this along with a cab." Nick tore it open and scanned the brief message. His face must have given him away or else mindreading was one of her talents, because she asked, "It's about Lacy, isn't it?" "You will excuse me, Miss Winslow. I'll see you next week." 69


And wondering what fresh hell had broken open, Nick grabbed his hat from the corner of the desk and moved past her without a second glance. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seven Nick bounded up the steps of the large gray building. He nodded to the desk sergeant who waved him toward Foster's office. Pausing at the open door, he knocked. "You wanted to see me, sir?" "Ah, Tyler. Come in. Thank you for coming so promptly." Acting Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Reginald Foster rose from behind his desk as Nick closed the door. A man of his rank could have commanded a much larger, better-furnished office. As spare and neat as Nick's own, it held only a desk, several chairs and the regulation filing cabinet. "How have you been, Tyler?" Foster asked as they sat. "Very well, thank you, sir." "Well, let's get down to business. I hear you made an interesting arrest yesterday." Nick gave him full marks for keeping informed about the happenings under his command and described his arrest of Liz Barker at the Lilac Street School. Foster stroked his beard and said, "What was a pompous fellow like Coburn doing in that part of Clerkenwell? The neighborhood is better than some but it doesn't seem like his 'patch.'" His question surprised Nick. "Have you spoken with him?" "Oh, he was here first thing this morning, praising you to the skies. Streets of London are safer, quick thinking, brave, nimble... Would you like to hear the complete list?" 71


"He did say something about talking to 'my superior,'" Nick admitted. "People usually say that when they have a complaint. But I can satisfy your curiosity as to why Coburn was in that part of Clerkenwell." "Slumming?" Foster guessed. Recalling the little man's lofty manner, Nick could not resist grinning. "Not quite." "What, then?" Nick allowed himself a moment to savor his reply. "He was redeeming his watch from a pawn shop." Foster squinted. "Are you sure?" "Yes sir. He had redeemed it just before Liz robbed him. Apparently Mr. Coburn has a taste for gambling. Nothing serious, but he had suffered some recent losses, so he pawned the watch to pay his debt." "But why not just take the money from the bank?" Foster asked. "Why go to the trouble of a pawnshop?" "He didn't want his wife to know," Nick explained. "Coburn worked for her father before they married and she provides him with an 'allowance.' She controls the purse strings in the family, so he does what he's told." Foster passed a hand over his balding head. "And the pawnshop owner told you this?" "Yes, sir." Letting out a bellow of laughter, Foster gasped, "By damn, Tyler, that's rich! Excellent work." "Thank you, sir." "You also arrested Lacy Allen the other day. But rather than sending her to jail where she belongs, Raymond Hudson 72


released her to that Winslow woman." Foster's expression hardened. "The man is getting soft. What kind of foolishness is that?" Nick said carefully, "I believe Magistrate Hudson considered Miss Winslow's suggestion to release Lacy Allen to her to be a novel one." "That trouble-making daughter of his has him swallowing all kinds of reformist drivel," Foster pronounced. "So now Lacy Allen is with a former convict who opened a school for women coming out of prison. Hudson ordered you to check on Lacy Allen once a week, didn't he?" "Yes, sir," Nick affirmed. "Hmmm." Foster's expression turned thoughtful. "This could work to our advantage." "How so, sir?" "There's word floating about the street that there's more than reading and writing going on at the Lilac Street School. Miss Winslow may have turned reformer, but no criminal ever truly changes, Tyler. You know that as well as I do." "Are you saying Miss Winslow is involved in criminal activities?" Nick asked. Recalling her return of the stolen watches, he doubted it, but one did not contradict the Acting Commissioner of Police. "Possibly," Foster said. "And I don't believe she could reform 'Lightfingers' if Hudson gave her a year. That girl is as guilty as sin and I'll wager she knows something about the recent thefts in the city. But if Miss Winslow has a month, then so do we. Keep your eye on her, Tyler. Charm what you can out of her." 73


Nick hesitated. He agreed Lacy probably knew a great deal, but it was unlikely Miss Winslow would let him talk with her long enough to learn what. And to spy on Sharyn Winslow without good reason made him uncomfortable. As much as he hated to admit it, he had a grudging admiration for the feisty reformer. He would hate to have to arrest her again. And then there was the question of the Porter gang. But he was not ready to share that with Foster. Not until he knew more. But Foster was waiting for his answer. "If I hear anything about Miss Winslow or her school, I'll keep you informed," Nick said. Foster nodded his approval. "I have no doubt. Solve this rash of thefts and that promotion will be yours. I'll see to it." A blast of excitement surged through Nick's veins, but he kept his voice level. "Thank you, sir. Any word of your becoming Commissioner in fact as well as name?" Six months ago, Malcolm Davies, the previous Commissioner had the bad manners to drop dead during the second act of the Royal Opera's performance of Tosca. Foster had acted as Commissioner since then. "The higher ups will take their time." Foster gave a mock sigh of resignation. "But I hope for the best. As to your promotion, it's a long time in coming. Your father would have been proud of you. A better man never served on the force." Nick's stomach twisted into the familiar knot as the unexpected praise of Joseph Tyler threatened to rip open the safety valve holding back his old rage. The rage that drove him to leave his university studies and join the police force 74


eight years ago. Finding one's parents murdered changes a man. "If I had been Commissioner during the scandal, your father would have remained on the force," Foster said. "Your father would never have used funds from the benevolent society if he had known its source was protection money gathered by fellow officers." "If he hadn't been dismissed, he and my mother never would have opened their shop and..." Nick's words died away. The police had never caught the thieves who robbed Tyler's Tobacco and Candy Shop. Their failure to do so sealed Nick's fate. If they could not provide him with justice, he would enter his father's chosen work and find it, if not for himself, then for others like him. Drawing a long, silent breath, Nick rose. "I better get back to work, sir. Thank you." Without a word, Foster stood and the men shook hands. Nick made it to the street before raising his fist into the air in triumph. "By damn, yes!" he shouted. His outburst startled a passing woman and sent her packages tumbling. He helped her gather them but she gave him the fisheye before hurrying away, muttering something about the police not doing their jobs. "Not this copper," he longed to call after her. "After all this time, Inspector Tyler." He considered doing handsprings, but that might get him a one-way ticket to Bedlam. So instead, he hailed a hansom and ordered it back to Ivy Street. "Miss Winslow?" 75


Sharyn sat up with a start. The bench in the Ivy Station's hallway had not made the most comfortable place to wait, let alone sleep. Yet fallen asleep she had, and now Detective Tyler stood before her, his brown eyes narrowed in study. She looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. She had been waiting for over an hour. How long had she slept? "Was there something you forgot to ask me, Miss Winslow?" Ignoring the faint annoyance in his voice, she got to her feet. "What did the Acting Commissioner want to ask you about Lacy?" "Why should you need to know that? Were you appointed to the force in my absence?" You wretched man. Lacy's a child and all you can think of is arresting her. Sharyn counted to ten before saying, "Magistrate Hudson put Lacy under my care. If something is going to happen to her, I should at least be informed." He appeared to consider her statement and said, "You have a point. Perhaps we could discuss this over a bite to eat?" Every street instinct she possessed set Sharyn's scalp tingling. Nick Tyler asking her to join him in a meal? "You're joking," she said. He shrugged. "I missed luncheon and I dare say you did, as well, while you were waiting," he said. "There's a good cafe across the street. If it's one thing a policeman knows, it's where to find the best places to eat." Sharyn hesitated. "I have an appointment at half past two o'clock. It's after one o'clock now." 76


"Then we should hurry," he countered. "Today is Thursday and on Thursday the cafe serves an excellent steak and kidney pie." Sharyn's stomach rumbled in response. Worry over meeting with Tyler kept her from enjoying breakfast and she realized she was hungry. "Very well. But I will pay for my meal." "I wouldn't have it any other way." He smiled and Sharyn's heart skipped a beat. She would bet he could coax information out of little old ladies with that smile as easily as he pulled on his boots. But Sharyn was not a little old lady. "Shall we go?" he asked. She followed him outside and across the street. He opened the door for her and a cacophony of voices swirled around them. The smells of freshly baked bread scented the air and Sharyn's mouth watered. Breakfast seemed a long time ago. Men crowded around the tables. Some wore blue uniforms while others wore suits like her companion. One or two nodded at Tyler as he led her to a booth in the back. Sharyn slid into it, took off her gloves and put them in her purse. A smiling girl brought them menus and they ordered the daily special with a pot of tea. After she left, Sharyn sat back and eyed her companion. No matter how cooperative, Nick Tyler was first and last a police officer. He wouldn't think twice about arresting her again. What a shame he was so good looking. She might be attracted to him otherwise. He took off his hat and placed it on the seat. "So, Miss Winslow. What do you want to know about my meeting?" 77


"Are you going to arrest Lacy?" No reason to mince words. "Not unless she gives me a reason to do so. Surely the girl realizes her good fortune in being placed under your care." Sharyn could not believe his amiable tone. "That's it?" He shrugged. "That's it. Foster is hardly going to interfere with a magistrate's directions." "What else did he want to know?" Sharyn braced herself. "He asked about my arresting Liz and Magistrate Hudson's instructions about Lacy. He seemed surprised but admitted there was nothing he could do to change things." Sharyn doubted very much if the formidable Reginald Foster gave in so easily. Even during her time on the streets, and before his promotion, every fingersmith and dollymop knew of his zeal for law and order. "And he went along with it? Just like that?" "He gave you full points for ingenuity." Tyler's mouth quirked into a smile and very much against her will, Sharyn's heart fluttered. Drat, drat, drat. Why, oh why couldn't he be a haberdasher's assistant like Sally's beau, or an accountant, or even a chimney sweep? She'd never had a proper beau. On the streets, she was not permitted to have one and now every man who tried a little careless flirtation ran for the hills when he learned of her prison record. The waitress returned and placed their order before them. Tyler filled their cups and they gave their attention to their food. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "May I ask you a question?" Sharyn put down her fork. "What is it?" 78


"With all your responsibilities in starting a school for women, why did you decide to open an orphanage as well?" "It's not exactly an orphanage." Sharyn explained. "I simply took in a family of four children who had no one else to care for them. She paused and could not help adding, "You know, of course, how we found Lacy." He ate for another moment before asking, "No other reason than to help children?" Sharyn tossed caution to the wind. "I know what it is like to grow up in an orphanage, Detective," she said. "You can be just as cold and hungry and alone there as on the streets. I wouldn't send my worst enemy to such places, let alone a child." He regarded her over the rim of his cup. "I didn't realize you spent time in an orphanage," he said quietly. "Was that not in your dossier on me?" "No, somehow that was omitted. I apologize if I seemed less than sympathetic in my questions about your motives." To her surprise, all traces of sly sarcasm had vanished from his voice. His grave expression did not mar his good looks, but rather gave them an added depth. Something like empathy shone in his dark eyes and in spite of a stern command to the contrary, her heart lurched again into a curious, rapid rhythm. "No need to apologize, Detective," she said crisply. "I am not ashamed of having been an orphan. But if any child shows up on my doorstep and needs a place to live, then my doors are open." "Then Lacy is blessed in her placement with you." 79


His expression remained thoughtful, but Sharyn's suspicions still ran at full tilt. One meeting with Foster surely did not explain his change in attitude. It was plain as day Tyler had something up his sleeve. He finished his meal, questions obviously over for now. Sharyn did the same. After they had paid for their meal, she put on her gloves and they returned to the sidewalk. Again, courtesy had its requirements and she offered him her hand. "Thank you for inviting me to lunch, Detective Tyler. I believe you said we shall meet again on Monday?" "Unless I am chasing someone over the rooftops of London. Good day, Miss Winslow." His palm's warmth seared through her glove, sending a tingle racing up her arm. Ignore the fact he is the best looking man you've ever seen. Remember he helped send you to prison. He crossed the street to the station, took the stairs two at time and pushed open the door. Sharyn watched him vanish inside, half expecting him to come out with a warrant for Lacy's arrest. "Don't trust you, Tyler," she whispered, ignoring her still thumping heart. "You're up to something and that's a fact. But when you're at my school, you're on my patch. So—watch out." She glanced at her watch. She still had half an hour before her appointment at the bank. Perhaps she could indulge in a few minutes of wishful window-shopping. A sharp whistle brought a passing cab across the street to a screeching halt. A grim faced Nick Tyler was pounding down 80


the steps to yank open the hansom's door and climb inside. With an answering whinny from the horse, the cab lurched forward in a flurry of wheels and dust. "'Lor'!" A man trundling a pushcart stared after the cab. "Wha's that all about?" "Police," Sharyn said. Did the man ever stop? "Bleedin' rousers," the man grumbled. "Oh! Beggin' your pardon, Miss." He lifted his hat before hurrying away. "Bleedin' rousers," Sharyn echoed softly. "Always making trouble." With a sigh, she headed for the corner and her omnibus ride to the bank. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eight "Miss Sharyn, look! Look what Miss Leanne bought me!" Lacy bounded out from the kitchen. She removed her long apron to show a dark green dress. "It's new." "It's lovely," Sharyn praised as she hung her hat on the hall tree. "Did Miss Leanne take you shopping?" "Yes, Miss. And afterwards we had cakes and ices." Lacy's face shone. "She bought me three dresses and two pair of shoes." Leanne joined them. "I told some friends at church that Lacy needed new clothes. They took up a collection after choir practice last night." "I ain't never had new before." Lacy touched the dress's lace collar. "And these shoes are a caution." "You'll have to write them a letter of thanks," Sharyn told her. Dismay chased away Lacy's smile. "I don't know how to do that. If I can't, do I have to give back the clothes?" Leanne patted the girl's shoulder. "Of course not," she said. "I'll teach you how tomorrow. Now, hurry back to Mrs. Briarley. She tells me you are a natural born cook." "Yes, Miss Leanne." Lacy beamed in return and scampered away. Leanne turned to Sharyn, her brows raised in question. "Did Detective Tyler let you see Liz?" "Yes." 82


Her friend put a hand to her chest in mock surprise. "Will wonders never cease? The boys in Parliament will be giving us girls the vote next. What did Liz say?" Sharyn beckoned to her and they went to the parlor. A cheery fire crackled in welcome but it did not help Sharyn's mood as she described her meeting with the angry thief. Leanne's eyes widened. "She spit on you?" "Yes," Sharyn sighed. "If not for a set of bars between us, I think she would have hurt me." Leanne shook her head. "Liz was always a bit of a terror, but after all the help you gave her, to spit on you. Why did this take all morning? Did Tyler say anything else about Lacy?" The door opened and Deborah joined them. They seated themselves and Sharyn told them about Tyler's meeting with Foster and their lunch together afterwards. "Lunch?" Leanne's voice rose in disbelief. "You had lunch with the man who—" "I am quite aware of your list of high crimes and misdemeanors against him," Sharyn said with a laugh. "But Tyler said he will not go out of his way to bother Lacy." "And you believed him?" Deborah asked. Sharyn rolled her eyes. "My stars, you're both making it sound as if I liked the man. He's a policeman." "Why couldn't he have just told you in his office?" Leanne wagged a finger. "Mark my words, he's up to something." "So is the man who came to give us another estimate on the roof," Deborah added. "Or at least I think he is." 83


Worry drove Sharyn to stand by the fireplace. "What kind of estimate did he give you?" Deborah made a face. "Seventy pounds." "Seventy!" Sharyn reached for the mantle. "We don't have seventy pounds! How can it cost so much to repair a roof?" "He also said we have dry rot," Deborah said. "And repairs should start as soon as possible." "What did the loan officer at the bank say?" Leanne wanted to know. Staring into the dancing flames, Sharyn said, "As we have no collateral they are unable to make us a loan of any size. We'll just have to pray it doesn't rain too hard while I try to find more speaking engagements." "You don't suppose Tyler could shut us down for having an unsafe building, do you?" Deborah's fingers played with a loose curl. "It's not unsafe," Leanne argued. "I should like to see him try." "Stop it, both of you." Sharyn took the poker and stabbed at the fire. "I don't want to think about Tyler until I must." "Then perhaps this is not a good time to see you." Tyler's voice interrupted her destruction of the pile of logs. Her fingers tightening about the poker, Sharyn steeled herself to face the man who must be part cat for his silent footed approach. Shock silenced her retort and the poker slid from her hand at the sight of his unlikely companion waiting in the doorway. Nick Tyler held a small, thin boy in his arms. Wide blue eyes filled with fear and hope stared from under a shock of 84


blond hair. His tattered clothing rivaled Lacy's former rags and his slight build made it impossible to guess his age. "This is my new friend, Little Jack." Tyler ruffled the boy's hair. "He's in a bit of a fix because he has no place to stay. I told him I knew three pretty ladies with a nice house who loved children and would let him stay here as long as he wanted. Isn't that right, Miss Winslow?" He spoke cheerfully but his eyes dared her to defy him and Sharyn wondered if the child explained the reason for his hasty departure from the station. Leanne moved first. "Hello, Little Jack. I'm Miss Leanne. You're a fine looking fellow. Are you hungry?" "Yes, Miss." Little Jack's voice wobbled. Tyler set him down but he clung to the detective's hand and huddled against his leg. "I'm Miss Deborah," Deborah chimed in. "Aren't you clever, arriving just before tea time. Would you like to wash up before we eat?" Little Jack peered up at Tyler. "You go with them," the detective said softly. "No one here will hurt you. You can stay as long as you like. Isn't that right, Miss Sharyn?" "Absolutely," Sharyn assured. She joined the others and knelt beside Little Jack. "I'm Miss Sharyn and this is my school. We're glad Detective Tyler has brought you." "You ain't gonna beat me, are you?" His question stunned Sharyn to silence. After darting a look at her friends, she shook her head and said, "Never. We don't beat the children who live here. Not ever." 85


"I told you they were nice," Tyler said. "They'll teach you to read and write, too. Go with Miss Leanne and Miss Deborah now." Tears filled Little Jack's eyes but Tyler gently nudged his chin. "None of that," he said. "I'll be by to see you in a day or so." "Swear?" the boy demanded. "Swear." Tyler reached into his trouser pocket and produced a coin. Giving it to Little Jack, he said, "This will be your lucky sixpence. Nothing bad can happen as long as you carry it." His glance went straight to Sharyn, as she rose but he directed his comments to the others. "I'll leave Little Jack in your capable hands, ladies." "The other boys will be happy to have another chap to play with," Leanne enthused. "Let's go see what Mrs. Briarley has made for tea." She and Deborah each took Little Jack by the hand and led him from the room, leaving Sharyn and Tyler alone. He watched them go before looking back her. "All in a day's work," he said. "Where on earth did you find him?" Sharyn asked. "At Madame Terez's House of Pleasure." She gasped in recognition. "But that's a brothel." He grinned broadly. "Yes. I'm surprised you've heard of it." Cheeks burning, Sharyn retorted, "I've not been off the streets that long, Detective. I try to stay informed. What was he doing at such a place?" 86


He made a face. "Their cook found him in their alleyway, hiding beneath a pile of boxes," he said. "Terez sent for me and I brought him here. I thought this would be the best place for him. The orphanages are so crowded these days." "Are you making fun of me, Detective Tyler?" Sharyn asked sharply. "Not at all, Miss Winslow. You of all people know what those places are like." His tone held a note of sincerity and Sharyn let concern for her newest student replace her irritation. "Why did he ask if we would beat him?" she asked. His lips twisted into a grim line and an angry light sparkled in his eyes. "His back is covered in welts. Madame Terez cleaned them and applied salve but they will take time to heal." The set of his mouth relaxed as he added, "He obviously couldn't stay with her so I thought of you." A sudden nagging suspicion tugged at Sharyn. By bringing Little Jack here, Tyler had the perfect reason to check on Lacy more often. How terribly convenient. But a fearful, unloved child trumped any other concern. Sharyn pushed aside her suspicions of Tyler's motives and said, "We'll take care of him." He nodded. "I thought you would." Curiosity getting the better of her, Sharyn asked, "How did Madame Terez know to send for you?" His chuckle rippled an unexpected warmth over her skin like a drape of newly woven silk. "It helps to have friends in certain places. Terez often sends me information she thinks I will find useful." 87


"You're friends with the proprietor of a brothel?" Mr. Law and Order? Sharyn could hardly believe it His chuckle became a laugh. "A professional acquaintance, I assure you. And no matter what you may think of Terez and her profession, she has a good heart." "When I was on the streets, some of the kindest people I knew were prostitutes," Sharyn retorted. "I'm just surprised that we would agree on that point." Taking a wallet from his trouser pocket, he opened it and took out two one-pound notes. "Madame Terez's ladies took up a collection for you to buy Little Jack anything he needs." His fingers grazed her hand as she accepted the bills, spreading an additional warmth over her. "That was very kind of them," she said. "Will you thank Madame Terez and her ladies for me?" "Of course," he agreed. "And on that note, Miss Winslow, I will leave you to your newest charge. After all—" "A policeman's work is never done?" She paraphrased Gilbert and Sullivan. "Indeed, Miss Winslow. But at least for now Little Jack's story has a happy ending. I'll see you next week." She waited until the front door's click confirmed his departure before slumping into a chair. More visits from Tyler. How beastly unfair her traitorous heart always sped up whenever he came around. And she only had until Monday to prepare for his constant, irritating presence. Maybe he would sprain his ankle chasing someone. Or maybe someone would shoot him. No. She wouldn't be that lucky. 88


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Chapter Nine Daisy and Fanny Fletcher's soft breathing filled the room as Lacy cautiously put her feet on the floor. She waited as Daisy murmured in her sleep and Fanny mumbled an answer. The little girls slept curled together in the larger of the room's two beds, hair tucked into sleep bonnets, dolls just as firmly under their arms. Lacy had once owned a doll. But her parents died and it had vanished soon after the parish sent her to an orphanage ten miles away. The place held her for exactly six weeks. Then a quick ride on the back of vegetable-laden wagon returned her to the streets of London. They had been home for two years and she knew them as well as any other kid who roamed there. After all, that's where Mama and Papa raised her. 'Course Mama and Papa could hardly been described as model citizens. If they had sometimes bent the law to make ends meet, then so be it. And Miss Sharyn was right, of course. Someone had helped Lacy after she stumbled across the hidden East End lair. Bet Miss Sharyn would be surprised to know she had read Oliver Twist and knew all about Fagins and Artful Dodgers. But it had been a couple, not an old man, who ran the gang of young thieves. And it had been hunger and fear that bound Lacy to them. The hunger she could stand. There had been times when her parents barely earned enough for rent and coal, much less food. 90


But the fear was something else. The couple quickly learned Lacy had the light touch required to steal small, valuable items. Even if she had only stolen food when Papa was too ill to work, they said they knew all about it and threatened to drag her to the police. Lacy knew about the police and jail and workhouses. No one wanted to go there. People died there. The streets were safer if you knew what you were about. So she did what they demanded to keep a place to eat and sleep. Until six months ago when the police found the gang and arrested everyone except her. Certain the couple would blab, Lacy hacked off her hair and stole some boy's clothing. The police would be looking for a girl, not a boy. Taking only what she could trade for food and a spot on the floor in an abandoned warehouse, Lacy plied her trade until her meeting with Miss Sharyn and that stinkin' rouser Tyler. She shoved the thoughts of him aside. Time enough for him later. Certain the sisters remained asleep, Lacy crept across the floor's smooth wooden surface to the bureau in the corner. Placing her hands on either side of the top drawer, she eased it open without so much as a squeak and took out her old shirt, pants and cap. It had taken all her most persuasive powers to convince Mrs. Briarley not to burn them. "But you've got those pretty dresses Miss Leanne bought you, pet." The cook had been mystified. "If I tried to wash them old things, they'd surely fall apart." "Just let me keep 'em to remind me of all the good things that have happened to me," Lacy had cajoled. She hated lying to Mrs. Briarley but she had to keep those clothes. 91


For hidden in the cap, stuffed with cotton wool to hold its shape, were coins. Enough for her to get a cab to her destination and back tonight. More coins were hidden in a secret pocket in her pants. No guilt plagued Lacy for those coins. Perhaps she had stolen things and pawned them. But she had no choice. She had to have money. And what she had told Mrs. Briarley wasn't a lie, not really. Good things had happened to her over the past few days. Plenty of food, a safe place to live and the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in. The Fletchers had welcomed her like a sister and Little Jack followed her around like a puppy. In all those new clothes Miss Leanne bought her, Lacy felt like a princess in a fairy tale. Meeting Miss Sharyn was like a fairy tale, too. Survival had taken Lacy into Marylebone the day they met. Easy pickings the teacher had looked but Miss Sharyn had proved full of surprises, fighting with Tyler and fairly begging Hudson to let Lacy come to the school. Remembering Tyler's expression that day in court, Lacy bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Miss Sharyn had showed him good and proper. Whipping off her nightgown, Lacy stuffed it in the drawer and pulled on her street clothes before taking her old shoes from the closet. She had retrieved them from the trash heap behind the gardening shed when George wasn't looking and hidden them under her old clothing. Only luck and spit had held them together for so long, but they helped her move quickly and unseen. She just hoped they and her luck held out tonight when she climbed down the tree outside her third floor window. 92


Before closing the drawer, she took out the few pennies George and Mrs. Briarley had given her for helping in the kitchen and the yard. With those and what was hidden in her clothes, she had more than enough for her task. From downstairs came the faint chimes of the clock in Miss Sharyn's office. Eleven o'clock. By now, Lacy recognized Miss Sharyn's soft tread on the stairs at ten when she came to check on them before going back to her own room on the second floor. Because tonight Lacy had work to do. She had studied the sky before crawling beneath the covers. Clouds covered the April night, hiding the stars. Perfect. When not helping Mrs. Briarley in the kitchen, she had begged to help George in the garden to give her a chance to study the back yard. She arranged her pillows in such a way that if Miss Sharyn did peek inside, it might fool her. Lacy doubted if much got by her benefactor but she had to risk it. She'd worry about what to tell Miss Sharyn when the time came. She pushed aside the curtains and the window slid up silently in her hands. Moonlight, pale and fine as gossamer, spilled over the floor and the scent of George's roses at the far end of the garden wafted into the room. Swinging a practiced leg over the sill, Lacy stepped onto the third story ledge. With a cat's agility, she eased along it until she came to the end. No lights shone from the kitchen window below, so George must have gone to bed early because he usually kept watch until midnight. "I did night sentry when I fought in Afghanistan," he told her. "Them hill men could creep like mice, but not a one ever 93


got past old George. You can sleep safe knowing that, Miss Lacy." She jumped the short distance from the ledge to the fat tree branch next to it. In a moment she was on the ground. Scanning the darkened yard, she darted across it to the gardening shed. Behind it, she retrieved the old basket she had found inside. She gave the backyard a last glance and slipped through the hedge to the alley and out to the street. As silent as a whisper she hurried, taking care to stay in the shadows as she headed toward her old haunts deep in the East End. The school wasn't too far away to start her journey on foot, but she would need a cab for the rest. Hopefully Sam would be in his usual spot outside the Rose and Crown. As she entered the familiar streets, Lacy kept her head lowered but her eyes wide open for peelers. Even at this hour, they would be about. 'Course it was still early by East End hours. In her old clothes, she blended right in with the late night hawkers of cheap goods without anyone being the wiser. Just another London boy, with nothing to call attention to himself. One of the first rules of the street was not to be a Nosy Parker and poke about in other's business. The night was fine, with a trace of the day's warmth lingering in the air. Folks mingled about, laughing and jostling each other. Girls with painted faces and bright clothing strutted as much as they dared. A man in a battered coat played a lively tune on a squeezebox while a small girl passed a hat. Lacy gave her a penny and hurried on. 94


Her luck held. Up ahead, wheeling his rickety pushcart, was Pirate Billy. The eye-patched vendor gave some folks the shivers but Lacy knew how to manage him. She ducked under a pub's awning and as the old man started to pass her, she hissed, "Hey, Billy." "'ere now, who's that? Don't you be playing tricks on Pirate Billy. Show yourself." He squinted in her direction. Billy's remaining vision wasn't too good and against the building's brick wall, she might be even harder to see. She looked about her, but the customers flowing in and out of the pub were either too drunk to notice her or soon would be. She stepped forward. "It's Lacy." "Lightfingers? Lor' save us, I 'eared you'd been sent off to the workhouse." Billy pushed back the soiled kerchief pulled low over his forehead. "Naw, I just got sent to a school." Lacy forced her old scornful tone into her voice. "What 'cha got left tonight?" "What'cha got for me? If I shows up short on cash for the meatpies, my missus will have my hide." Lacy chuckled. Billy looked scary, but his tightfisted wife would scare a real pirate out of his treasure and running back to the high seas. Reaching into a hidden pocket in her trousers, she pulled out a few of her coins. "Let's see what you got." The exchange complete, Lacy put the meat pies in her basket patted the old man on the arm and gave him an extra coin. "Not a word you've seen me, Billy," she cautioned. "Promise?" 95


"Silent as the grave." Billy spat and drew a finger across his throat. "Have you seen Sam tonight?" Lacy's gaze flickered about the street for her cab-driving friend. "Waitin' outside the Rose and Crown like always," Billy said, hoisting up his cart and ambling away. Sure enough, the battered hansom waited outside the pub. Lacy waved to the bearded man atop the perch. His mouth fell open at the sight of her. "Lightfingers. How'd you get here?" Lacy scrambled up beside him. "Best not to ask, Sam. Just take me where I need to go and wait." Sam's eyes narrowed. "I gots to make more fares then what you can pay me, my girl. I'll take you as far as the Black Swan but I ain't going no further." Lacy took out the coins from her pocket and pressed them into his work-hardened hand. "Do what you have to," she said. "I'll meet you back here." Church bells pealed in the distance as Sam let her down at the Black Swan. It was getting late. At the corner, Lacy turned and plunged into a tangle of streets. A few faces stared sadly back at her from door stoops, but she couldn't afford to stop. At last she came to a back alley with a single building. A light shone from a second story window and, to her relief, a rope dangled from under the closed window. Lacy smiled in grim satisfaction. That meant Belle and her old man were drunk again instead of watching the kids put the matches into boxes. Picking up a pebble, she flung it at the glass. The sound of its contact echoed back at her. 96


The window slid open. A boy peered down at her and nodded in recognition. After tying the rope to the basket's handle, she waved and he pulled it up. Seconds later he slid it down again, took up the rope and with a farewell salute, closed the window. Much later, back in her bedroom, an exhausted Lacy peeled off the old clothes, stored them in the drawer and put on her nightgown, With a still-damp cloth from the washstand, she cleaned her face and feet before climbing back into bed. The pillows were just as she left them and she exhaled in relief. Miss Sharyn had not been back. Sam had finally returned and Lacy paid him to take her to the edge of Miss Sharyn's neighborhood. She couldn't risk his hansom being seen by anyone. Stretching out, Lacy ran her hands over the sheets. She couldn't remember ever having a bed so soft. And tomorrow there would be three meals and lessons and kindness. Overwhelming kindness. But remembering where she had been tonight and why, Lacy buried her head under the bedclothes and did something she had not allowed herself to do for a very long time. She cried. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Ten "Well, my dear, I think I know why Detective Tyler did not join us yesterday as promised," Leanne announced coming into Sharyn's office. "And I doubt he will be joining us any time soon." Sharyn looked up from her desk. Her lecture yesterday about the school for a women's Bible study group at Deborah's church had postponed her lesson planning but the lecture netted them one pound and five shillings. "You see," Deborah had enthused. "If we can schedule enough lectures, we can raise the money for the roof and you won't have to sell your mother's jewelry." "One pound, five is uncommonly generous," Sharyn warned. "We won't always be so lucky." It had been after supper before she recalled Tyler's missed visit. Twirling her pencil between her fingers, she said, "Pray tell, what kept good Detective Tyler from following Magistrate Hudson's instructions? Not to mention disappointing Little Jack? Called to Downing Street? Taking tea with the Queen?" "Because he was shot." The pencil snapped between Sharyn's fingers. "Shot?" Leanne handed her this morning's London Times. Tossing the pencil fragments into the trashcan, Sharyn spread the paper out on her desk. "LONDON DETECTIVE SHOT IN PURSUIT," she read aloud. "Last Sunday midnight, Detective N. G. Tyler apprehended a man for robbing a local merchant. While giving chase, the felon fired upon him. Ignoring his 98


injury, Tyler continued his pursuit and captured his target with a tackle that would make a rugby team proud. After arresting the culprit, Tyler was taken to hospital, where, in spite of his wound, this brave policeman insisted on being released the following day. London is proud to have such men working for the Metropolitan Police Force." Leanne's eyes gleamed. "'This brave policeman'!," she chortled. "I'll wager Tyler will need a larger size hat after reading that." "Oh, Leanne!" Sharyn scolded. "I don't care for the man either, but I hardly wish him to come to harm." Her heart had started that furious thumping Tyler always aroused. Since having to deal with him again, he had been aggravating, persistent, patronizing and Sharyn realized she was trembling. Leanne had the grace to look chagrined. "Oh, very well," she said. "I do not really wish him ill, but you cannot deny he has been a thorn for you lately." Sharyn glanced at the paper again. "It doesn't say how badly he was injured or where." "Obviously not in the leg," Leanne pointed out. "Else he wouldn't have been able to make that famous tackle. And working on Sunday night? Doesn't he ever sleep?" Taking a deep breath to slow her heart's staccato tempo, Sharyn folded the paper and gave it back to Leanne. "If he left hospital so soon, it can't have been too serious," she said. "I wonder how soon before he can return to work."

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Leanne placed her hands on the desk and glared. "I know that expression, Sharyn Winslow. You aren't thinking about learning where he lives and taking him some soup, are you?" A blush burned Sharyn's cheeks because that was exactly what she had been thinking. "Certainly not," she denied. "That would be most inappropriate. Have the morning students arrived?" "Yes." Leanne pointed at Sharyn. "You're wearing your mother's brooch. Is today a special occasion or are we expecting a special visitor?" "Both, I hope." Sharyn opened her appointment book and held it out. "I have a meeting with a Signor Bartoli from the local Italian community." Leanne peered at the book. "What does he want from us?" "I have no idea," Sharyn admitted. "His note only said that he wished to discuss a business matter with me." "I've heard there are several new Italian families in the area," Leanne said. "Perhaps he wishes to enroll their children here to learn English." "If he does, they will be welcome," Sharyn declared. "It would be nice to have more children here. Can you teach both my class and yours while I meet with him?" "Of course," Leanne said. "I wonder why Signor Bartoli chose our school? Do you suppose he knows you speak Italian?" A flutter rippled through Sharyn's stomach. "As long as he doesn't ask how I learned Italian, I will listen to almost any request he makes." 100


The doorbell's chime echoed the wall clock's nine o'clock striking. From the hall, the door creaked open and the murmur of voices announced a visitor. A minute later, George's huge frame filled the doorway. "A Mister Bartoli's waiting in the parlor to see you, Miss Sharyn." "Thank you, George." As he walked away, Sharyn winked at Leanne. "Let's hope you are correct and Signor Bartoli wants to hire us." "If he does, ask him for a great deal of money," the always practical Leanne directed as she departed. Sharyn smoothed her hair, touched her mother's brooch for luck and headed to the parlor. Inside, a gentleman stood before the hearth, hat in hand. "Signorina Winslow?" "Yes. Signor Bartoli?" Sharyn smiled in greeting and held out her hand. "Si." Signor Bartoli looked to be in late forties with only a touch of silver in his dark hair. His elegant attire and walking stick spoke to his success. He bowed in a courtly manner and to Sharyn's amusement, took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Ah, Signorina Winslow. It is an honor to meet you." "Welcome to the Lilac Street School." Sharyn gestured at the two best chairs. Her visitor waited for her to sit before seating himself. "Your letter suggested you wished to discuss a matter of business with me, Signor?" she asked. "Si," Bartoli answered, his dark-eyed gaze meeting hers. "I have lived in England for twenty years now. A beautiful country and one that has brought me wealth and happiness." He smiled and added, "I even have an English wife." "Thank you, Signor." She waited patiently. 101


"I understand you opened this school to help ladies learn to read and write. Is that correct?" "Yes," Sharyn said cautiously. Either Bartoli did not know of her students' background or he was too polite to say so. "You also have taken in a family of four children, children who lost their parents?" "Yes," Sharyn said again, wondering at his sources. She told him about the Fletchers. Little Jack and Lacy's stories could wait. Bartoli gave her a shrewd glance. "You are generous, Signorina. Some would have sent the children to an orphanage." Wordlessly, Sharyn spread her hands and waited for his reply. "So." Bartoli fingered the top of his cane. "Recently, three families have arrived from Italy to our community. The fathers need to learn English as soon as possible. Their wives and children need to learn as well." "Of course," Sharyn agreed. "Learning English will help them adjust to life in a new country." "Buono. Good!" Bartoli praised, his eyes gleaming in satisfaction. "You understand. The Society of St. Joseph has found jobs for the men within our community but they still need to learn English so they will be able to fit into the greater one." Sharyn's pulse leapt in anticipation. "You want the Lilac Street School to help them do this?" "Si. The Society of Saint Joseph would like you to start a class not only for the adults but their children as well," 102


Bartoli said with a broad smile. Sharyn considered. "Why my school, Signor?" she asked. "I beg your pardon?" "Why my school?" she repeated. "There are many schools in London. Why have you chosen this one?" The flash of anger replacing the friendly glitter in Bartoli's eyes startled Sharyn. "Please take no offense, Signorina Winslow when I tell you that we approached two other schools before yours, ones that were closer to the new families' neighborhood. They both refused us." Puzzled, Sharyn asked, "What reason did they give?" "They claimed they did not have adequate staff, but I know the real reason. They dislike and mistrust foreigners." A muscle jumped in Bartoli's jaw. "People say we take jobs from the English. Or they think we are criminals, fleeing the authorities and are hiding here in your country." "I am so sorry, Signor Bartoli." An answering anger swelled in Sharyn's heart at petty minded people who would turn away children. "My countrymen can be so stupid at times. I have heard how the Italian community takes care of its own." "We try," Bartoli said simply. "We do not want to be a burden to our new country. I have great faith these new families will learn English very soon. So. Our inquiries have led us to the Lilac Street School." As Sharyn hesitated, he added, "We will pay you for your time, of course." She could take his money and not say a word. No matter how much he offered, it could put a dent in their need. All she had to do was say "yes" and keep silent about the rest. 103


But she couldn't do it. The eagerness in his eyes forced Sharyn to honesty. "Before you choose us, Signor Bartoli, I think you should know that before opening the school, I served time in prison for theft. So did many of my students. The Lilac Street School may not be the school you want for your families." A gentle smile creased Bartoli's face. "Yes, I know all this," he said. "Prison is where you learned Italian." "My word." Sharyn's mouth dropped open. "You know?" Her new patron nodded. "I have found in business it pays to stay informed, especially when one enters a new venture," he explained. "While you were in prison, you helped Maria Cavalli learn English. She is now the wife of one of St. Joseph's members." "We helped each other." Sharyn recalled her prison cellmate and friend. "Learning each other's language helped pass the time." Bartoli wagged a finger at her. "You are too modest, Signorina. Maria says your Italian is better than her English. You have changed, and now you help others like yourself to do the same. Your background is of no importance to us." Relief surged through her at his answer. "Thank you." "I thank you for your honesty, Signorina. So you will help us?" Sharyn did not hesitate. "I see no reason why we can't. The Lilac Street School is happy to welcome your families." Bartoli's smile bordered on brilliance. "You see? The stars smile on us. It is fated we should do business together." 104


Realizing he had charmed her into doing so, Sharyn laughed. "I shall look forward to it. It will be fun to practice my Italian with so many people." "Ah, but here is how we will help you!" Bartoli declared. "The Society of Saint Joseph is searching for someone who will assist you." "You don't need to do that," Sharyn said quickly. "Do you have another staff member who speaks Italian?" "No," Sharyn had to admit. "I don't." "Then you need an assistant. We of course will compensate that person as well." Bartoli took out his wallet, extracted a check and held it out. "Is fifty pounds enough?" Shock pushed the air from Sharyn's lungs. "F-fifty?" she stuttered. "Is it not enough?" Bartoli asked anxiously. "We would like you to have classes three times a week in the evening after the men finish at their jobs. It will be a great deal of work for you and take a great deal of time. Some of your new students know only a few words of English." Hands trembling, Sharyn took the check and tucked it in her pocket. "You are too kind, Signor Bartoli. I am grateful for your offer to find an assistant." "Not at all. It will need to be a very large class. The children will be too afraid to have their own class, so they must remain with their parents for now." A glimmer of apprehension crossed Bartoli's face. "That will be acceptable, si?"

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"Of course," Sharyn assured him. "We don't want the children to be frightened. How many people will be attending?" Relief shone in Bartoli's eyes. "There are eleven children among the three families, so with the parents you will have a class of seventeen. That is why the Society of Saint Joseph wishes to make such a large contribution as well as hire and pay for the tutor ourselves." Excitement was making breathing difficult. Sharyn forced herself to slowly inhale and ask, "How soon did you want these classes to start?" "Next week or perhaps the one after that. We have yet to find a tutor, but I promise you, one will be found." Sharyn could have kissed him in gratitude. "I think that will do very well, Signor Bartoli. Would you be so good as to ask your tutor to call on me after you make your decision?" Bartoli rose, cane in hand. "The stories I have heard of your kindness are not exaggerated, Signorina Winslow. I wish you a very good day." Bowing, he departed her office. Sharyn waited until she heard the familiar click of the front door closing before letting out a whoop of joy. Fifty pounds! Surely she could convince one of the roofers to let her make payments. With a few more speaking engagements, she could manage it. Maybe they could paint the classrooms! Put in a larger garden for George! She could keep her mother's jewelry. A happy sob broke from her throat and for a moment, Sharyn allowed herself a relieved torrent of tears. Then she 106


pulled out her handkerchief and scrubbed at her face while doing a little dance of joy. "We have fif-ty pounds," she sang, waving the check at the framed photograph of a dour Queen Victoria on the wall. "And when Mrs. Daniels recovers, I just know she will help us again." Everything would be all right. She was sure she could convince one of the roofers to let her make payments. She could even forgive Detective Tyler after Bartoli's visit. Recalling the newspaper account of his injury, she considered for the tiniest of seconds using some of Bartoli's money to send him a bouquet of get-well flowers. But imagining Leanne's reaction to that, Sharyn laughed the idea aside. Still clutching the check, she raced down the hall to share the good news with the others. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eleven "Belinda, I need to go back to my rooms. I've been here almost a week now and I can take care of myself." Belinda Hampson gave Nick the "I'm your older sister so you should do what I say" glare he remembered from boyhood. "Oh, really? I suppose that's why you've slept so much since you were almost killed?" "I wasn't almost—" "Don't argue with me, Nicolas Giovanni Tyler! Why did you have to chase that man? You weren't even on duty!" Belinda's hands fisted onto her hips. Nick sat up in bed and swung his legs to the floor of his old bedroom. Belinda had insisted—demanded rather—he stay at their parents' old home after he was released from hospital. He would have preferred the privacy of his rooms at the boarding house, but she and his grandmother would have none of that. They had acted as if his flesh wound was a life threatening injury. But flesh wound or not, it didn't make the damn thing hurt any less. Stinging pain raced down his left arm as he reached for his robe. Trying not to wince, Nick stood and pulled it on. He staggered a bit but waved aside Belinda's hurried reach to steady him. "You see?" he asked. "Just a bit wobbly from all the inactivity. I feel fine." His reassurance did nothing to stop her frown and before she could scold him again, he added, "I could hardly witness a 108


crime and do nothing, even if I wasn't on duty. And now, I am going back to my lodgings." "The only reason you're so keen on leaving is because of that note you received from what's-his-name, isn't it?" Belinda accused. "Constable Stanley Hopkins," Nick supplied. Hopkins' note delivered late yesterday said Fat Charlie needed to find him. "Just precinct tattle, that's all. But I do need to leave." "Oh, have it your way. But if I hear you are not following doctor's orders and trying to return to work before the month is up, I will personally pay a visit to Acting Commissioner Foster myself," Belinda threatened. "Never fear." Nick raked a hand through his hair. "Foster sent word to hospital for me not to return to work for a month or until a doctor pronounces me fit enough to do so." But in spite of that edict, he was not about to give up his chance on bringing down the Porter gang. Meeting Fat Charlie didn't require anything more than sitting in a pub. "Now listen to me, Nick." Belinda obviously wasn't finished with her scolding. Poking his chest, she ordered, "I want you to say something to Foster about replacing your clothing. The bullet hole and all that blood—" She turned but not before Nick saw tears streaming down her face. Checking his sigh, he put his arms around her. "Belinda, please." "I've already lost my parents to a thief's bullet," she gulped. "I refuse to lose my only brother to one as well." "You won't," he soothed. "You won't." 109


She stepped back and faced him, arms akimbo once more. "You better warn Foster if I ever get my hands on the man who shot you, I will personally strangle him." Nick kissed her on the forehead. "Which is why being in jail is that man's good fortune. Remind me not to tell you where they are holding him." "Hmmph!" But a tiny smile crept across Belinda's face. "I will let you tell Nonni that you are leaving. My wrath at your injury is nothing compared to hers." Nick pretended to shudder at the implied danger of facing their tiny Italian grandmother. "I suppose sneaking out of the house is not an option?" "It is not." Belinda's smile became one of extreme wickedness. "She's waiting in the parlor." After she left, Nick washed and dressed. Thank God the bullet hit his left shoulder and not his right. Otherwise shaving would be impossible. After running a comb through his hair, he headed for the staircase to face his beloved Nonni. Even after all this time, he still half expected to see his parents walk out of the familiar rooms. Every picture and every piece of furniture was stamped with their presence. After they died, Nick and his oldest sister Angela insisted the house go to the newly wed Belinda and her husband Robert. Nonni had joined them several years later when her health turned fragile. He found her in her usual chair. Her face lit up as it always did when she saw him and guilt pricked Nick's conscience. She had hardly left his bedside after he came home from 110


hospital. "Good morning, Nonni," he greeted, kissing her cheek. Two silver eyebrows rose in question. "So. You are going back to your own rooms? The food here, the accommodations do not agree with you?" Nick grinned at the old joke and pulled up a chair beside her. "You know better than that." She patted his cheek. "I am proud of you, Nicolo," she said. "Chasing down the bad man. Robert is proud, too." "Is he at work?" After the Tylers' murder, Belinda had insisted Robert leave the police force to run the family business. Half the Metropolitan police force patronized the tobacco and candy shop as much to honor Joseph and Rachel Tyler as to enjoy the well-stocked shelves. "Yes," Nonni said, nodding. "You should stop and see him on the way back to your rooms. You know, Nicolo, he would be proud to have you work with him." Her words caught him off guard. "Why should I do that?" "You would not get shot there," she said simply. "It would be quiet and safe. And your sisters and I wouldn't worry so much." Her words tugged at Nick's heart. Her only son's death had quite literally turned her dark hair white in a matter of months. Nick's decision to leave university and follow his father into police work hadn't helped. "Is that what you want me to do?" he asked gently, taking her hand in his. "You would not be happy anywhere else," she said. "Just like your father, stubborn as a Tuscan mule. He would be proud of you too, Nicolo." 111


Her hand, still strong enough to roll out sheets of pasta, trembled in his. "I promise I will be more careful," he said. "Very well." Nonni held up a warning finger. "I will let you go only with the greatest reluctance. You will come to dinner tomorrow, si? You will not break my heart and refuse?" Nick swallowed a laugh. Cecilia Angelina Sinopoli Tyler had arrived from Florence fifty years ago, married an Englishman and spoke his language better than most natives. But when she wanted, she could play the part of the Italian immigrant grandmother to great effect. Her cooking alone could get him to agree to do almost anything. "Of course I'll come. Did you remember to make my biscotti?" "Barbero! Barbarian. When do I not make your biscotti?" Her eyes, so like his father's, took on a mischievous twinkle. "Why don't I invite my friend Maria and her granddaughter, Alice, for coffee tomorrow afternoon?" Nick felt the velvet trap of matrimony open its jaws. "I'm not up to that just yet, Nonni." Her accusing stare could have rivaled Belinda's. "It has been too long, Nicolo," she reprimanded. "Other women are not like Kathleen Anderton." "I was just shot," Nick argued, wanting to avoid the old tired subject of his broken engagement. "I don't need to think about getting married just now." "Pah!" Nonni gestured with both hands, refusing to back down. "Kathleen could not accept your leaving university to become a policeman instead of an architect." The familiar bitterness filled Nick's mouth. "Neither could her father." Anderton had made it quite clear Nick's decision 112


to abandon what he called a "brilliant future career," was unacceptable if Nick wished to marry his youngest daughter. That Kathleen agreed with him had only made her breaking their engagement worse. Nick kissed the little matchmaker on the cheek again and rose. "Perhaps Anderton was right. A policeman for a son-inlaw could hardly have moved about the Andertons' kind of society." "Pah!" Nonni said scornfully. "Who cares for society?" Nick wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Not us. May I go now?" "Go," she ordered with a scowl. "And do not get shot again. I want to live to see my grandson's children." "Why do you need more grandchildren? Belinda and Angela have each given you three," he protested. Thank God Angela lived in Devonshire, too far away to add her opinion of his lack of marital status. "But you are the only grandson," she insisted. "You need a wife." He beat a hasty retreat for the kitchen. "I will see you tomorrow, cara. And no surprise visitors." Tucking the carefully wrapped biscotti into his coat pocket, Nick left the house, ignoring Belinda's suggestion he take a hansom back to his rooms. He wasn't ready to face the coddling his landlady of five years was bound to show him. He thought about going by the precinct, but according to Hopkins, nothing needed Nick's attention there. The younger man had sent daily messages to keep him informed and Nick owed him thanks. 113


Recalling the constable's fondness for Turkish cigarettes, Nick walked the short half mile to Tyler's Tobacco Shop. The overhead bell rang in greeting as he opened the door. "Hello, Robert," he called. Robert Hampson waved from behind the counter. "Hello, Nick. Going back to your rooms?" "Yes, and not a moment too soon." Nick put his hat on the counter. "Nonni is after me about getting married." Robert chuckled. "She's a born matchmaker, Nonni is. Did you see the story about you in the Post this morning? The newspapers can't stop talking about you. You should be proud of yourself." "Just doing my job." Nick shrugged his good shoulder. He looked about the shop with its shining counters and homemade curtains. "Do you want me to come and work with you?" "After you get off shift?" Robert asked. "No. All the time." His brother-in-law regarded him thoughtfully. "Belinda and Nonni are after you to leave the force, aren't they?" "Yes," Nick admitted. "And Dobbins is giving me hell every chance he gets." "Dobbins was always a bit of a stickler," Robert recalled. "But a precinct leader has to stay on top of things. Dobbins' job isn't an easy one." "Father should have had his job," Nick said bitterly. "He didn't know the benevolent fund was tainted but Dobbins turned him in, along with the others, anyway. He only borrowed from it because Mother was ill." 114


"He got off lucky," Robert reminded him. "The others were jailed. But you're good at your work, Nick. You wouldn't have risen so quickly through the force otherwise. There's no one to beat you for going about the slums in disguise. Remember that time you dressed like a beggar to find who was roughing up the dollymops in Haymarket? I walked right past you." Nick grinned at the memory. "One of my better disguises," he admitted proudly. Robert nodded in affirmation. "You see?" he said. "Just keep at it and don't worry about Dobbins. Acting Commissioner Foster knows your work and that's all that matters." For a moment, Nick considered telling him about the Porters. Robert Hampson too came from a long line of policeman and had left his mark on the Metropolitan force. Hearing his thoughts about the gang could be useful. But even talking with Robert was too big a risk to take. And thanks to that thief's bullet, Nick had lost far too much time. The bell's jingle announced a customer's arrival and a soft, feminine voice called, "Nicolas?" Another tightly closed door to his past swung open. Best to close it again straight away. Nick turned and said, "Good morning, Kathleen." Dressed in the height of fashion, Kathleen Horne, nee Anderton, hovered just inside the doorway. Worry rested on her perfect features. "I read about your injury in the newspapers," she said, slowly coming forward. "How are you?" 115


"Improving," Nick told her. "And you?" "I'm—I'm quite well," she said hastily. "So is Donald." Ah, the architect she married six months after breaking their engagement. "Good," Nick said. "Marriage seems to suit you." "I have three children now," she said, her green eyes searching his face for some kind of signal. "Donald has been made senior partner in the firm." Recalling the sullen, jealous man who once worked beside him, Nick asked, "Does he know you've come by?" Color flooded her face and she looked away. "No." "Doesn't do well to defy your husband, Kathy." Nick deliberately used his old pet name for her. "We've got a nice supply of Trichoponly and Turkish cigarettes just now, if you'd like to take him something. On the house, whatever you want." Her color deepened and Nick saw angry tears glittering in her eyes. "You would have made partner, Nicolas," she accused. "Papa would have seen to that. We could have had a wonderful life." "Thank you for coming by, Kathy." Nick leaned against the counter. "Give my best to your father." Her mouth tightening, she turned and departed, the door closing behind her with a most unladylike slam. Nick stared after her for a minute before looking at his brother-in-law and saying, "I'll take two dozen of your best Turkish cigarettes." "Since when did you take up smoking?" Robert asked, opening the display case. "My constable likes them," Nick said, putting on his hat. 116


Robert filled the order and handed it to him. "You got lucky, Nick," he said. "It takes a certain kind of woman to be married to a 'peeler'. Kathleen Anderton wasn't it. Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?" Nick slipped the package of cigarettes in his pocket. "If I want to go on living, I will. Don't you start playing matchmaker, too." Robert grimaced. "Perish the thought." Outside, Nick considered what to do. He couldn't visit his haunts in this suit. It marked him either as a peeler or a member of the press. Besides, Fat Charlie never met with him until after dark and, with gathering information about the Porters, he would be more cautious than usual. Damn. He had missed his appointment with Miss Winslow on Monday. How the blazes had he forgotten that? Not that his absence would have upset her. "What if you're chasing someone over the rooftops of London?" Her voice echoed in his memory and he could almost see the triumph in her eyes at his failure to appear. "She probably celebrated my not coming with a party," Nick muttered. Today was Saturday. Surely someone would be at the school. He would have the element of surprise on his side by going today. Besides, he needed to see Little Jack. He signaled an approaching hansom and it clattered to a halt. "Where to, guv?" the driver called. "The Lilac Street School, Clerkenwell." Nick climbed inside and gingerly leaned against the worn seat.

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"For what we are about to receive, oh, Lord—" Lacy glanced around the table to be sure all heads were bowed,"— make us truly grateful. Amen." "Amen," the others echoed. Chairs were pulled back and everyone sat. At one end of the table, George began carving the pork roast while at the other, Mrs. Briarley served up the vegetables. "There you go, Little Jack," she said, handing the boy a plate. "Pork roast and vegetables are my favorite," Little Jack and Henry chorused. The others were barely served before the little boys dove into their meal. "Easy", Mrs. Briarley cautioned. "You'll make yourselves sick if you eat so fast. There's plenty, I promise. And you'll want to save room for dessert." "I helped make it," Lacy boasted. Ralph gripped his throat in mock agony. "Are you sure it won't kill us?" Lacy made a face and the others laughed at the pair's ongoing tease. "You needn't fret, Ralph," Mrs. Briarley promised. "Lacy's a natural born cook." "Hello," a man's voice called from the hall. "Is anyone about?" Forks paused in mid-air and Sharyn looked towards the dining room door. Surely not. "Miss Winslow?" the voice called again. Exchanging glances with Mrs. Briarley, Sharyn hurried from into the hall. Nick Tyler stood by the front door, hat in hand, and she gasped at the change in his appearance. His 118


healthy complexion had paled and the set of his mouth suggested he and pain were well acquainted. His well fitting suit hung on him but the familiar teasing sparkle brightened his eyes when he saw her. "Good afternoon, Miss Winslow." "Detective Tyler?" She still could not believe it. "The very same. I came by to—" "What are you doing here?" she interrupted. "You were shot!" "That is correct. But as you can see I'm—" "Why are you even out of bed? You should be resting." She hurried to place a tentative hand on his forearm and her heart turned over. Even through his jacket sleeve he felt thin. "Are you well enough to be here?" His mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. "Well not fit as a fiddle, but very nearly." "But you were shot," Sharyn repeated in bewilderment. "Why did you ever leave hospital?" A wince followed his shrug. "Recovering in my sister's home proved far more restorative than hospital. Less noise. And the cooking is better." "Mister Nick! You came back!" Little Jack hurled himself down the hall and into Tyler's suddenly outstretched arms. He knelt and with a faint groan, lifted the boy in his arms. Settling him against his hip, Tyler said, "Of course I did. A policeman always keeps his word." He tapped the side of his nose and added, "But I've had a very important case keeping me busy. Do you still have the sixpence?" 119


Little Jack pulled the coin from his pocket and held it up as proof. "Can Mister Nick eat lunch with us, Miss Sharyn?" he pleaded. The child's innocent eyes gave Sharyn no choice but to say, "Of course you must join us, Mister Nick. We can always make room at the table." "I'll show you where it is." Little Jack wiggled down and, taking Tyler's hand, led him back to the dining room. Sharyn followed on their heels, praying Lacy wouldn't bolt from the room. They reached the door together and Sharyn called, "Look who came to see us, everyone. It's Detective Tyler." The other children stared and Sharyn quickly introduced the Fletchers. "And of course you know Lacy," she finished. To her relief, Lacy stayed seated, but her eyes narrowed at the sight of her nemesis. "You're late, peeler. Forget about me already?" Sharyn quickly swallowed her laugh at Tyler's stunned expression. How different Lacy looked from just days ago. She wore one of her new dresses and Deborah had shaped the girl's shaggy locks into a short but flattering style. She hardly resembled the tough street thief he had tried to arrest. "Detective Tyler had a very important case," she explained. "But he is here now." "Mister Nick came to see me," Little Jack said, the importance plain in his voice. "He wanted to have lunch with me." Lacy's scowl softened at the boy's words. "'Course he did, Little Jack," she agreed. 120


Tyler's gaze flickered at Sharyn and she shook her head slightly, praying he could read her thoughts. She and the other staff had agreed not to tell the children about the shooting. Tyler smiled at Lacy as he and Sharyn sat. "Good afternoon, Miss Lacy. You look well. It seems living with Miss Winslow agrees with you." A silent Mrs. Briarley rose and fetched a plate from the sideboard. Sitting down again, she filled it and passed it to Tyler. "I hope you aren't expecting anything fancy," she said. "By no means." He busied himself with his meal and gave Mrs. Briarley an admiring glance. "This is wonderful. Thank you." "Are you really a detective?" Ralph asked. "I am." "'ave you met Sherlock Holmes?" Daisy wanted to know. "Do you carry a gun?" Franny added. "Have you ever arrested anyone?" Henry chimed in. Tyler answered their questions with a grave respect and they listened in wide-eyed fascination. Only Lacy remained silent. At the last question, she visibly tensed and Tyler said quickly, "Only really bad people. And sometimes we arrest the wrong ones." He soon had everyone, even Lacy, laughing about the time he rescued a widow's cat from a tree and was scratched for his troubles. "I am," he told them, "an expert tree climber." Sharyn listened in silent astonishment. He had them eating out of his hand. Who would have guessed the street smart detective would be so good with children? But then she 121


recalled his boast of rocking his share of babies and she wondered again why he wasn't married. After they finished their meal, and Little Jack showed Tyler his room, Sharyn led him to the parlor. She gestured for him to sit. "How badly were you hurt, Detective?" He grimaced as he lowered himself into the highbacked chair. "A flesh wound to my left shoulder. If it had been the right, I'd be helpless. But it's still a damned nuisance trying to get undressed—" He stopped at her sudden laugh and bowed his head. "I beg your pardon, Miss Winslow. That was indelicate of me." A long dark fringe of lashes feathered below his eyelids. She had to admit he had very nice eyes and realized she was glad he had not been more hurt. "It's quite all right, Detective," she chuckled. "I am quite aware men dress and undress. And if you will recall, I have been in prison. So have most of my students. They can be quite colorful in their descriptions. At least now they say 'blooming' when they are upset instead of "bloody." It was his turn to laugh. "Do they indeed? You are teaching them to be genteel as well as how to read and write?" "It has been a bit of a challenge," Sharyn admitted. "But when you're on the streets or in prison, rough language is sometimes all you have." "And the children under your care?" She smiled at the thought. "I doubt if the Fletchers—the family you met—and Little Jack know foul language." "And Lacy?" 122


Ah, back to the eternal subject between them. In spite of her concern for him, she still suspected he had plans for Lacy. Plans that could include taking her to jail if he could only catch her. But the concern in his voice surprised her. "If she does, I haven't heard her use it," Sharyn said cautiously. "She's trying, Detective Tyler, she really is." He sat back and regarded her, his expression thoughtful. "It is a very serious vocation you pursue, Miss Winslow," he said, "and at times a sad one, I should think." "Did you see any sad faces at the lunch table?" Sharyn asked. "The children know we love them." "Children are usually easy to love," he said gently. "Even children like Lacy?" "Even them," he agreed. "How does she progress with her studies?" Pride swelled Sharyn's heart. "She has surprised us with how much she knows. Her reading is excellent and she has a head for numbers. Her spelling needs work but that will come. The Fletcher children adore her and so does Little Jack." "Does Lacy feel the same way about Little Jack?" "How could anyone not love Little Jack?" "How indeed, Miss Winslow." His soft, caressing voice sent the most interesting sensations curling down Sharyn's back. He sat forward as if to speak again, but as he did, a spasm of pain crossed his face and he clutched his left shoulder.

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Alarmed, Sharyn hurried to him. She caught a faint whiff of the citrus scent he wore and gently touched his right shoulder. "Do you need help, Mister Nick?" He shook his head, but his face had paled and it was a moment before he said, "A momentary twinge. It will pass." "I think you need to go home and rest," Sharyn insisted. "There is no need for you to return on Monday. Lacy is doing well. Perhaps Wednesday or later, if you are feeling stronger." He nodded wearily. "We shall see. Thank you for luncheon." He rose and gave her what she guessed was supposed to be a carefree smile, but the pain in his eyes did not fool her. She walked him to the front door and offered him her hand. "I am glad to see one of 'London's finest' is up and about so soon after being injured in the line of duty." "It takes more than a bullet to slow down a Tyler." His hand's warmth swept over her, once more making her traitorous heart spring into a gavotte. And then ignoring her brain's command for common sense, she kissed his cheek. His eyes widened and her cheeks flamed with a sudden heat. Stumbling back, she blurted, "I— I'm sorry." Her startled image reflected from his eyes. "Good day, Miss Winslow. Thank Mrs. Briarley for me." He opened the door and made his way down the steps. Only after he had hailed a cab and departed did Sharyn close the door and lean against it. Good Heavens! What had she just done? [Back to Table of Contents] 124


Chapter Twelve "One hundred pounds?" Sharyn stared at the roofer from behind her desk. Leanne and Deborah stood by in stunned silence. 'Fraid so, Miss," the man said, wiping his forehead with a grimy handkerchief before stuffing it back into an equally grimy trouser pocket. "Yer dry rot is sumpin' awful. We're gonna need to do a whole lot of work. When didja want me to get started?" Sharyn had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak again. "Do you allow for monthly payments?" The man let out a bark of laughter. "Monthly payments?" he hooted. "I'd never get paid. You carn't trust people, no offense, Miss." "I see." Sharyn stood and took the estimate from his outstretched hand. "I will let you know." "Best get started soon," the roofer warned. "You don't want the whole thing to come crashing down on ye while yer sleeping." "She said she'll let you know," Deborah said firmly. The man's expression turned crafty. "Oh, I think you best let me know soon, Miss. This is a school, ain't it? And you've got children living here too. Havin' them here in an unsafe building is most likely illegal. I've a mind to report you to the Housing Authority." "The Housing Authority?" Sharyn's mouth fell open. "You can't do that." 125


"I'd consider it my professional and civic duty," the roofer said pompously. "As well as my duty as a father." Taking in his grizzled appearance, Leanne made a sound suspiciously like a snort. "Duty as a father? Your children are probably older than I am." He smirked in answer. "It's your funeral, Miss. I'll check back with you in a day or two." He sauntered from the room and Deborah demanded, "Can he do that? Report us to the Housing Authority?" "I've never heard of a Housing Authority," Leanne declared. "Have you, Sharyn?" "No." The single word barely got past the lump in Sharyn's throat. "And one hundred pounds to repair the roof? Does he plan to put up golden shingles?" Deborah demanded. Sharyn crumpled the paper. "One of the other roofers only wanted eighty but couldn't start for a month. Signor Bartoli's windfall is about to vanish into a pile of slates and nails." Deborah looked Leanne. "Do you suppose we could ask Aunt Hildegarde to make a contribution?" Leanne shook her head. "She's traveling in Greece and her solicitor will only contact her if it's a matter of life and death." "Then we must all speak at clubs and churches about our work," Deborah rejoined. "I know half a dozen ladies who—" Sharyn shook her head. "How can we possibly raise what we need in a day or two?" A sense of finality gathered around her heart. "There's only one thing to do. I'm going to pawn my mother's jewelry." "Sharyn, no," Deborah pleaded. 126


"We don't have any choice," Sharyn said simply. "I would never forgive myself if the roof collapsed and hurt you or one of the students." "At least let us try to raise it," Leanne argued. "No." Sharyn consulted the open ledger on her desk again and then closed it. "There's still time to go to the pawnshop before it closes. Would you ask Mrs. Briarley to hold dinner? I won't be long." She felt their gaze follow her from the office. Upstairs in her bedroom, she took the tiny jewelry box from her bureau. Knowing one last look would undo her resolve, she put the box in her purse, put on her coat and hat and returned downstairs. Forcing a determination she did not feel into her steps, she left for the neighborhood pawnshop. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Thirteen Fat Charlie stared through the smoke of the cheroot clamped between his teeth as Nick eased into the back booth of the Flying Pig. "You don't look so good, Nick," he greeted with a grin. "'Ow you feeling?" "I'm fine," Nick lied and shoved a mug before the forger. A late afternoon drizzle had produced a steady ache in his shoulder. The usual patrons stood at the bar or crowded in the tables beside them, providing enough noise to keep their conversation safe. Wincing as he sat back, he eyed Charlie over the rim of his mug. "You're out early," he noted. Charlie's smile vanished like the cheroot's drifting smoke. He blinked several times, his gaze traveling between the front door and Nick's face. "'Ad too. I've got business tonight." "Delivering something for a customer?" Nick guessed. "No need to get fresh," Charlie said. "I'm bringing you news, ain't I?" "Sorry." Nick rubbed his shoulder. Would the damn thing ever stop aching? "What do you have for me?" Charlie took a long pull of his ale before answering. "Alice says the Porters are planning a robbery of some kind. Something big," he rasped. "You gotta promise me you'll get her out of London before the job, some place where they can't find her. It ain't her fault she got sucked in. She's always been a soft touch for pretty things." "All right," Nick said reluctantly. "You're quite sure she's not involved with them? Doing small jobs? 128


"Well—" Leaning forward, Nick grabbed the forger by the wrist. "You better not play me false, Charlie," he husked. "How deeply is Alice involved with them?" Charlie jerked his wrist free. "Awright," he muttered. "But she only did it once to prove to her old man that she's on his side." "Did what?" "She took a necklace from a shop," Charlie admitted. "Got clean away with it, too. She looks right ladylike does my Alice." "And if they ask her to steal again?" Nick asked. "She swore to me she wouldn't. Please don't charge her, Nick," Charlie's voice rose. "You gotta get her and me out of London. If the Porters find out I know anything or that she's told me what they're about, our lives won't be worth sixpence." "Shhh," Nick waved him to silence. "I'll see what I can do. What else?" Charlie took another swallow of his ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "One of Spencer Jones' kids has gone missing. Disappeared like the others. Says the boy has the lightest touch 'e's ever seen. Lift your watch right out of your pocket and you wouldn't even know it." "Ticked off about the loss of income, is he?" Nick did not bother to hide his sarcasm. Spencer Jones ran a gang of boy pickpockets in Bethnal Green.

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"A man's got a right to earn a living in the best way he can," Charlie insisted. "And Spencer takes good care of his boys. Makes sure they eats proper and—" "I'll ask the Queen to give him a medal," Nick interrupted. "What does Jones want me to do about it?" Disgust replaced the fear on Charlie's face. "There's more talk of that secret workhouse for kids. Spencer thinks that's where his boy got took." Nick stared into his untouched mug of cider. "Any talk of what kind of work they're made to do?" "Not so's I've heard." "Anything about them forced to do something—" in his simmering anger Nick hesitated before adding "—unsavory or sinister?" The forger's voice rose slightly. "What 'cha trying to say?" "Come now, Charlie," Nick taunted grimly. "We both know there are those who snatch children for darker purposes than work in a factory. There are plenty of people out there with perverted desires. Do I need to make it any plainer?" Charlie's mouth was agape with horror. "Lord save us, no! I ain't heard nuttin' about that." He visibly trembled at Nick's suggestion. "I'd come straight way to your station if I heard anything that foul." "Good. Anything else?" Nick raised his mug and took sip. "Yeah. Spencer says one of his other boys got a look at him that snatched his kid. Says 'e looked like a cop." Nick managed to set the mug on the table without spilling the contents. "Why does he say that?" 130


Charlie's grin revealed a missing eyetooth. "Ah, come on Nick. Most of us can spot a peeler ten feet off. You's learned to blend in right nice. Them others have an attitude. One peek and the kid swore it was one of your kind." A policeman. Involved in kidnapping children. Nick's brain refused to consider it. After what happened to his father, he knew that police officers were just as capable of illegal acts as any other man. But one involved in harming children? Disgust rolled his stomach into knots. "Is that all?" "Just a bit more." Charlie's smile turned crafty. "I hear Lightfingers is still plying her trade." "There you are mistaken. Lacy Allen is no longer on the streets." Nick drained his mug and set it aside. "Well, then she's got a twin," Charlie retorted. "Just before I got here, some kid looking like Lightfingers robbed Joise the flower vendor outside the Cat and Fiddle just down from Becket's Bakery and made off like greased lightning. And just before that, old Becket said the same girl snatched a sack of bread he put aside for a soup kitchen right off the counter." Nick tossed some coins on the table and dashed to the door. Outside he tried to hurry past the denizens to reach the main street, but had to stop to catch his breath. His shoulder throbbed and he cursed at the weariness slowing his pace. Before being shot, he could work for days on end, needing only a few hours of sleep. But tired or not, he was talking to Lacy Allen. Now. If she had just robbed Old Becket, she would need wings to get back to Clerkenwell before he did. And if she had run from Miss Winslow's and the teacher hadn't reported it, she would 131


have a great deal of explaining to do. Even if she had kissed him. Since that kiss, Sharyn Winslow's image filled his thoughts without warning, even to the point of haunting his dreams. Dreams of tasting her lips, inhaling her soft scent, of touching her... He glanced at his battered clothing. No time to change. Swearing under his breath at the thought of revealing his methods to Miss Winslow, he hailed a cab and directed it to Clerkenwell. Rain battered the roof and sluiced down the windows in rivulets. The storm had started with a frightening speed, darkening the sky to an eerie shade of dark green, then onyx. In the distance a roll of thunder followed a jagged flash of lightning. Sharyn stood before the window, drumming her fingers against the glass. Where was she going to get more money? The pawnbroker had offered a miserly fifteen pounds for her mother's jewelry. Even with that, they could not pay for the roof and their bills. And if that man did report them to the Housing Authority... The doorbell's chime made her jump. With another quick glance at the sky, she hurried toward the hall. A rumbling began overhead, a long, ominous roll, gathering in strength. As she opened the door, a clash of thunder exploded and a burst of lightning raked the sky. Sharyn stumbling backwards with a cry and she gaped at the nearly unrecognizable figure on the front porch. A rain-beaded frayed jacket and rumpled trousers had replaced Nick Tyler's usual neat suit and from beneath a 132


battered cap, his brown eyes glittered. Dark stubble covered his cheeks making him look scruffy, rough and dangerous. Certainly not like a man recovering from a gunshot wound. "Detective Tyler," she gulped. "What on earth—" "Aren't you going to invite me inside?" Old suspicions flared at his surprise visit. "It's Monday, Detective. I thought you weren't coming until later in the week." "You're not happy to see me?" Steel edged his voice and raindrops scattered about the floor as he stepped into the foyer. "And here I thought we were getting along so well. After all, you did kiss me." And I've kicked myself a hundred times since then. "A moment of sympathy for your injury. I assure you it won't happen again," Sharyn said coolly. "Why are you here?" "I come on official business." "Does anything else ever bring you?" A muscle jumped in his jaw. "May we talk privately?" Silently, she led him back to the parlor and watched him grimace as he lowered his frame on a high backed chair. "Are you not feeling well, Detective?" she asked, taking the chair next to him. "Have you ever been shot, Miss Winslow?" he asked, taking off the cap and placing it over his knee. Her cheeks burned at her earlier rudeness. "I beg your pardon, Detective Tyler. What did you need?" "I need to speak with Lacy Allen. Now, if you please." Sharyn frowned. Would the man never leave Lacy alone? "Why?" 133


His gaze pinned her to her chair. "A short while ago someone answering Lacy's description robbed Josie, a crippled flower vendor and just before that stole a sack of bread from Becket's bakery, which is not too far from here." Shock halted Sharyn's response. "You're accusing her Lacy of robbing someone?" she finally asked. "Today? That's ridiculous." Tyler gave her a humorless smile. "Then you certainly will not mind me asking her about it." "I don't think she's here right now." Sharyn tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "Why is that? Has she run from your safe haven to return to her old life?" "Of course not!" Sharyn protested. "Lacy likes it here. Why should she run away?" "So is she here or not?" Tyler questioned. "Or don't you know the whereabouts of your students?" Sharyn gripped the edges of the chair as choking an officer of the court would not be a good idea. "I resent the insinuation, Detective. Lacy went shopping with Mrs. Briarley and I don't know if they've returned. I have had school affairs to manage. Perhaps you would like to borrow the rack or the iron maiden we have in the cellar to question her." "It's a simple matter, easily settled," Tyler responded with maddening calm. "Let us see if Lacy is here and how long she's been back." Sharyn got to her feet. "You really are a piece of work, Detective. Do you think Lacy would steal while she was with Mrs. Briarley?" 134


"If she is innocent, if my information is wrong, then you and she have nothing to worry about," he repeated. Drat his coolness. "Very well. We shall see." Not caring if he followed her or not, Sharyn strode out to the hall and the kitchen. "Mrs. Briarley?" she called. "Are you back?" "Yes, Miss?" The cook stepped from the pantry and Sharyn's heart sank. Lacy was nowhere to be seen. "Is Lacy not with you?" she asked. "I forgot to pick up the ham bones at the butcher's," Mrs. Briarley explained. "She volunteered to go back for 'em." "How long has she been gone?" Tyler had joined them. "If it's any of your business, Detective," Mrs. Briarley said tartly, "she's been gone about three quarters of an hour. Why?" "A short while ago someone resembling Lacy attacked a crippled flower vendor and stole a loaf of bread from Becket's bakery." Sharyn struggled to keep her voice calm. "Or so Detective Tyler says." "That's ridiculous!" Mrs. Briarley sputtered. "Lacy wouldn't do no such thing." "Of course not," Sharyn agreed, glaring at Tyler. "Did you ask her to go anywhere besides the butcher's?" Mrs. Briarley's fingers traced the waist of her apron. "Well, I did ask her to go by Becket's and see if he had that raisin tart the children like so much." "How convenient," Tyler commented. "And Josie sits two doors down from Becket's." 135


Sharyn spun on her heel. "I don't care what your so-called witnesses say, Lacy would not attack a crippled woman! And she most certainly wouldn't steal a loaf of bread or anything else." "That remains to be seen," Tyler said. Even in the kitchen's dim light, Sharyn could see the anger sparkling in his eyes. "What'cha want, peeler?" Three heads swiveled to the kitchen's back door. Shopping bags tucked under one arm, a soaked-to-the-skin Lacy gave Tyler a scowl that could have curdled new milk. "I didn't hear you come in," Tyler accused. "Moves like a cat, our Lacy." Mrs. Briarley praised. "Where have you been, dear?" Sharyn asked. Her stony expression did not change as she put the bags on the table. "The butcher's, like Mrs. Briarley asked." "Did you—" Tyler started to ask, but Sharyn's ferocious look silenced him. "Did you go to Becket's Bakery?" she finished for him. "Tried to, but there was all these people yelling and running around, so I didn't." Lacy cocked her head. "What's the matter?" "Did anyone see you?" Sharyn asked. Believe in her. Believe her. "Someone that knows you?" "Old Max, him that sells cigarettes. I bought some for Mr. George." Lacy reached into her dress pocket and produced a sodden pack. Her sullen expression crumpled. "Damn," she muttered. "They're all wet." Sharyn did not hold back her sigh. "I think that answers your questions, Detective. We won't keep you any longer." 136


"What's this about?" Lacy demanded. "I ain't done nothing." "Someone looking like you robbed Becket and Josie the flower vendor about the same time you were doing your errands," Tyler told her. "Did you see anything?" Lacy's face turned dark red. "You think I'd do that? While I'm helping Missus Briarley?" She lunged at Tyler but Sharyn grabbed her, wrapping her arms around her chest. "Detective Tyler, I think you better go," she ordered. "I'll talk to Old Max." Tyler's face remained expressionless. He turned and left the kitchen, his near-silent tread echoing softly behind him. "Bleeding rouser!" Lacy howled at his retreating back, her arms flailing in the air. "Hush, dear," Sharyn hugged her. "He's gone." "I didn't do it," Lacy insisted. "I wouldn't." Sharyn turned the girl around and knelt before her. "I believe you. So does Mrs. Briarley." "Bleeding rouser," Mrs. Briarley echoed. "Come here Lacy and help me finish dinner." Sharyn left Lacy to the older woman's comfort and returned to the hall. To her dismay, Tyler waited at the front door. "Why are you still here?" she asked. "Haven't you done enough?" His mouth twisted into a frown of annoyance. "It is not my intention to inconvenience you, Miss Winslow, but I will do my job." 137


Any earlier sympathy for his injury vanished. "I thought you weren't working," she accused. "I can hardly ignore a criminal act when I'm in the next shop over," he said, coolly. "You're just waiting for a reason to haul Lacy off to jail," Sharyn accused. "Did you bring Little Jack here just to give you another reason to spy on her? Or on me?" "Do I need to?" Her pulse hammered as the anger returned to his coffee colored eyes. A dark, dangerous sensuality simmered beneath his battered clothing, one that whispered of long nights with entwined limbs beneath love soaked sheets. Heat curled in her loins and even with her fury matching his, Sharyn could not deny the desire he stirred in her. "Mister Nick!" Little Jack darted down the hall. "You came to see me!" "Hello, Little Jack." Tyler scooped the boy into his arms and ruffled his hair. "Are they teaching you to read?" "A, B, C, D—" Little Jack halted, his expression eager. "Good work," Tyler praised. He took a coin from his pocket and gave it to the boy before setting him down. "I thought your sixpence might be lonely." "Can you stay and play with me?" Little Jack said eagerly. "Perhaps another time. He has a case to investigate, don't you, Detective?" Sharyn took Little Jack's hand. "Goodbye, Detective Tyler."

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He smiled at the boy but the light in his eyes promised he was not done with her. Bowing, he said, "Until we meet again, Miss Winslow." And opening the door, he stepped out into the torrent. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Fourteen "Sharyn, what took you so long?" Deborah gave her a dismayed look as she stepped into the foyer. "The women's group I spoke to this morning had a great many questions," Sharyn told her. "Unfortunately their donations did not match their curiosity, more's the pity." Hanging her hat on the hall tree, she asked, "Is something wrong? Deborah's glance flickered down the hall. "Signor Bartoli arrived fifteen minutes ago and brought the new tutor with him." "He found one already?" Sharyn was impressed. "I hope Mrs. Briarley gave them coffee." Deborah fingered her lace collar. "She did, but I think you'd best hurry." It was not like her friend to be so nervous. Sharyn looked down the hall and back at Deborah. "For goodness sake, why are you so flustered? Did he bring the Prime Minister?" "Just you go see." Deborah spun on her heel and hurried down the hall. "Lord, could we please have just one day without surprises?" Sharyn prayed aloud, following her friend to the parlor. From behind the door she could hear Signor Bartoli's light tenor voice. A chill rippled down her spine in recognition at his companion's reply and her hand clutched the doorknob. No. It simply couldn't be. She looked at Deborah, who gave a quick nod before disappearing into her classroom. Taking a 140


deep breath, Sharyn opened the door and the two men inside rose from their chairs. "Good morning, Signorina Winslow." Bartoli bowed. "Forgive our unexpected arrival, but I wanted you to know as soon as possible. The Society of Saint Joseph has found you an assistant. This is—" "Detective Nicolas Tyler," Sharyn finished, keeping her gaze on the tall man standing beside her benefactor. Lord, this isn't one bit funny. Amen. Bartoli's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You are acquainted?" "We are." Detective Tyler inclined his head. "Good morning, Miss Winslow." "Good morning, Detective Tyler." Sharyn would have given a great deal to know how Tyler would explain their acquaintance. Standing with his hands behind his back, Tyler bore the resigned look of man about to face a firing squad. Or Sharyn. Trying to ignore the light of curiosity in Bartoli's eyes, Sharyn said, "I had no idea you spoke Italian, Detective Tyler." "My grandmother is Italian. She taught me." "Oh." "It was Signora Tyler who suggested Detective Tyler to me," Bartoli told her. "He was only too happy to agree to help." "Was he indeed?" She could hardly strangle Tyler in front of a witness. 141


"I am," Tyler echoed. A twinkle begin in his eyes and lips twitched with the threat of becoming a satisfied smile. Enjoying her discomfort, was he? They would see about that. "Well, I will leave the two of you to arrange your schedule," Signor Bartoli said cheerfully. "The Society of Saint Joseph is in your debt, Signorina Winslow. Thank you again, Detective Tyler. Arrivederci." "Arrivederci," they echoed as Bartoli left the room and closed the door behind him. After his footsteps died away, Sharyn let loose her anger. "You are despicable, Detective Tyler. This is just another way to come spy on Lacy." Annoyance twisted his lips into a frown. "Signor Bartoli only approached me this morning, Miss Winslow. I had no idea it would be at your school until I had agreed to his request." "After yesterday you expect me to believe that?" Maybe now that they were alone, she could strangle him. But what would she do with the body? "I do because it is the truth. Miss Winslow, I realize our past meetings have not been without conflict—" Sharyn did not even try to control her burst of laughter. "Conflict? That's an interesting way to put it. Your arrest sent me to prison, you arrested one of my students and yesterday you were prepared to drag Lacy off to jail. Oh, yes, I would say all our meetings have been full of conflict." His frown turned into a scowl. "Liz was guilty as sin and we both know it," he reminded her. "And it was you that made that extraordinary offer to Magistrate Hudson on Lacy's behalf." 142


Sharyn returned his scowl. "I was not about to let Lacy be prosecuted for stealing a handbag that only held cab fare! If I had dreamed you would be part of the arrangement—" "You would have done no differently," he said. "Because of that, we were already 'sentenced' to spend time together before Bartoli approached me. I have my reasons for accepting his request." He stepped forward to tower over her. "But what about you?" "What?" A pulse began to beat in Sharyn's throat as she met his gaze. Yesterday's shabby clothing was replaced by the usual well-cut suit that emphasized his very long legs and broad shoulders. Nemesis or not, Nick Tyler would be incredibly handsome in whatever he wore. Or not. Unbidden, images filled her head. Images of running her hands over the smooth skin of his shoulders and chest or what would surely be the flat muscled plane of his belly— "Is something wrong, Miss Winslow?" "What?" She blinked and heat scorched her face, for his concentrated gaze suggested he had read her thoughts. "I asked why you agreed to work for the Society of St. Joseph?" he asked. Sharyn fought the urge to take out her handkerchief and fan herself. Merciful Heavens, she must be coming down with the flu, if she was having fantasies about Nick Tyler. She cleared her throat and adopted a professional tone. "Because Signor Bartoli asked me," she said. "And offered a very generous sum to do so." 143


"I don't doubt it," Tyler said. "St. Joseph's is the largest benevolent society in the Anglo-Italian community. But why choose your school? Why Lilac Street?" "Because two other schools turned him down. Signor Bartoli said they didn't want any part of teaching immigrants." "No doubt because they were Italian?" A dark flush covered Tyler's face and Sharyn considered how such an insult might offend his heritage. "I'm afraid so," she admitted. Signor Bartoli learned from a mutual friend I speak Italian." "So you accepted his request merely to be helpful?" Her patience broke. "Will you stop acting like a policeman for just one moment?" she demanded. "I need the money for the school. My most generous patron is ill, my roof needs to be replaced—" "What's wrong with the roof?" He darted a glance overhead, as if expecting the ceiling to come crashing down on him. She ran a hand over her hair. "It has dry rot and will cost me a fortune to replace it," she said. "But you are only here because of Lacy. Admit it." "Miss Winslow, I have no desire to be here more than is necessary. I have cases I could be investigating, but I have given my word to Bartoli. So it appears we are stuck together more than ever." "I thought you weren't permitted to return to work for a month," Sharyn said, recalling his statement from the other day. 144


He shrugged. "One can gather information by just sitting in a pub and listening to people talk." Recalling his shabby appearance, Sharyn's curiosity got the better of her and she gestured for him to sit. When they were settled, she asked, "Is that what you were doing yesterday? Investigating a case?" "Yes." His tone suggested other questions were not welcome. She didn't care. "Have you spoken to Old Becket and that flower vendor?" "Josie," Tyler's voice took on the familiar edge. "Not yet. As I told you yesterday, Miss Winslow, I have a job to do and if I have to ask hard, unpleasant questions, even of a child, then I will do so. But in a way, I am doing you a favor by agreeing to help Signor Bartoli." Sharyn fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. "Are you indeed? How are you doing that?" He crossed his legs and said, "I can check on Lacy while I help you teach. We are, in effect, killing two birds with one stone." "You'll frighten her and the children," Sharyn accused. "Did any of them appear frightened when we ate together?" Tyler defended himself. "I recall telling you I have nephews and nieces. Believe it or not, children usually like me." "You mean when you're not arresting them?" Sharyn hurled the words at him like a lance. He got to his feet with a surprising speed. "I do not arrest children! What kind of man do you take me for, Miss 145


Winslow? I arrested Lacy because of the accusations against her, not because I wished her harm." Good Heavens, how could anger make a man even better looking? How beastly unfair she would have to endure him in her school three days a week to help keep the school open. Reluctantly she said, "I apologize. That was uncalled for. Other than serving your community, why did you accept Bartoli's request?" He sat down again. "I need the money." That was not the answer she expected. "I beg your pardon?" "Come now, Miss Winslow. While I am not working, I draw no salary. Like you, I have expenses to pay. The Society of Saint Joseph's payments will help with those until I am fit for duty. Surely as a woman who works for a living, you understand that." She had not considered his loss of wages. What did a London detective with his experience earn? Of course he would be in need of funds and remembering Bartoli's generosity, wondered what he had paid Tyler. "How did Signor Bartoli know to ask you?" "You heard him mention my grandmother? You may lay the blame entirely upon her. She heard of the new families and volunteered my services. You know how meddlesome grandmothers can be." "No, I don't." Remembrance dawned in his eyes. "I beg your pardon, Miss Winslow. I had forgotten our earlier conversation about your youth." 146


"No harm done, Detective," she said crisply. "Is your grandmother always so persuasive?" He held up a finger in mock warning. "When Nonni tells us to do something, we do it and ask no questions. But she always phrases it as a favor and before we realize it, we are trapped." Devoted to his grandmother as well? Where was the hardedged policeman? Sharyn's curiosity turned to confusion. And she did not like being confused. Her new assistant cocked his head. "So, Miss Winslow. Do we call a truce or do you leave me to whatever punishment my grandmother can devise?" With her own quick glance at the ceiling, Sharyn held back her sigh and surrendered to the inevitable. "Since Signor Bartoli has gone to the trouble of hiring you, it seems I must accept." "How very accommodating of you," Tyler said dryly. "What schedule would you like to keep?" Sharyn considered. "Might you come at half-past four on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays? We could teach for an hour and a half." "I think that would suit. You say you speak Italian?" "I learned it in prison." Let him make what he wanted of that. "And I have Italian neighbors, so I occasionally have time to practice." "Do you like the food?" he asked, switching to Italian. "Very much," she answered in the same language. "Food for the gods, Miss Winslow. If today's armies ate my grandmother's cooking—" 147


"Rome would still rule the world?" His mouth fell open and then he laughed. "Brava, Signora Winslow," he praised. "Nicely done. Shall we start next week?" Sharyn nodded and asked, "Did Signor Bartoli tell the families that you are a policeman?" "Yes. There was no reason to keep such information from them and he did not want them to be frightened. They have enough of an adjustment to make as it is." A thought occurred to Sharyn. "Is your mother as persuasive as your grandmother?" His pleasant expression fled, leaving one carved from granite. "My parents are dead, Miss Winslow," he said flatly. "They were shot and killed in their tobacco and candy store eight years ago." Horror sent a prickling chill racing over her. Shaking, she gripped her hands together. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know." "No reason you should," he said. "Isn't it odd we have at least one thing in common?" "What?" She could not stop trembling. "We both know how it feels to lose our parents. And now I believe I've taken up enough of your time. Good day to you." Even if good manners didn't require her to walk him to the door, she would have done so after his admission. An admission that left her heart slamming against her ribs. "Detective Tyler?" "Yes?" He took his hat from the hall tree. "Did they ever find the men who—" her voice faltered. 148


"Murdered my parents? No. That's why I became a policeman." His granite expression remained fixed. "I'm sorry," she repeated. Dark memories reflected back at her from the fathomless depths of his eyes. Looking up at the ceiling, he asked, "How much does it cost to repair a roof?" "I've had estimates of up to one hundred pounds." The words even tasted expensive. He lowered his gaze to consider her. "Isn't that a bit much?" "Would you like to volunteer your services for that while you're here?" Sharyn teased. A mocking, arrogant Tyler she could manage. Not the man who obviously still grieved his loss. A shadow of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I think not. Arrivederci, Signorina Winslow." Closing the door behind him, Sharyn brushed at the sudden tears pricking her eyes. "You're just worried about Lacy and the roof," she told herself. "You have no reason to feel sorry for Nick Tyler. He never denied being after Lacy. It's the roof." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Fifteen Sharyn closed the moneybox and sighed. Since last week, she had given no fewer than six lectures to a variety of groups, trying to raise the money they needed, but even with five pounds, six shillings, it was far too little for what they needed. Every time the doorbell rang, she imagined the leering roofer arriving with a citation in his hand to "close these premises immediately." Where would they go if he came? Today was Tuesday. The Italian students would arrive in an hour's time and her lecture schedule, not to mention her worry, had prevented her from finishing the first lesson plan. That and her inability to stop thinking about Nick Tyler. His revelation had haunted her since his departure. His parents had been killed. Shot down in their place of business. Even thinking about it filled her with an aching sorrow. How could anyone survive such a loss without collapsing under the weight of such immeasurable grief? Sharyn had only bits of memory of her mother, and of her father, none at all. To have your parents die after years of love and... No. It didn't bear thinking about. With his admission, Nick Tyler had opened a window to glimpse the man behind the detective, a man who whose loss ran deeper than Sharyn's own and stirred a strange sympathy. She never should have kissed him that day. It was done out of sympathy for his being shot, of course. But his accusation of Lacy robbing those two people brought back 150


every ounce of suspicion Sharyn had for him. He had been nothing but a pain since the very first day she met him. So why did her heart begin a curious thumping every time she thought of him? She shook head as the fantastical images of him during their last conversation rose in her mind. She would certainly have to bury those, otherwise, teaching would be next to impossible. She didn't even like Nick Tyler. "You wanted to see me, Miss Sharyn?" Lacy ambled into the parlor, and Sharyn was gratefully able to turn her attention to another area of concern. Deborah had told her that twice in the last week, Lacy had fallen asleep and she had sent her back to bed after lunch. "Come in, dear." Sharyn noted the circles under Lacy's eyes as she slumped into a chair. "Did you not sleep well last night?" "I'm all right." Lacy gave an enormous yawn. "What did you want me for?" Bracing herself for the girl's reaction, Sharyn said carefully, "I need to tell you that, starting today, Detective Tyler will be coming here three afternoons a week to—" "Why?" Fear jerked Lacy into an upright position, as all weariness fled from her eyes. Half expecting her to bolt for the door, Sharyn came from behind the desk to stand beside her. "He's helping me teach English to some new Italian families in the area," she explained. "But why him?" Lacy demanded. "I've got enough trouble from him as it is." 151


"Because he speaks Italian and the local Italian community hired him," Sharyn said. "They hired me as well." "You speak Italian?" Lacy stared at her in open-mouthed wonder. "Yes. And Detective Tyler is part of the arrangements. He's still recovering—" Sharyn's words died away, recalling she had still not told the children about the shooting. "Recovering from what?" Lacy asked. Deciding even children needed to know the truth, Sharyn said carefully, "He was chasing a thief and the thief shot him. He is not permitted back to work just yet and so has time on his hands." Lacy gave an unsympathetic chuckle. "Must not be a very good peeler if he got himself shot." "Lacy!" Sharyn reprimanded. "Bet 'cha the teaching's an excuse to come and spy on me," Lacy insisted, sliding down in her chair. Ignoring the temptation to agree with her, Sharyn said, "It's only for the teaching." "He wanted to take me to jail the other day. I'd be there now if it weren't for you," Lacy said sullenly. "Do I have to talk to him every time he comes?" "No," Sharyn assured her. "In fact, you won't have to talk to him at all. I'll tell him how well you've been doing. All I am asking you is to be polite to him when he comes. Can you at least try that?" "Awright," Lacy grumbled. "I guess we're stuck with him, ain't we?" "It seems that way," Sharyn sighed. 152


"It sounds as though you regret that, Miss Winslow." The subject of their discussion called their attention to the doorway. Nick Tyler carried a bundle while a small sack hung from his arm. A strongly built man in work clothes stood behind him. Sharyn glanced at the clock, "You're early, Detective Tyler." "Perhaps you will not object when I tell you why," Tyler said. "Miss Winslow, allow me to introduce my cousin, James Harris. I've asked him to come and inspect your roof." Mouth suddenly dry, Sharyn stammered, "Y-you're not with the Housing Authority are you?" "Lord bless us, no." Mr. Harris doffed his hat. "I'm a mason and builder. Nick told me you've been given some outrageous estimates to repair your roof, so he asked me to come around and give my opinion. Do you mind if I have a look?" Surprise lent a wobble to her voice. "I-I-suppose not," Sharyn stammered. "Right, then. I'll get started," Mr. Harris said with a nod. "I brought my ladders, but I may need to get inside later. A pleasure to have met you, Miss Winslow." Whistling, he left them and Sharyn cocked her head at Tyler. "This is certainly a surprise." "So is an estimate of one hundred pounds," Tyler said, crossing the room and putting the items on her desk. "James is unfailingly honest. If your roof needs repair, he will give you a reasonable estimate." He smiled and she caught the faint citrus scent that was as much a part of him as his suits. Today he wore dark blue and the images Sharyn had locked away threatened to fill her 153


head. Folding her hands together, she asked, "Do you want to go over our lesson plan?" His expression turned solemn. "Yes, but first I would like to talk to Lacy here." Lacy stood and planted her fists on her hips. "I got nothing to say to you, peeler. Miss Sharyn will tell you I've been here all day. You can't arrest me for that." He nodded in agreement. "No, I can't. But I have brought a peace offering." "A peace offering? What 'cha mean?" He reached into the sack and took a small, wrapped box. "This is for you, Lacy." She stared at it and then at him. "You're giving me a present?" "Yes." Tyler's gaze flickered toward Sharyn and back at the girl. "We arrested the culprit who robbed Becket and attacked Josie. Her resemblance to you is remarkable. She even had green eyes. She robbed Becket again this morning but a constable caught her as she ran from his store. Becket identified her as the same person who robbed him last week." Lacy's mouth fell open. "Are you saying you were wrong? That you made a mistake?" "Yes. And that I'm sorry." He held out the brightly wrapped box. Sharyn sank onto the edge of the desk, grateful for its proximity. Standing had become difficult. The chances of Nick Tyler apologizing to Lacy were about as likely as Sharyn being elected to Parliament. And yet it was happening before her eyes. 154


Gingerly, Lacy took the box and gave it a gentle shake. "You ain't trying to soften me up, are you, peeler?" "Lacy, perhaps it's time you start calling him Detective Tyler," Sharyn suggested. "He didn't have to tell you he made a mistake or apologize." "Guess not," Lacy admitted. She stroked the bow's elaborate loop. "I ain't never had no present before," she said in wonder. "Leastways not one that was wrapped." "Then I hope you will not mind that the first one is from a 'peeler'." Tyler flashed her a grin. "Go on, Lacy," he urged. "Open it and tell me if I got it right." Slowly, as if uncovering a great treasure, Lacy slipped off the ribbon and put it into her pocket. With the same care, she unwrapped and folded the paper. When that was stowed with the ribbon, she opened the lid of the small flat box and gasped, "Oh, Lord. Look, Miss." She held it out for Sharyn's inspection. Nestled in a bed of cotton, lay a small cameo, suitable for a young girl. The white face smiled from a background of Wedgwood blue. Simple in its design, it could be purchased inexpensively at dozens of shops throughout London. Recalling her own lost jewelry, tears sprang to Sharyn's eyes. "I ain't never seen nothing so pretty in all my life," Lacy breathed. "You sure there ain't no trick?" "No trick," Tyler assured. "Miss Winslow, will you pin it on her?" Lacy gave the box to Sharyn. Fingers trembling, she put the box on the table, removed the cameo and secured it to 155


Lacy's collar. "There," she announced. "A pretty pin for a pretty girl. Why don't you go show Mrs. Briarley?" Lacy sprinted toward the hall but stopped at the door. Her features knotted as if struggling for the right words. Then she said simply, "Thank you, Detective Tyler." Not waiting for his reply, she raced from the room. "Mrs. Briarley!" they heard her shout. "Look at what I've got!" A moment of silence passed before Sharyn spoke. "You didn't have to do that." He regarded her with unusual solemnity. "Yes I did. A gentleman always apologizes when he is wrong, especially to a lady." The corners of his mouth twitched. "But I doubt Lacy would want me to call her that. She might accuse me of thinking she was 'soft.'" Still not entirely prepared to believe his change of heart, Sharyn pointed at Lacy's chair while she took her place behind her desk. Drumming her fingers on the desk, she asked, "So what will you do about Lacy now? Now that you have found the other thief?" He crossed one long leg over the other. "It is possible the girl is responsible for the thefts," he admitted. "We will continue to investigate it. As I said the resemblance between them is remarkable." "You've seen her?" Tyler nodded. "The arresting constable sent word to my lodgings. I went over immediately. See what you think." He withdrew a small pad of paper from his jacket pocket. Opening it, he handed it to her and Sharyn stared at the penciled sketch. The girl pictured there did indeed bear an 156


uncanny resemblance to Lacy. If her long hair had been tucked under a hat, Sharyn could see how a mistake could have been made in telling the girls apart. She returned the pad. "You're a very good artist," she complimented. "Did you ever consider a career as one?" His smile dimmed and she saw memory flash in his eyes. "At one time I studied to be an architect. That changed after my parents died. Now it's just a hobby, but one that has proven useful in my line of work." "One you obviously excel in," Sharyn could not help praising. "Do you have any other hidden talents?" He cocked his head and flipped the pad to another sheet. "Don't move," he said. "I beg your pardon?" Sharyn's skin began to tingle. "Don't move," he repeated, taking a pencil from his coat. "I want to capture your expression." "Detective Tyler—" "Shhh." He began to sketch. Resisting the urge to tuck any loose curls in place, Sharyn remained still as his gaze flickered between her and the pad. The scratching of pencil against paper sounded loud in the quiet of her office. "There you go." He handed her the pad. The sketch was so finely detailed she might have been staring into a mirror. He had even drawn the tiny scar beside her right eye—a souvenir from a fight in prison—and the freckles that no amount of buttermilk could fade.

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But he had drawn her as a beautiful woman. Was that how he saw her? Or was he, in Lacy's words, trying to soften her up? Something like expectation waited in his eyes. Expectation of what? Approval? Since when did Nick Tyler need anyone's approval? Especially from her. She handed him the pad. "You flatter me. If you ever tire of police work, you could have a career as a portrait artist." He grinned and Sharyn's traitorous heart skipped. Why did her nemesis have to be so good looking? Or perhaps now he was something else. He tore the sketch from the pad and gave it to her. "Keep it." She blinked in surprise. "Are you sure?" "I can always do another. There's also this." He handed her the bundle. His fingers grazed hers, and a burning sensation crept up her arm. Bending her head over the bundle, she breathed in a floral scent. "What is it?" "I believe they are called flowers, Miss Winslow. Pretty little plants with blossoms that grow in the spring and are used for display in homes or in gardens." Sharyn peeled back the paper and found a bouquet of yellow roses. Their sweet scent made her a little dizzy. "How very thoughtful," she whispered. She could not, would not tell him, that no one had ever given her flowers before. "Why?" "Why what?" "Why bring me flowers?" 158


"Does a gentleman need a reason to bring flowers to a lady of his acquaintance?" His lilting voice gently mocked her question. "Perhaps suffragists do not accept such gifts?" Sharyn's fingers curled about the bouquet. "Of course we do. Why should we not?" "I'm glad to hear it. I hope, like Lacy, you will accept them as a peace offering in hopes for success in our venture." He paused and added, "The florist told me yellow roses symbolize friendship. I hope you will accept them as such." "Thank you," she said, hoping she sounded as if she accepted such gifts everyday. Staring at the blossoms, it took a minute for her to remember how to breathe. "Good thing you asked me to come round, Nick." Mr. Harris' announcement brought them to their feet. "Elsewise Miss Winslow would be out more than a pretty penny." Putting down the bouquet, Sharyn moved to stand beside her new assistant. Putting her hands together again, she prepared herself for the worst. "What have you found, Mr. Harris?" He scowled. "Your roof does not have dry rot. There are some weak spots and you could use some new shingles. And it won't cost a hundred pounds to repair it. More like two pounds. One, if I throw in the discount for pretty ladies who are friends of Nick's." "I suspected as much," Tyler said. "I've had reports of tradesmen taking advantage of people. What do you say, Miss Winslow? Shall James set your roof to rights?" The men looked at her in expectation but to Sharyn's horror, she burst into tears. She pressed a hand to her mouth 159


but the sobs continued. Mr. Harris discreetly left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving her under Nick Tyler's wide-eyed stare. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, fumbling for a handkerchief, but finding only empty pockets. He took out his own and gently blotted her cheeks. "My sisters tell me it's not unusual for ladies to cry when they're happy. But over a roof?" His tease only made her cry harder. The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of Nick Tyler, but despite her brain's command, she could not stop crying. "My mother's jewelry," she gasped. "I pawned it to pay for the repairs. I couldn't ask my students to come to an unsafe building. And the children—" Fresh sobs racked her body. To her astonishment, he took her into his arms and she wept her relief against his chest. "Ah, Miss Winslow, don't cry," he coaxed. "Please don't cry." "It's all I have of hers," she explained between sobs. "That and a Bible." He pulled back and daubed her tears again. "You sacrificed it to quite literally keep the roof over your head." Sharyn drew a shuddering breath. "One man who came to give an estimate threatened to report us to the Housing Authority for having an unsafe building. Where would the children go if they shut us down?" "But that's not going to happen," he pointed out. "Thanks to James." "Thanks to you." 160


"Well," he said softly. "Sometimes having a policeman around comes in handy, wouldn't you say?" "And I didn't have too far to go to find one." Sharyn said through a hiccough. "Ah," he said again. "This must be your lucky day. Are you all right now?" "Yes. Thank you." His handkerchief stilled its comfort but against the path her tears left, he trailed one finger down her cheek to trace the outline of her lips. His expression rooted her to the spot and she trembled under his dark-eyed gaze, knowing in the next instant he would kiss her. And incredibly, she knew she wanted him to do just that. He cupped her chin in his hand and leaned forward to claim her mouth with his own in a soft, feather-like sweep. His lips began a gentle exploration of the outline of hers. Surrendering to the fact her brain was no longer capable of logical thought, Sharyn gave in to her body's demand and made an answering assault on Tyler's well-formed mouth. A moan broke from her throat and he wrapped his arms about her once more, pulling her against him. Her hands explored the wide plane of his shoulders, feeling the hard muscled expanse beneath his coat as she breathed in the scent of him—citrus and something darkly masculine. He playfully teased her mouth open and slipped his tongue inside, leaving her breathless. Her own swept around his and his heart hammered against her breasts as his hands slid down her back, coming to rest just above her bottom.... 161


A knock sent them scrambling apart as the door opened and Mr. Harris peeked inside. "All better now?" he asked hopefully. Her branded lips still burning, Sharyn managed to say, "Yes. Thank you." He beamed at her. "My wife always tells me that for ladies there's nothing like a good cry." "She's quite right," Sharyn said. "I feel much better." "No sense in wasting time. I'll be here tomorrow at nine," Mr. Harris promised. "Will that suit you, Miss Winslow?" "That would be wonderful," Sharyn told him. Her heart had stopped its gavotte and to her ears she sounded quite normal and not like a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed. Mr. Harris doffed his cap. "Right then. Nick, I'll ask around about them fellas overcharging folks for repairs and let you know. Can't have ladies being taken advantage of, can we?" "I appreciate your help," Tyler said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Winslow," the roofer said cheerfully. "Thank you, Mr. Harris," she called as he left them alone. Silence descended with only the sound of the wall clock's steady tick between them. "Miss Winslow—" He broke the silence first. "Detective Tyler—" her voice tumbled after his. "No, I insist. Miss Winslow, forgive me. My behavior just now was inexcusable. I had no right to take advantage of your distress. I hope you will forgive me." Well, what a thing to say. Was kissing her so unbearable? 162


But after all, it was Nick Tyler who kissed her. She needed to remember that. "No harm done," she said with a dismissive wave. "It's not as if I hadn't been kissed before. Now, I think I've just enough time to redeem my jewelry before class starts." "Then we better be going," he said matter-of-factly. "We?" "I am going with you." It was a statement not a request. Kiss or no kiss, Sharyn's independence exerted itself. "I am quite capable of walking to the pawnshop by myself." "How much did you get for your mother's brooch?" "Fifteen pounds. But—" He took his hat from the desk and put it on before stepping up to loom over her. "Miss Winslow, you are not using good sense. A pretty young woman walks in to a pawnshop seemingly empty handed and walks out the same way. Any one watching will guess that you either have money or something of value. You're an easy mark and I will not have Bartoli's investment wasted by you putting yourself in harm's way. Our new students will not be deprived of their teacher before the first lesson." His eyes penetrated her defenses and she surrendered to the inevitable. "All right." Still not believing the turn of events, she took the sealed envelope with the money and claim ticket from the pawnshop from her desk and let Nick Tyler, the man who might still be her adversary and who had kissed her quite thoroughly, place his hand on her arm and walk her from the office and out to the street. 163


[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Sixteen You kissed her. Nick tried not to stare at Miss Winslow as she bubbled excitedly about the first class. She positively glowed and the sparkle in her eyes could have lit up Trafalgar Square at midnight. Sitting so close beside her wasn't helping. Her lily of the valley scent invaded his senses while he tried to force the memory of her in his arms. But it was useless. The feel of her body had printed itself against his palms as surely as if it had been tattooed there. It had been a long time since Nick held a woman. Police work's long hours did not lend itself to serious courtship. Kathleen had proven that. He must be going mad. Sharyn Winslow, former criminal and troublemaking reformer aroused him? "—and I thought your idea of drawing pictures to match the words we taught was wonderful!" Her praise brought back his attention. "It seemed a good idea," he acknowledged. "And it was good to learn that the adults have some reading skills." She nodded and Nick hoped she would not require another statement until he gathered his thoughts. By Heaven, she was beautiful. His sketch hardly did her justice. "Your drawings will help them learn new words more quickly," she agreed. "But I can't believe you've never played, 'I'm going to Paris and in my trunk I'm taking...'" 165


He raised an eyebrow. "It's not exactly a boy's game, Miss Winslow." "It's an excellent way to improve memory and concentration," she said with a teacher's confidence. "And your drawings of the word were so funny." He had purposely exaggerated some of the drawings, giving them a cartoon-like appearance, prompting laughter from even the children. He had written the Italian words beside them and Sharyn supplied the matching English. Sharyn? Where the Devil had that come from? They had finished with the game with each person adding a new word. By the end of the ninety minutes, even the shyest children joined in the fun. "What did you play growing up?" Miss Winslow regarded him with open curiosity. Ah, back to thinking of her as Miss Winslow. That was better. "Stickball and football mostly, he said. "And my sisters forced me to partner them while they learned to dance." Her eyes widened. "You know how to dance?" "I believe you asked about my other talents," he pointed out. "Policemen know how to do all kinds of things. You would be surprised." She flushed and changed the subject. "Some of our students seemed a bit shy." "They have only recently arrived in this country and know little of our ways," Nick said. "Think of the bravery it took to leave everything familiar behind to start a new life."

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Her mouth turned down into a frown. "Signor Bartoli told me some of them have had a less than welcoming experience since they arrived. Why must people be so stupid?" "I don't follow you." "Why must people be suspicious of anyone who is different?" she asked. "They are people, just like us. They just don't speak English." Her voice rang with a reformer's tone and Nick felt a grudging admiration. "You are quite passionate about your teaching, aren't you?" "There is no greater skill a person can have than to read and write," she said, lifting her chin. "You would never have been able to join the police force if you did not possess even the barest of those skills. Just imagine if you could not read the Bible or Shakespeare or Milton." He'd wondered how she would approach the students. Fear and maybe even a touch of defiance had shown on their faces. But she had welcomed them in a warm, gentle manner and her speaking Italian had soon put them at ease. Nick let her take the lead but she quickly drew him into the conversations, and after a half hour of chat, the adults had visibly relaxed. "The men certainly warmed up when you discussed football," she observed. "Talk about being passionate! I cannot recall when I've seen men so animated." "Italians take football as seriously as the English do," Nick told her. "You don't need money to play, just a ball and a field. Mr. Angelotti told me they play every Saturday morning." 167


"Do the women play as well?" Nick roared with laughter at the thought of his sisters—or any group or women for that matter—racing down a field in their long skirts or bouncing a ball off their heads. "Women playing football? I hardly think so." She made a face. "I'll bet if you put me in a shorter skirt, I could keep up with you," she challenged. "I caught Lacy in a long skirt, didn't I?" "So you did," Nick admitted. "By tackling her, as I recall." "And in these shoes, too." She twitched her skirt and Nick caught a glimpse of a petticoat's lacy edge. Images of what lay beyond it rose and he cleared his throat to banish them. "I apologize. But in your present attire, you can hardly blame me for laughing." She glanced at her pink muslin dress. With its lace collar and cuffs, Sharyn Winslow presented the perfect picture of femininity, not of a woman who chased down and tackled a thief, no matter what kind of shoes she wore. "Perhaps not," she conceded with a smile. "Do you think the students will return tomorrow?" "Of that I have no doubt," Nick said. "How can you be so sure?" "A sense of honor. They will feel obligated to the Society of Saint Joseph for helping them. It would be dishonorable not to honor that obligation and a good Italian would die before bringing dishonor to the family." "Really?" she teased. "No matter what?" "Death before dishonor." He put his hand over his heart. 168


"The children seemed to like you." She sounded almost reluctant to concede the point. Nick frowned at the doubt in her tone. "I seem to recall telling you about my nephews and nieces. They are the greatest joy of my life." She looked at him for a long time and a light of understanding grew in her eyes. Nodding slowly, she said, "You have a strong sense of family, do you not?" Before he could reply, the door banged open without a warning knock. But of course Miss Ellis and Miss McMillan worked here. Seeing their astonished expressions, Nick hoped Miss Winslow's good mood extended to protecting him from them, even if he had kissed her. He rose and said, "Good afternoon, ladies." "Sharyn, Mrs. Briarley says there was a man on the roof!" Miss Ellis declared. "And that he's going to repair it for only two pounds!" Miss McMillan put in. Miss Winslow looked at him and Nick said, "I suppose James told Mrs. Briarley he planned to do the job since he'll be on top of your building." "Detective Tyler asked his cousin to come by and look at it," Miss Winslow explained. "And he's going to repair it for two pounds?" Miss Ellis demanded. "One, actually," Miss Winslow corrected. "Because we know Detective Tyler."

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Mouth agape, Miss McMillan pointed at her. "You're wearing your mother's jewelry," she gasped. "You redeemed it?" "Yes." Miss Winslow said simply. "Thanks also to Detective Tyler." "Good Heavens," Miss Ellis said faintly. "My goodness," a wide-eyed Miss McMillan added. They stared at Nick as if he had sprouted an extra head. He flashed a smile and they had the grace to blush. "Here you are, Miss Sharyn." Mrs. Briarley bustled into the room with a tray. "I brought you a bite to eat since you missed your tea. And Detective Tyler needs to keep up his strength." Nick stared at "the bite." Scones, cakes and tiny sandwiches covered a large plate. "Thank you, Mrs. Briarley," he said. "You shouldn't have troubled yourself." "It's the least I could do seein' as how you helped us save our roof," Mrs. Briarley said as she unloaded the tray and filled the plates. "That and being so nice to Lacy today. Mind you make it a habit, Detective. That girl has had a hard life." "Yes ma'am," Nick said hastily. "I take it Lacy has proven to be an asset to the school?" "She's a good girl," Mrs. Briarley defended, pouring out a cup of tea and handing it to him. "A bit rough around the edges, but she'd not hurt a fly. She told me you caught that other thief. Didn't I tell you she didn't rob those people?" "Yes ma'am, you did," Nick admitted. "You caught the other thief?" Miss Ellis asked. 170


"Actually, the credit goes to Constable Stanley Hopkins," Nick said, feeling a sense of pride for his young colleague. "We suspect she is the one who robbed the merchants Miss Winslow compensated." "Wait a minute," Miss McMillan pointed at the bouquet. "What are those?" "Flowers," Miss Winslow said. She had found a vase after their return from the pawnshop and placed it on her desk. The three women gaped at the flowers, at Miss Winslow and finally at him. After a moment Mrs. Briarley cleared her throat. "Right. Thank you again, Detective." "Always happy to be of assistance, Mrs. Briarley. Ladies." Nick raised his cup. Miss Ellis turned and followed the cook from the room, pulling a still-wide-eyed-staring-at-the-flowers Miss McMillan after her. "I don't think your friends like me," Nick said after their footsteps faded away. "They've been afraid you'll hurt Lacy." He put down his cup at her guarded tone. "Are you?" "Do I need to be?" Her gaze struck him with the intensity of a blow. A man could drown in the blue of those eyes and be happy to do so. But the question of Lacy kept wide the gulf between them. "We have Old Becket's thief," Nick said at last. "Perhaps after she is questioned, she will admit to robbing the other merchants." "Will you tell Magistrate Hudson that?" 171


"If the facts prove so, yes. With the girl's resemblance to Lacy, it certainly seems likely she is the culprit." But Nick couldn't tell her. In spite of the other thief's arrest, he still suspected Lacy knew more than she would admit. Even with giving her the brooch, he knew it would take a long, long time—if ever—before Lacy trusted him. But she hadn't attacked Josie. He had breathed a sigh of relief when Hopkins arrested the other girl, wanting to believe Lacy would not harm an old woman. How could he have broken that news to Miss Winslow? And now he had kissed her. "About earlier, Detective Tyler." Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Earlier, Miss Winslow?" He took a long sip of tea. "The kiss," she said simply. "I apologize." He grabbed his napkin and coughed into it. Gasping, he repeated Lacy's question. "You want to apologize to me?" She fiddled with the cutlery. "I shouldn't have cried about my mother's jewelry. Mr. Harris' estimate took me by surprise. And he was right. Women sometimes do cry when they are happy. I'm sure your sisters could tell you that." "Miss Winslow—" "So let's forget about that and continue on as colleagues," she finished in a rush, "After all, we have a job to do, do we not?" Thank God. His bout of insanity had been a temporary slip she would not hold against him. It could happen to anyone. Right, Tyler. You kiss former criminals all the time. Get a grip on yourself. Maybe the roses were a mistake. 172


"Of course," Nick said formally. "If you will give me the names of the other roofers, I will look into whether they are attempting to overcharge other customers." There. He was in control again. A capable police officer who carried out his sworn duty to uphold the law and protect the safety and well-being of London's citizens. Even that of a former thief who had the sweetest mouth he had ever tasted. "I do not wish to hinder your recovery by asking you to take on more work," she said. "You have already helped my school enough." "The Tylers come from a long line of strong men, Miss Winslow," Nick told her proudly. "If workmen are profiting by charging customers exorbitant prices, they need to be stopped." She cocked her head. "Don't you ever rest?" Her teasing tone threatened to return the desire pounding through Nick's veins and he reached for his teacup again. "On Sundays," he said. "Isn't there a law about that somewhere?" "In one of the oldest of all law books," she said with a laugh. Going to her desk, she took out a sheet of paper and gave it to him. "These are the names of the other roofers." He folded and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "I'll take care of this first thing tomorrow, Miss Winslow," he promised. "Sharyn." "I beg your pardon?" "Sharyn," she repeated. A becoming shade of pink blossomed in her cheeks. "We are modern people, are we not? And we will be spending a great deal of time together. Surely in private we can dispense with the formality and 173


address each other by our given names? We are colleagues, after all." This from the woman he had helped send to prison? "Are you sure?" Her color deepened. "Yes. Didn't you say something the first day you came about establishing a truce?" Damn, he didn't need this. Didn't need an invitation to familiarity. Her answering kiss had brought him to the brink of arousal. Thank God for James' interruption. Yes, the roses were a definitely a mistake. But something in her eyes was making logical thought almost impossible. "Very well, Sharyn," he said, getting to his feet. "In celebration of our truce, of course." "Of course. And thank you again for your kindness to Lacy," she said. "I think it safe to say you took her by surprise as well." He shrugged. "Can't have her calling me 'peeler' every time I come, can we?" She smiled and stroked the cameo, its filigreed edge like a bit of poetry at her throat. "It has a rather endearing ring to it, don't you think?" He needed to leave. Now. She was making him forget the first rule of good police work—never become emotionally entangled with a case. It clouds the thinking. Cold, clear logic solved cases, not emotions. Keep your eyes on the evidence and the facts alone. Period. So leave. Now. But the best laid plans are often undone by the unexpected. This time it was from a bundle of energy hurling 174


himself through the open door and across the room. "Mister Nick!" "Hello, Little Jack!" Nick knelt and picked up the boy. Even after a few days, he felt heavier, a testimony to Mrs. Briarley's talents. "How are you?" "Right fair," Little Jack declared. "That's what Lacy always says." "So you and Lacy are friends, are you?" "Yes." Little Jack nodded. "Did you come to play with me?" "Well—" "He can play with you after we've had supper," Miss Winslow put in. "I'm sure he's almost as hungry as you are, Little Jack. Would you go tell Mrs. Briarley that he is staying for dinner? I just hope we have enough for the two of you." "Yes, Miss Sharyn." The boy wiggled out of Nick's arms and dashed off to complete her request. "Dinner, Miss Sharyn?" A roaring started in Nick's ears and her eyes threatened to pull him into confusion. Leave, his brain commanded again. Leave now. But her smile wiped away his resolve. "After your help, dinner is the least I can do. And we can't disappoint Little Jack, can we?" "Perish the thought." "So, Mr. Nick. Shall we go in to dinner?" He offered her his arm. "Certainly, Miss Sharyn." Strange how something as simple as a touch could set one's heart racing. "Miss Sharyn's" did just that. Careful, his inner logic warned. Careful. 175


Later, much later, she walked him to the door. Dinner had been a lively, raucous affair with half a dozen conversations going at once and Sharyn navigating through them all. Lacy had relaxed a bit but remained in the kitchen helping Mrs. Briarley with the washing up instead of joining them in the parlor for blind man's bluff and charades. Nick could not remember when he had enjoyed himself as much. And it was wrong, all wrong. Detectives didn't have dinner at the homes of former criminals or entertain ideas more suited to courtship than a criminal investigation. And especially towards a former criminal whose protection of a young pickpocket might break his promotion. Nothing, not even a pretty woman, would stop that. "Thank you for a pleasant evening," he said. "You're welcome," she replied. "You have thoroughly charmed the children. They'll probably want you to stay for dinner every time you come." Ah, the out he needed. "I'm not sure of that. Many of my investigations are done at night." "At night?" Her voice rose in surprise. "Even then," he said gravely. "For a policeman's work is never done." She smiled at his paraphrasing Gilbert and Sullivan and offered him her hand. It took every ounce of self-control not to raise its softness to his mouth and brush his lips against it. Instead he shook it with a professional firmness. "Good night, Miss Sharyn."

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Striding down the front steps, he set a measured pace to insure that the woman behind him had no a clue as to how badly he needed to leave her side as quickly as possible. Because criminals never truly change. Everyone knew that. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seventeen With a quick glance at the Fletcher sisters, Lacy eased open the bureau drawer. After almost three weeks of nighttime journeys to her old haunts, Lacy had yet to waken them. Digging her fingers into the cap, she found only a few coins and sighed. She didn't have the money for both a cab and food tonight. Maybe she could talk Pirate Billy into giving her credit. She grimaced as she pulled on her old trousers. After weeks of eating Mrs. Briarley's cooking, they were almost too tight. Maybe Miss Deborah could show her how to move the button. A lot of things had changed since coming here. For the first time in forever, Lacy was happy. For the first time in forever, she almost had a family. George and Mrs. Briarley. The Fletchers and Little Jack. Miss Deborah and Miss Leanne, the best teachers she had ever had—the first real ones, if you didn't count the ones on the streets. And Miss Sharyn. Lacy would kill for the woman responsible for her being here. Knowing she would be with Miss Sharyn made every day a good day. Even on the ones when Tyler came. Oh, he was being nice enough. He called her "Miss Lacy" and she had to admit he wasn't being too much of a Nosy Parker but she still didn't trust him. He was a peeler, after all. 178


And Miss Sharyn promised she was giving him good reports to give to Magistrate Hudson. Provided she didn't catch Lacy sneaking out. Padding across the room, she silently opened the window with practiced ease. Once on the ground, she took a quick look at the sky. Clouds slowly rolled together, promising rain. She would have to hurry. Crossing the yard, she took the basket from its hiding place and headed toward the streets. She found Sam right away and happily, he refused her few coins. He let her out at the usual spot and gave her a sharpeyed gaze. "Best watch yerself, Lacy. I heared there's extra peelers 'bout tonight. Some toffs started a fight in the Bell and Book an' there wuz blood spilled." Darting a glance up and down the street, Lacy looked up at him. "How much to wait for me?" Sam pulled a flask from under his seat. "I'll tell anyone who asks I'm hired out for the night if you'll bring me one of Pirate Billy's meat pies." "Done," Lacy promised, turning up her collar. A distant rumble of thunder hurried her steps as she blended into the darkness of the streets. One or two people stared after her, but she pulled her cap lower, peering out from under its rim, watching for the police. So far, so good. Sure enough, Pirate Billy had meat pies and gave them to her for nothing. "The missus is out town," he told Lacy with a broad wink. "Left this afternoon to visit her sister, she did. What she don't know won't hurt nothing." "Thanks, Billy." Lacy tucked the pies into the basket. "Anyone talking about seeing me?" 179


"Naw. Most know you're living with that teacher lady." Billy squinted at her. "What are ye up to, Lacy, sneakin' about?" "Can't tell you. Sorry." Billy scowled. "You ain't up to your old tricks, is you?" "Swear." Lacy crossed her heart. "All right then," the old man grumbled. "If anyone asks, I ain't never seen you." Thunder sounded again and Lacy hurried on. If the rain started before she got back to Sam, she would have a hard time explaining to Miss Sharyn why her bedclothes were wet. But entering the alley, fear crept over Lacy. The rope was there but angry voices bellowed from the upstairs through the open windows and Lacy trembled. The Owner. The Owner was here. "—can always find someone else to do the work if you can't!" "Sorry, sir." Lacy recognized Cyril's whine. "It won't happen no more." "I think you have forgotten who I am. Perhaps you would both like to re-visit the inside of a jail cell." "No, sir." Belle's voice pleaded. "We'll take care of it." "See that it doesn't happen again. I'll be back tomorrow. The job had best be finished by then." A door slammed and, heart pounding, Lacy scooted behind a stack of crates. Hardly daring to breathe, she waited, hoping the scent of the meat pies didn't give away her hiding place. The front door creaked, alerting her to The Owner's stepping into the alley. Inching her head around the crate's 180


edge, Lacy peered at the figure standing just yards away and let his image burn itself again into her memory. Tall, bearded and wearing a hat. Peeler, her brain screamed. Police. She pulled back just enough to still see him. The man lit a cigarette and stood smoking in silent thought. Removing his hat, he rubbed his forehead, his gaze flickering towards the boxes. Lacy froze. After an impossibly long moment, The Owner put on his hat, took a final draw on the cigarette and tossed it in the corner as he walked away. Lacy counted to fifty before darting from her hiding place to secure the basket, load in the meat pies and toss a pebble at the window. Nothing. Lightning arched against the sky, filling the alley with light. She had to go. Now. She tossed a second pebble at the glass and ran for the street, darting between late night revelers and drunks. Ran as though the Devil himself chased her, stopping only to catch her breath, praying to beat the rain and get to back to Sam. He was waiting by the cab on the corner where she left him. Seeing her running approach, he opened the door. After handing him the promised meat pie, she climbed inside and he slammed the door. Scrambling back onto his perch, he cracked his whip over the horse and hurtled forward. Thunder chased them all the way back to the alley behind the school. Lightning crackled against the sky as she scaled the tree and crept along the ledge. She barely made it inside and shut the window when rain struck it with a furious force. Heart pounding, Lacy leaned against the ledge, trying to catch 181


her breath. "That was close, my girl," she said with a long sigh. "Indeed," a soft voice behind her agreed. "Perhaps we need to buy you an umbrella for your next trip." With a squeak of recognition, Lacy wheeled around to see Miss Sharyn standing in the doorway, a lamp in her hand. Even in its flickering light, Lacy could not mistake her benefactor's angry expression. "Oh Lord," she murmured. "Now my goose is really cooked." "Next Tuesday. Henshaw's Court Jeweler's in Mayfair," Fat Charlie whispered hoarsely. "You're sure?" Nick pulled his frayed coat about him as he eyed the hollow eyed men crouched around the tiny campfire. One sat to the side, muttering to some unseen companion, his expression slack and vacant. Bile rose in Nick's throat as the sickly sweet odor of rotting garbage and the stench from the Thames mingled with the men's unwashed bodies. Hard to believe just down the river the Archbishop of Canterbury resided in palatial splendor. His Grace probably did not count the riverbank's denizens among his parishioners. Charlie had refused to meet Nick in one of the usual places and insisted on the ungodly hour of three o'clock in the morning. "Yeah," Charlie affirmed. "You got a place for me and Alice?" "Not yet," Nick admitted. The forger grabbed by the arm. "Don't you understand?" he snarled. "They'll kill us. The Porters will know she gave 'em up. No place to go, no deal." 182


"You'll have it," Nick vowed. "I'll check with some of my contacts." "Are you daft? You think any of them would go against the Porters?" Charlie demanded. Two of the men glared at him, but the others kept their gazes fixed on the flames before them. Lowering his voice, Charlie added, "I want us out of London. I've practically handed you this case on a platter. You owe me, Tyler." "You'll have it," Nick repeated, handing Charlie a handful of coins. He watched the man stuff them into his pocket and scurry into the darkness with a speed that belied his girth. Turning up his collar against the river's chill, Nick stepped cautiously away from the fire while listening for following footsteps. Robberies in this wasteland were all too frequent. Back on the main street, it took him several minutes to find a cab and longer to convince it to stop. In his battered clothing, Nick could hardly blame him. The cabbie insisted on seeing Nick's money before he grudgingly opened the door. Staring out into the night, Nick considered. He hadn't expected things to come to a head soon. And Charlie was right. Nick couldn't afford to ask or trust any of his street contacts with hiding Charlie and Alice. The Porters had their spies everywhere. But by damn, Nick was not going to let that ruin the case for him. Back in his rooms, he removed his shoes, put his watch on the nightstand and stretched out on his bed to think. Where do you hide a forger and his daughter? How do you find them a safe place to live and employment without too many questions? Alice at least had some skills as a domestic, but 183


what was he going to do with Charlie? Beyond forgery and occasionally acting as a safe fence, Charlie had nothing to recommend him for honest employment. And if next Tuesday was the day, he had no time to spare. Teaching the Italians later today was out of the question. He would have to make his excuses to Sharyn. Sharyn. Since her invitation to call her by her given name, thinking of her as Miss Winslow was useless. And he thought about her all the time. What she would do at their class. What she might wear. Good Lord, he even wondered how she would style her hair. And thanks to Little Jack and the Fletchers, he had been wheedled into staying for dinner at least one night a week. He had tried to say no, but the children had wrapped him around their fingers with the same skill as his nephews and nieces. Thankfully the whole tribe would troop to the front door as he made his goodbyes so any chance of his being alone with Sharyn was greatly reduced. Their hour and a half teaching was enough. Because even that time together was dangerous. Dangerous because her spontaneity and joy were infectious. One would have to be a stone not to feel it. He carried it away with him, feeling it surround him like a talisman and carving its way through the carefully built fortress he had erected around his heart. Because against all probability, against all logic, he was falling in love with Sharyn Winslow. She had begun to haunt his dreams, appearing before him with her hair flowing around her bare shoulders, gloriously naked and leaving him 184


to wake among sweat-soaked sheets, hungry with need and desire. He rolled over and pounded the pillows. If he had known it would come to this, he would never have agreed to work for Bartoli. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined he could care for someone like Sharyn Winslow. A woman with a prison record. A troublemaking reformer. A woman with a loving and generous heart... "Detective Tyler!" His landlady's heavy-fisted pounding on the door broke through Nick's sleep and he sat up. Combing his hair with his fingers, he smoothed his clothes before opening the door. "Yes, Mrs. Wright?" The little woman starred at his rumpled clothing. "Late night, Detective?" Nick checked his retort. "Yes." "I thought you was supposed to be recovering from your wound," Mrs. Wright needled as she padded in with his breakfast tray. The ever-silent Ruthie followed her with a pitcher of hot water. As she poured it into the washbasin, Mrs. Wright handed him an envelope. "This came, special delivery," she said, voice quivering with excitement. "And there's a cab waitin'." Nick inwardly groaned as he recognized Dobbins' neat handwriting. He didn't have time to plead forgiveness for whatever sins the man thought Nick might have committed. "Tell the driver I'll be ready in ten minutes," he told Mrs. Wright.

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She continued to stare, eyes hopeful for gossip to share with the other boarders. "Must be something important for 'em to send for you," she commented. "No doubt," Nick agreed, going to the armoire and yanking the door open. "Mebbe it's 'bout them pushcart vendors in Shoreditch that was robbed last night," Ruthie suggested. "What?" Ruthie speaking, let alone her words, froze Nick's reach for a clean shirt. "Hush, Ruthie," Mrs. Wright scolded. "I'll tell him." She beamed, obviously pleased she knew something Nick did not. "The milkman told me 'bout it. Some skinny blond kid—" "Thank you, Mrs. Wright," Nick interrupted. "If you will excuse me, I'd best hurry." "Well, you're welcome, I'm sure," she replied tartly. "Come on, Ruthie." The door slammed behind them and Nick ate at lighting speed. Washing and shaving almost as quickly, he pulled on clean clothes and headed downstairs and outside to the waiting cab with Mrs. Wright's words beating in his brain. A young blond kid robbing pushcart vendors. No. Not Lacy. At the precinct, Dobbins wasted no time. "What the hell is this all about?" he shouted, waving the night's reports like a flag as Nick entered his office. "I have no idea," Nick said. "You know I'm not working at the moment. Doctor's orders." "You expect me to believe that?" Dobbins snorted. "I'll lay odds you've been working all along."

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"So I sit in pubs and listen to people," Nick said, not waiting for an invitation to sit. "How I spend my time off is my business." "Not if you're investigating crimes and not reporting it," Dobbins said. "Shoreditch isn't on my patch," Nick reminded him, covering his yawn. A smug smile crossed Dobbins' face. "But the Lilac Street School is." Apprehension began a tiny hammering in Nick's brain but he remained slumped against the chair's back. "What does that have to do with this?" "Lacy Allen is still at the Lilac Street School," Dobbins' voice took on a menacing note. "She could have robbed those vendors." Nick didn't even try to stop his bark of laugher. "You think she could have made it all the way to Shoreditch and back to Clerkenwell on foot before dawn? That's stretching things a bit, don't you think?" "Who says she went on foot?" Dobbins retorted. "A street brat like her probably knows half the cabbies in the East End." "None that will take her for free," Nick said, praying he was right. "I've had nothing but good reports from Miss Winslow about Lacy Allen." "And you'd believe what a woman with a prison record tells you?" Dobbins' mouth curled into a sneer. "You're not as good a detective as I thought." "Do you want me to stand guard outside the school at night?" Nick baited. "See if Lacy is sneaking out?" 187


"I want these crimes stopped, no matter where they are," Dobbins said coldly. "Lacy Allen could be sneaking out at night. The vendors who were robbed last night couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl. Didn't you have the same problem with Lacy?" "Lacy Allen has no need to go back to the streets," Nick argued. "Everything she needs is at Miss Winslow's." "She's a criminal." Dobbins pronounced the word as if Nick was simple minded. "It will take more than a warm bed and three hot meals for thirty days to change that. I wouldn't be surprised if Winslow isn't up to her neck with her own tricks. She damn well better not be or you can kiss that promotion goodbye. I'll see to that." Not after I catch the Porters, you won't. Nick stood. "Will there be anything else?" "You despise me, don't you? Even after all this time." Dobbins' question caught Nick off guard. "I turned in your father and you've never forgotten it. He should have reported the others were taking protection money." "You should have believed he didn't know the benevolent fund was tainted," Nick snapped. "He never would have borrowed from it otherwise." "And you're just as honorable as he was," Dobbins said. "You'd never look the other way if it led you to a bigger case, would you?" If it helps me catch the Porters, you're damn right I would. Locking his hands behind his back, Nick said, "I know my job. If Lacy Allen is on the streets, I'll put a stop to it." 188


"Glad to hear it," Dobbins said. "Perhaps you need to ask Miss Winslow to help you. That is, if you don't have to arrest her first." Nick didn't bother to wait for a dismissal. Out in the hall, he headed for his office and closed the door. Sinking into his chair, he rubbed his forehead wearily. He did not need this turn of events. Not now. Surely to God, Sharyn wouldn't be so foolish as to protect Lacy if the girl had returned to her old life. Or would she? Sharyn had made it clear she would go to almost any length to protect Lacy. Suspicion coiled his stomach into a knot. Would that include looking the other way while knowing Lacy had returned to the streets? A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. It swung open and Stanley Hopkins peered inside. "Are you back with us, sir?" "Not officially, but from the hell Dobbins is giving me, I might as well be." Nick beckoned the younger man inside and after closing the door, Hopkins perched his long frame onto the room's only chair. "Have you read last night's reports?" Nick asked. "You mean about them robberies in Shoreditch?" Hopkins asked in return. "Sounds like something Lightfingers would have done if she weren't at Miss Winslow's school." "You don't think it was Lacy Allen?" Hopkins' laugh rivaled Nick's in Dobbins' office. "The only way Lightfingers could of made it from Clerkenwell to Shoreditch and back was to grow wings. And I ain't heard no reports about flying kids. Besides sir, a kid would have to be 189


stupid to pass up staying with Miss Winslow. And one thing Lacy Allen ain't is stupid. Neither is Miss Winslow." "Meaning what?" Hopkins blinked at Nick's question. "She runs the school on donations, doesn't she? If she took in criminals to live with her, them that gives to her might close up their pocketbooks, if you take my meaning." His words encouraged Nick and the weariness eased from his body. Nodding, he leaned forward and said, "Well then, Hopkins, let's forget Lacy Allen for the moment. How would you like to help bring down the Porters?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eighteen "I just go wandering, Miss Sharyn, that's all," Lacy said through a huge yawn. "Alone at night?" Sharyn demanded. "The streets aren't safe for a young girl." In spite of Sharyn's anger, Lacy grinned. "I know which streets are safe and which aren't," she boasted. Her grin faded. "Didn't mean to upset you, Miss. I just get—restless sometimes." Late afternoon sun poured through the window of Sharyn's office. From the side yard she could hear the other children playing. Drumming her fingers on her desk, she asked, "How would I explain to the Briarleys if something happened to you?" Lacy twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. "You mean they'd be upset?" "Of course they would," Sharyn said heatedly. "So would Miss Leanne and Miss Deborah. They love you, Lacy." "Do you?" Dumbfound, Sharyn stared at her. "You know I do," she said at last. "But Lacy, what if the police found you on the streets at night?" "Ain't no peeler ever caught me," Lacy returned to her street bravado. "Leastways not until Tyler found me with you." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You ain't gonna tell Tyler I've been out, are you?" she demanded. 191


Sharyn folded her slightly trembling hands. "Do you really think I'd do that?" she asked. "But you must promise me not to leave again." Lacy stared at her shoes but said nothing. "Lacy?" Sharyn prompted. She looked up, her silent defiance shining in answer on her face. Recalling the story from the newssheet London Overnight of three vendors being robbed in Shoreditch last night, Sharyn's mouth went dry. No. Lacy wouldn't do that. Not after all this time. Or would she? "I promise I ain't doing nothing wrong," Lacy said at last. "I just go see some old friends, that's all. Please don't ask me no more, Miss Sharyn. Swear you won't tell Tyler. Swear." "All right," Sharyn said uneasily. "I swear. But when I meet with Magistrate Hudson, I have to be honest." "I'm doing what you tell me," Lacy insisted. "I help Mrs. Briarley and I'm doing good with Miss Deborah and Miss Leanne. I can't do no better than that." Without another word, she darted from the room and Sharyn sank back against the chair, guilt tugging at her conscience. She had failed. In spite of her best efforts, Lacy still did not trust her. Why else would she remain silent? For in spite of his "peace offering," in spite of his treating her with grave respect and in spite of all his help, Sharyn knew beyond a doubt that if the police found Lacy on the streets at night, Nick Tyler would not hesitate to do his job. He would be furious if he knew. More than furious. He would never believe that Sharyn hadn't known of Lacy's 192


nocturnal journeys. Why should he? Sharyn had to make her see that. It would break the other children's hearts if Nick took Lacy away. They adored her. They adored him. And Sharyn very much feared she felt the same way. She could hardly dare admit how much she looked forward to his coming. She could recognize his nearly silent tread, taking away his element of surprise. Knew by the set of his mouth when something pleased or annoyed him. But it was insane. How could she possibly care for the man who helped send her to prison? "What a quagmire you have made of my life," Nick Tyler," she said to the empty room. "Of all the men in London, how could it possibly be you that I might come to—?" No. No decent man would ever fall in love with her, much less offer a future together. Her prison record guaranteed that and Sharyn would not lie about her past. If taking in children was all the family she could hope for, so be it. And she would not betray Lacy. She would protect her, no matter what. Heart aching, Sharyn reached for the first envelope in her stack of mail. A glance at the return address lifted her spirits and opening it, sat back for a good read. Hello, my dear! Just a note because I'm fiendishly busy. My parlor maid and under-gardener have eloped and I need to find replacements. Would any of your lady students be suitable? I can offer a nice salary and a private room. And if you know any honest chaps who would qualify as a gardener's assistant, do let me know. Love, 193


Sara Tabor "You always had the luck, Sara," Sharyn sighed, putting the letter aside. A friend from Sharyn's teacher training days, Sara Tabor had caught the eye of a wealthy brewer, married him, moved to Devonshire and now had three children. Children. A husband. There it was again. Sharyn liked her life. Her independence. She had the freedom to come and go as she pleased, be friends with whomever she wanted. But then the Fletchers arrived. And Little Jack. And Lacy. Their presence brought a light and joy to her life she hadn't realized she needed. That she wanted. "Please, Lord," she whispered. "Give me the key to Lacy. Let her know she can trust me. Don't let her come to harm." She needed to clear her head. Making her way through the kitchen, she found Little Jack sitting forlornly on the back steps while the Fletchers and Lacy raced around the yard in a furious game of tag. "Did someone tag you, Little Jack?" Sharyn asked, seating herself beside him. He nodded and nestled against her. "Mister Nick don't like me no more," he said plaintively. "Of course he does," Sharyn assured, stroking his hair. "What makes you say that?" The boy pouted. "He don't stay to play with me anymore. Not in a long, long, time." Sharyn hugged him. "He stays for dinner at least once a week. But sometimes he is very tired. That's why he doesn't stay." 194


She was grateful he did not. She regretted him staying at all, but the children put up such a fuss if he didn't. At least he arrived just before their Italian students so their times alone together were brief. For that too, she was grateful. The more time she spent with Nick Tyler, the better looking he became. An unfamiliar irritation tugged at her. Apparently she wasn't the only one who thought so. One of their students clearly had her eye on him. Terez Millio, a younger sister of one of the women, had joined the class the second week. Sharyn had watched her bat her long eyelashes at Tyler or pretend to struggle with certain words. And he, like all men, ate it up like his favorite sweet, returning Terez's flirtations with a wide smile and a great deal of praise. It was ridiculous. Terez was far too young for Nick Tyler. He was at least thirty years old to her seventeen. Good Heavens! She wasn't jealous, was she? "He don't like me no more," Little Jack whined again. "Can't he stay and play some night, Miss Sharyn?" "Only if she asks me." Sharyn nearly tumbled down the steps at the familiar voice behind her. So much for recognizing his approach. Getting to her feet, she faced him, arms akimbo and frowned. "You startled me, Mister Nick. Are you part cat?" His eyes twinkled with a wicked, teasing light. "It helps in my work of chasing criminals." "Mister Nick!" Little Jack threw himself at Tyler's legs. "Hello, my lad." Tyler shook the boy's hand "Good afternoon, Miss Winslow. I'm sorry to have startled you, but I 195


have news for you. May I have a minute of your and Lacy's time?" The robberies. Oh Lord, he suspects her. Fear shuttled down Sharyn's spine and she darted a glance at Lacy who was happily wrestling on the ground with Ralph. "Of—of course," she said. "Look, it's Mister Nick!" Daisy called, pointing toward the porch. She ran forward, bringing Fanny and Henry with her. Ralph flipped Lacy over and followed them in their gallop to the steps. Lacy slowly stood and trudged behind them. "Good afternoon," Nick greeted. "Did you all study hard today?" Five sets of young eyes looked hopefully at Sharyn. Nodding, she said, "Yes indeed. They all work very hard. Miss Deborah has nothing but praise for them." "Such scholarship should be rewarded, don't you think?" Tyler affected a solemn expression but even Daisy was not fooled and the children laughed. "I have the very thing here," he told them. He reached into his coat's inner pocket and produced two small, paper-wrapped bundles. Handing them to Little Jack, he said, "These are for all of you." "What is it?" Henry asked eagerly. "Biscotti. A very delicious kind of Italian biscuit." "How very thoughtful," Sharyn said. "But we've already had our tea and it will be dinner time soon." The children groaned and she added, "But there's no reason why you can't have them for dessert. Why don't you take them inside and show them to Mrs. Briarley?" 196


The children trooped inside as Lacy reached the steps. At her stony expression and fear wide eyes Sharyn's hands curled into fists and slid them into her pockets. Lacy folded her arms across her chest. "It's Friday, Detective," she accused. "What'cha want?" He ignored her churlish tone. "I have news for you." Lacy's gaze at Sharyn lanced her heart. "What is it?" the girl demanded. Tyler's smile gave Sharyn no comfort. "If I recall, Lacy is scheduled to appear before Magistrate Hudson within the next ten days," he said. Sharyn nodded. She had marked the day on her calendar. "Has there been a change in plans?" "Yes. The hearing has been postponed." All the color vanished from Lacy's face and Sharyn went to slip her arm around the girl's waist. "Why is that?" This time his grin nearly undid her. "The first reason is that Magistrate Hudson is on his honeymoon and will be gone at least a month." Lacy let a whoop. "Old Raymond got himself shackled?" "Yes. It's the talk of the Inns of Court. Apparently no one, not even his children had any idea of his intentions." Tyler winked at Lacy. "It's quite a scandal. The new Mrs. Hudson is an actress." Expectation gripped Sharyn's heart. "And the second?" she asked. His grin broadened. "Before he left, Hudson reviewed the evidence against the thief who resembles Lacy. While she continues to deny she robbed the merchants you 197


compensated, Miss Winslow, he is inclined to not believe her. Lacy will still need to appear in court but it is only as a formality. The other girl will be charged." "Then Lacy can stay with me?" Sharyn whispered. His one word reply guaranteed her joy. "Yes." "I can stay!" Lacy shouted, hugging Sharyn so hard she winced. "I can stay!" Sharyn kissed the top of her head. "Did you ever think you couldn't?" "Mrs. Briarley! George!" Lacy released Sharyn and pelted up the steps to dart into the kitchen. Tyler watched her go and looked down at Sharyn. "You will forgive the element of surprise, but I thought you would want to know as soon as possible." "Didn't I tell you Lacy was innocent?" Sharyn crowed. "I believe you did," he conceded. Struggling to not let her excitement overwhelm her, Sharyn asked, "Did you have anything to do with this?" He tapped his fingers against his chin, but his eyes continued to twinkle. "I met up with Hudson this morning after his civil wedding ceremony. I took the liberty of telling him I had received nothing but good reports of Lacy's progress. May I hope then, since it is good news that I bring, you will follow the old Roman tradition and spare my life?" Sharyn opened her mouth to answer his tease, but a wave of dizziness washed over her and she swayed. Fumbling for the banister, her hands slid past it just as he gathered her up in his arms. She leaned against his chest and heard the calming rhythm of his heart. To her great embarrassment, 198


tears began to slide down her face, spotting the front of his coat. "You're trembling," he said softly. "Is this something else, in addition to crying, that women do when they're happy?" "Oh, stop," she scolded between a sob and a laugh. She started to step back but his arms about her waist held her in place. Warmth spread over her as his eyes' merry devilment appraised her. "Women are such creatures of contradiction," he mused. "They cry and tremble when they are happy. What do they do when they are sad? And how is a man supposed to tell between the two?" "You must ask your sisters," she replied, splaying her hands against his chest. "But they might not tell you. Women need to have a few secrets. What do men do when they are happy?" He entwined the curl on her cheek around his finger. "Oh, any number of things. We carouse, drink, and generally make fools of ourselves. But then it also depends on the company we are with." "Meaning?" "Well, I would never do this if I were with a man." He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers. With the tip of her tongue, she explored the sweetness of his lips and heard his sharp intake of breath. Unable to catch the moan rising in her throat, she kissed him with an unmistakable firmness and he answered with an increasing ardor. She opened her mouth wider for him and their tongues met, tasting, exploring, feasting. She heard his answering 199


groan as his mouth moved to kiss her ear, her eyes, and the pulse pounding at the base of her throat before returning his lips to hers. "Sharyn," he murmured. "I—" The pounding of feet from the kitchen forced them apart as Lacy galloped out to the top step. "Mrs. Briarley says you're to stay to dinner, Detective Tyler," she announced. Her gaze darted between them and Sharyn caught a shadow of apprehension on her face. Swear you won't tell him echoed in Sharyn's brain. With the slightest nod, she sent Lacy her silent agreement. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick watching them, but he only said, "Tell Mrs. Briarley I'm happy to accept her invitation." Lacy bounded back into the kitchen and Nick looked down at Sharyn. "What was that about?" "Nothing," Sharyn said hurriedly. "I think Lacy just finds it hard to believe it's all over." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "You really love her, don't you?" "Yes," Sharyn said. "She's changed, Nick. She truly has." His expression turned thoughtful. "Sharyn, I need to ask you something. Is there any way, any possibility Lacy could leave the house without you or the Briarleys knowing?" Her heart in her throat, she met his gaze with perfect confidence. "None at all," she lied. "Why do you ask?" His smile told her he believed her. "Nothing," he said quietly. "Just thinking about the other thief we arrested. Shall we go into dinner?" 200


Much later, they stood together in the hallway. "Shall we see you next Tuesday?" she asked, handing him his hat. His brows drew together. "I'm not sure." An unfamiliar note in his voice caught her attention. "Working a case?" she asked. "Yes," he said simply. His brevity startled her. "Is it dangerous?" she asked. "Possibly," he admitted. "But there's always that in police work." She recalled what he told her about his parents and wondered if that tragedy explained his diligence. "You've not ever actually stopped working since you were shot, have you?" "Why Miss Winslow," he chided with his old playful banter. "You know a policeman's work is never done." "You should rest," she scolded. "It's hardly been a month." He grinned. "You sound like Nonni." Feeling the need to somehow thank him for his report to Hudson, Sharyn asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?" He grimaced as he put on his hat. "Not unless you know someone who could provide jobs for one of my snitches and his daughter," he said. "The whole case turns on them having a safe place to go." Sharyn's skin tingled in anticipation as she recalled Sara's request. "Would they be willing to go as far as Devonshire?" she blurted. She watched a matching excitement light up his face. "What are you saying, Sharyn?" 201


"Come with me." Taking him by the hand, she led him to her office and showed him Sara's letter. His eyes brightened as he scanned the contents. "This is it," he murmured. "By thunder, this is it!" "This is what?" "The answer to a prayer." He tossed the letter on the desk, took her in his arms and began to dance her around the room while singing the opening bars to the policeman's lament from The Pirates of Penzance. "A policeman's lot just got easier!" he sang. "Nick," she gasped, "You'll wake the children." "You, Sharyn Winslow, are the most incredible woman I have ever met," he praised as he continued their mad polka. "I shall propose that Parliament should not only allow women to have the vote, but put them on the Metropolitan Police Force as well." "Nick!" He scooped her up and twirled her about. "How can I ever thank you, my dear Miss Winslow?" He set her down, his arms still about her, his face flushed. Trying to catch her breath between her laughter, Sharyn asked, "Did I say you are full of surprises? That was an understatement." "Sorry." He grinned as he released her and stepped back. "But this is just the thing I have been looking for." She fanned herself with her hand. "What in the world is this all about?"

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Sobriety chased the excitement from his face. "Something terribly important. Will you telegraph Mrs. Tabor tomorrow and tell her you have two candidates for these positions?" Astonishment at his request silenced Sharyn for a moment. "Do your friends have the skills for these jobs?" she finally asked. "Alice certainly does," he said, picking up the letter again and giving it to her. "I have no doubt Fat Charlie will prefer planting flowers to what might be in store for him." Recalling her days on the street, Sharyn laughed. "Fat Charlie? Fat Charlie the forger?" she asked. "Yes, he is Alice's father." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Will you do it, Sharyn? Will you help me with this?" "I won't have Sara and her family put in any danger," Sharyn said firmly. "If I am successful, there will be none," he assured. "But there might be for you." Sharyn folded the letter and put it in her pocket. Anxiety for his safety mingled with her curiosity. "Can you tell me what this is about?" He studied her as if gauging how much he might trust her before saying quietly, "It's the Porter gang, Sharyn." Dread lanced her curiosity. "You can't be serious." "You've heard of them?" Sharyn's hands fumbled at her collar. "Good Lord, yes," she breathed. "When I was on the streets, every dollymop, grifter and thief knew the Porters. Everyone in criminal London knew them. No one, no one dared cross the Porters." 203


Trembling, she shut her eyes, recalling the web of violence the Porters stretched across the city. If they wanted you, there was no escape. Membership required a blood oath and no one ever left except by dying. She opened her eyes and stared at him. "That's your case?" "Yes. So you see how important it is." Still trembling, she nodded. It was his job to find criminals and bring them to justice. Going into dangerous situations was his daily lot. If any man in London could bring down the Porters, it was Nick Tyler. If he caught them, when he caught them, maybe the demons she knew he still carried would haunt him no more. In a small way, his parents would be avenged. But if he failed, he would bring down the wrath of the most dangerous man in London. He might be hurt again. He might be killed. And the thought of that terrified her. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him. "You're not going to do this alone are you?" she asked, forcing a note of cockiness into her voice. "Even the best peelers need help now and then." His grim smile chilled her. "I have no intention of becoming a dead hero," he said. "The plans are nearly in place. Others will be helping me. But I need yours too, Sharyn." The zeal in his eyes seared away any remaining uncertainty. Of course she would help him. He helped redeem her mother's jewelry, rescued Little Jack and brought today's good news for Lacy. 204


And he was Nick Tyler, the man who had against all reason, against their history, against all odds, captured her heart. "Very well," she said. "When do you need an answer?" "Immediately. Be as convincing as you can, Sharyn. Tell Miss Tabor she would be doing you a great favor." The urgency in his voice only added to her anxiety. "Very well," she repeated. "I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning." "Send word to my boarding house when she replies," he said. "I'll make the arrangements to get Fat Charlie and Alice there." She grabbed his lapels, trying to memorize every aspect of his face. "Promise me something?" "If I can." "Don't get shot again," she whispered. "Little Jack would never forgive me." "Far be it from me to hurt a child." And planting a hasty kiss on her cheek, he sprinted for the door. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nineteen One o'clock. Half past one. Two. Shivering, Sharyn rubbed her hands together and stopped her pacing to peer out the parlor window. A heavy fog blanketed the silent street, letting only the barest glimmer of light from the streetlamp filter through. A dark night for a dark and dangerous business. Still shivering, she went to the fireplace and, taking the poker, stabbed at the rapidly burning logs. A flurry of sparks rose, sending a wave of heat into the room but it brought her no comfort. Somewhere in the London night, Nick Tyler was watching, waiting to make his move. And possibly losing his life in the attempt. The last few days had been an agony of waiting. She had combed the papers—every single daily London offered—of news, any news of unusual criminal activity, but there was nothing. She had taught her classes, helped Mrs. Briarley in the kitchen and given a lecture about the school on Sunday afternoon. But not even the generous donation of five pounds had cheered her. It was as if someone had planted a stone in her chest, making breathing heavy and difficult, and she ached for some news, any news of what was about to happen. News of him. News that he was safe. Then this morning, a terse message from him arrived, holding only one word. Tonight. She made a flimsy excuse to their class about his absences, having business to attend to and the promise he would rejoin them soon. They accepted it 206


with a measure of disappointment and Sharyn realized how much he meant to them, too. And now, hours later and sleep impossible, Sharyn could do nothing but watch and wait. She considered pouring a measure of brandy they kept for medicinal purposes, but she had little head for spirits. Cocoa. That would do the trick. She slipped into the hall and headed toward the kitchen when a thought occurred to her. Lighting an oil lamp, she set it on the window ledge, facing the back porch and watched the bright gleam dance beneath the glass. Perhaps when he was finished, he would come by and tell her what happened. No, that was silly. He would have far too much to do once his mission was accomplished. Still... She poured milk into a large saucepan, added the cocoa and sugar and lit the stove. The sweet homey smell lent her a measure of comfort as she stirred the mixture until it bubbled. Pouring a portion into a cup, she carried it to the table and sat, grateful for the china's warmth against her hands. She should have never kissed him that first time. Never let him kiss her. He had invaded her heart with that easy, careless charm, nearly making her forget his arrest of her helped send her to prison. Oh, but kissing him was a delicious, irresistible pleasure. A pleasure she wanted to taste again and again. A pleasure she had only dreamed of. 207


But it was wrong, all wrong. They had no possible future together. After tonight, his future success on the police force was guaranteed. He would be promoted to Inspector and choose any place to work. He certainly wouldn't want to stay in the East End. No, better to accept that her only relationship with Nick Tyler was that of a colleague. Even if they had shared kisses. Lip-searing, knee-trembling, bone-shaking kisses. She took another sip of cocoa and tried to force her thoughts to something else. The new roof. No, that made her think of Nick. The progress the Italians were making. No, not that either. Drat. Could she not have a single thought that did not conjure images of him? Since last week and his request for her help, all her thoughts had centered on him. Wondering what he was doing. Who might be helping him. Surely he wouldn't go and do something foolish just to make his case? Sara asked no questions in her answering cable, saying only she would give Alice and Charlie a try for two months. Sharyn almost wished she had taken the message to his boarding house just to see the look on his face but that was out of the question. Unmarried ladies did not call on bachelors at their lodging without an invitation. The cocoa had failed her. Usually it could begin to tease her into sleep after one cup, but she was still wide awake. She returned to the stove to pour another one. Perhaps she should add a wee bit of brandy to the mix. Going to the cabinets, she took out a small glass and the bottle of brandy. How much was considered medicinal? She 208


poured a small amount into the glass, studied it and then poured in a tiny bit more... A soft tap on the back door nearly sent the glass tumbling from her hand. Setting it down, she grabbed a knife from the block and hurried to stand before the door. "Who is it?" she hissed. "It's Nick." She took the key from the hook on the wall and unlocked the door. It swung inward and a gasp escaped her. Not wanting to believe her eyes, she hurried to fetch the lamp and hold it up. "Oh, Nick," she whispered. "What did they do to you?" A bruise marred the skin around his left eye. Another swelled his upper lip and an ugly scrape covered his right cheekbone. But not even these could mar the shining triumph on his face. "I saw the light," he said. "May I come in?" "Of course." She stepped back to let him inside and put the lamp back on the ledge. After closing the door behind him, she leaned against it, her heart beating wildly. "So?" His smile nearly lit up the dim kitchen. "We got them, Sharyn. We got the Porters." She threw her arms around him, burying her face against his coat. Through its folds she listened to his heart's rapid beating match her own. The fear and tension she had carried for days ebbed away from her body. "Thank God," she whispered. His fingers raised her chin and he looked down at her, amusement playing about the corners of his poor bruised mouth. "Are you all right?" 209


She stepped back, rejoicing at his familiar teasing tone. "Yes, of course. The question is, are you?" He squinted at the butcher's knife she still clutched. "What is that for?" Blushing, Sharyn hurried to put it away. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know it was you. Would like some cocoa? Something to eat?" "That would be wonderful." Sighing gratefully, he took off his hat and put it on the counter. "We waited for hours in that vault." "Would you like a brandy?" A smile spread across his still handsome face. Taking off his coat, he draped it over the back of a chair. "That, as my father used to say, would be just the ticket." "Then as Mrs. Briarley would say, 'sit and rest yourself'." Sharyn pointed at the table. "Yes, Miss Sharyn," he said in perfect imitation of Little Jack. Laughing, she took down another glass and poured a very medicinal portion for him. He took the glass, closed his injured eye and studied the amount with his good one before asking, "Trying to make me tipsy, Miss Sharyn?" "It's a cold night for spring," she said practically. "And you are off duty now, aren't you?" He sipped and sighed in contentment. "Yes." "I'm afraid it will be leftovers from dinner," she warned. "I would put Mrs. Briarley's leftovers up against a meal from the Savoy Grille." 210


"Have you ever eaten there?" she asked. Considered one of the finest restaurants in London, the Savoy Grille catered only to the elite. Hardly the place even London's best detective could afford. "No." He swirled the brandy. "Have you?" She made a face. "They don't permit women to eat there." He affected an astonished expression. "Do they not? And you haven't started a riot about that?" "Not yet," she predicted and his answering laugh warmed her as the parlor fire had failed to do. She filled a plate with cold beef, bread and vegetables. After making them each a cup of cocoa, she set the meal before him. He winced as he ate, but it did not slow his appetite. Seated beside him, Sharyn wrapped her hands around her cup and asked, "So, you arrested the Porters?" "Indeed." "Are they responsible for—" her words faltered and she pointed at his face. He grinned ruefully. "Yes. They put up a bit of a fight, but in the presence of guns, they gave up easily enough. And thanks to your providing a safe haven, we got Alice to tell us everything she knew about their doings. And it was a very long list." "I didn't do anything," she said modestly, but his praise warmed her cheeks. "Oh, but you did," he contradicted. Setting down his fork, he said, "Solving the case hinged on getting Alice and Charlie out of London. Alice refused to give up the Porters without a 211


guarantee of safety, for both herself and her father. If Mrs. Tabor hadn't agreed to give them a chance, I'd still be emptyhanded. What an incredible piece of luck." "For you or the Porters?" she teased. He chuckled. "The Porters certainly will not count themselves lucky when they stand in the dock. With the evidence we have, they will be in prison for a very long time." She gently clapped her hands. "Tell me everything," she urged. It was an amazing story. How he had secretly gathered the men on the force he trusted. Gave them names and locations of known gang members. Finding the recovered items hidden around London. Everything they needed. And the crowning touch—he and his assistant waiting in the vault at Henshaw's for the man himself. "Your poor eye," Sharyn sympathized. "I wonder if Mrs. Briarley has a cutlet to put on it." He made a face. "Don't waste a good piece of beef on that." "A cloth, then." Going to the sink, she took a clean cloth from the drawer and wet it with cold water. After wringing it out, she folded it and carried it back to him. "Hold this in place for a few minutes. It might help the swelling." "Perhaps I should sport an eye patch like Pirate Billy," he joked, and winced again as he applied the cloth. She wrinkled her nose as she sat. "Who in the world is Pirate Billy?" "A one-eyed pushcart vendor." "Is he another one of your snitches?" 212


He laughed and put down the cloth to pick up his fork. "Far from it. Pirate Billy has no love for the police. But his wife makes some of the best meat pies you've ever tasted." "And if it's one thing a policeman knows, it's where to find good food," she echoed his words, recalling their first meal together. He sighed contentedly as he finished eating. "Yes. Meals on the job are often poor and infrequent. Not like this one." "I'll tell Mrs. Briarley." Sharyn raised her cup in salute. "Well done, Detective Tyler." "Not without your help. Didn't I say something last week about putting you on the force?" he asked. "Perhaps I should offer that idea to Acting Commissioner Foster." It was her turn to affect shocked surprise. "Women on the police force? Why, Detective Tyler, what a suggestion!" "Perhaps you are right," he agreed. "With all the chasing criminals over London rooftops we peelers do, the ladies would have to don trousers and what a scandal that would be!" They laughed as he quoted Sharyn's words from weeks ago. "Indeed," she agreed. "But we could sit in pubs and talk to people, just like you do." "No doubt you could. You are an amazing woman, Sharyn Winslow, and could probably succeed in anything you turned your hand to." His voice shuttled her heart back into rapid motion. "Thank you," she managed. She cleared the table and carried the dishes back to the sink. To her surprise, he followed and helped with the 213


washing up. Watching him put the dishes in the drainer, she asked, "You constantly astonish me, Mister Nick. What other domestic talents do you possess?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "I can iron my own shirts and sew on a button when necessary," he boasted. "And my cooking—" "And?" she prompted. He gave her roguish grin. "Another time, Miss Winslow." Back at the table, he put on his coat. Walking him to the door, she gave him his hat. "An amazing night for you, Nick Tyler," she commented. "A career-making case, if ever there was one." "Hopefully," he said. "And at least you need have no fears about Lacy's future." So he didn't suspect her of robbing those merchants last week. If did, wouldn't he have done something by now? Inwardly sighing her relief, Sharyn said, "It certainly looks that way." An awkward silence fell between them. "I'd best be going," he said at last. "It's late." "And you did spend hours waiting in the vault," she added. "No doubt the story will be in all the papers tomorrow." The roguish grin returned. "I'm counting on it," he said. "Thank you for the meal." "You're welcome." "Sharyn—" He put his hand on her shoulder. "Oh, wait!" Sharyn hurried back to the shelf above the sink and took down a small jar. She carried it back and handed it 214


to him. "This is Mrs. Briarley's special salve for cuts and wounds. It might help your face." "Thank you. I'll give it a try," he said, pocketing the jar. Something in his eyes made her turn her head but he captured her chin and raised it so she was forced to meet his gaze. In the lamp's dim light, their shadows flickered around them, two figures separated by only inches. Now as he lowered his head, there was no separation. Only the sensation of his mouth on hers, tasting of cocoa and brandy. His gaze remained on her face as he tendered his kiss gently around her mouth in slow, careful exploration. She heard her own intake of breath as she palmed her hand gently against his good cheek, her lips making their own journey around his lips. A groan escaped him and his kiss became that of a starving man, greedily taking everything she had to give. She pressed herself against him, holding nothing back while their sighs made a quiet cocoon of sound, cradling them together. But he pulled back. "I'd better leave," he whispered. "Before I forget everything my mother taught me about how to treat a lady. And it would never do if Mrs. Briarley caught us with you in your dressing gown." Cheeks aflame, Sharyn pulled the edges of the robe closer together. She had completely forgotten. "I'm sorry," she said, lowering her gaze. He lifted her chin again. "I'm not. Good night, Sharyn." And branding her lips with his kiss once more, he opened the door and slipped out into the night. [Back to Table of Contents] 215


Chapter Twenty In a daring late night raid, Detective Nicolas G. Tyler and Constable Stanley Hopkins arrested Harold Porter, head of the infamous Porter gang, as he attempted to rob Henshaw's Court Jewelers in Mayfair. At Tyler's direction, units from the Metropolitan Police Force arrested other gang members throughout the city. Evidence has been found to prove the gang is responsible for the rash of robberies plaguing London and most, if not all, of the stolen items have been recovered. Londoners may sleep safely with such brave men on the force, especially Tyler and Hopkins. "My goodness!" Deborah exclaimed, putting down the Times. "Nick Tyler is a hero!" "I could hardly teach this morning, my students were so excited," Leanne added. "My hat is off to him. The Porter Gang!" "It sounds like quite a feat," Sharyn agreed. She gestured at the pile of newspapers on the table. "I think every paper in London reported the story." "Do you think he'll come to your class this afternoon?" Deborah asked. "I don't know," Sharyn admitted. "The paper described it as a 'late night raid.' He may be finishing up the last details of the case." Disappointment pricked at her heart, but considering how late he left her side, he deserved to spend the day in bed. 216


"I hope he does come," Deborah said. "The children were almost wild after they heard the news. Even Lacy seemed pleased." "Good," Sharyn said. "It's about time the two of them made peace." "Do you think he'll be promoted?" Deborah asked. "At the very least they should be give him a medal," Leanne declared, her animosity toward the detective obviously forgotten. "I'm sure that after last night, the Metropolitan police force will have to promote him," Sharyn said simply. "How could they not recognize the talents of the man who brought London's worst gang to heel?" Leanne shot her a shrewd glance. "You're remarkably subdued about all this," she commented. "Did you know anything about it?" Sharyn reached for another newspaper. "He mentioned he was working on a very important case." But Leanne was not fooled by her deliberately casual tone. "He's been staying for dinner, hasn't he?" "The children ask him to stay," Sharyn defended. "You know how hard it is to say no to them, especially Little Jack. The boy is besotted by Nick." "Nick?" Deborah gleefully pounced on Sharyn's slip. "Since when are you calling him Nick?" Furious at the heat scalding her cheeks, Sharyn said, "We agreed weeks ago it was ridiculous to stand on such formality since we are spending so much time together. And we never 217


address each other by our given names when we are teaching." "Of course not," Leanne mocked. "Everything between you is as it always was." "Well—" Sharyn hedged. "Sharyn." Deborah covered Sharyn's hand with her own. "Have you developed an affection for Detective Tyler?" Brain frantically searching for some kind of answer, Sharyn said, "I have come to respect Detective Tyler a great deal. After all, he helped with the roof, brought us Little Jack, not to mention talking to Magistrate Hudson about Lacy—" "You like him," Leanne teased. "There is nothing wrong with enjoying the company of one's colleagues," Sharyn finished lamely. "It makes working together easier. How would it be if we didn't like each other?" The cousins nearly doubled over in laughter. "Oh, my dear, you are besotted," Leanne said, wiping away her mirthful tears. "And you're blushing," Deborah added. "I think you're both quite ridiculous," Sharyn announced getting to her feet. "Hadn't we better prepare for our afternoon students?" "You're still blushing," Leanne taunted. A knock on the open door interrupted their teasing. George and Mrs. Briarley waited in the hall, their expressions hopeful. "Begging your pardon, Miss Sharyn," George said. "Might Mrs. Briarley and I have a word with you? In private?" Grateful for the interruption, Sharyn said, "Of course. Shall we go to my office?" 218


Mrs. Briarley stared at Deborah and Leanne's gleeful expressions. "What's so funny?" she asked. Her innocent question sent them into peals of laughter again. Bristling, Sharyn said, "Never mind them, Mrs. Briarley. They're just being silly." Her friends' laughter followed them into the hall. After telling the Briarleys to go ahead, Sharyn ducked into the washroom to splash water on her burning cheeks. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. There. She looked like the very model of a New Woman, independent, strong and certainly not given to romantic fantasies. At least until Nick Tyler came back into her life. Best not think of him now. Smoothing her hair, Sharyn hurried to her office. The Briarleys stood behind the matching chairs in front of her desk. When they were all seated, Sharyn placed her arms on her desk and leaned forward. "What did you need to tell me?" she asked. The couple exchanged glances. "It's like this, Miss," George began. "We've been with you since you opened the school—" "And I couldn't have run it without you," Sharyn praised. "Thank you, Miss," George said. "But it's been a while now and things are going smoothly—" Dread gathered around Sharyn's heart. "Please don't tell me you've found other positions," she pleaded. Their burst of laughter calmed her fears. "Lord bless us, no!" Mrs. Briarley assured. "We'd never leave you, Miss Sharyn, and that's a fact." 219


"Thank goodness," Sharyn sighed. "Then what is it?" Grinning, George explained, "I met my missus at the last place we worked. Who'd have thought we'd fall in love?" "But them we worked for told us they'd dismiss us if we married," Mrs. Briarley added with a scowl. "As if working for them was better than me marrying my George." "Not many places would hire a married couple," George continued. "But you did. You've let us live here for free, and treated us more like family than hired help." "You are family," Sharyn said softly. "The school isn't just mine. It's yours too. It's ours. But I still don't understand." To her amazement, Mrs. Briarley blushed. "When we were wed, we didn't have the money for a honeymoon," she said shyly. "But now, thanks to you, we've put a bit by, and so we were hoping—" "You want to go on your honeymoon?" Sharyn gasped. "How perfectly romantic! Of course you must go." A happy sob broke from Mrs. Briarley. She took out her handkerchief while George patted her on the back. "You see, Mrs. Briarley? I told you our Miss Sharyn would do right by us." "'Course you did," the cook gulped. "Never doubted her for a minute." Clapping her hands together, Sharyn said, "And we will give you such a party! When did you want to go? And where?" "We've always wanted to see Bath. I know it's a bit last minute, but we were hoping we could go this Friday." George said hopefully. "We'd be gone for just a few days." 220


"Nonsense," Sharyn said firmly. "You will have a week. We should be able to manage for that long." Fresh tears rolled down Mrs. Briarley's face and even George had to use her handkerchief. "Thank you, Miss Sharyn," he said gruffly. "Leanne and Deborah will be so happy for you," Sharyn told them. "I think we should have a special high tea to celebrate." The couple stood and Mrs. Briarley said. "I'll get right on it, Miss. Maybe Detective Tyler would like to join us as he has something to celebrate, too. Did you see the papers?" "I did," Sharyn said, hoping the surge of pride did not show on her face. "What an extraordinary thing." "I'll make him my Dundee cake," Mrs. Briarley decided. "He likes that. Or maybe my chocolate cake with walnuts. And my meat pies..." Reciting her menu, she bustled from the room. "I always reckoned Tyler a brave man," George declared. Like Leanne, he seemed to have forgotten his earlier suspicions. "The Porters! That was neat trick." Mrs. Briarley reappeared in the doorway. "George, dear, did you remember to give Miss Sharyn that note that came this morning?" He slapped his forehead and took an envelope from his pocket. "Between reading about Tyler and us talking to Miss Sharyn, the excitement drove it right out of my head." "Husbands!" Mrs. Briarley chided fondly, departing again. "That's all right, George," Sharyn took the extended envelope from him. Glancing at the return address, she 221


gritted her teeth. Arthur Daniels. On this day of days, what could he possibly want? She ripped it open, took out the single sheet and read the command, 'Come at once.' Apprehension slammed her heart against her ribs. Mrs. Daniels. She shoved the envelope into her pocket and bolted past an astonished George into the hall. Grabbing her purse and hat from the hall tree, she opened the door and pounded down the steps. With the two-fingered whistle she hadn't used since her days on the streets, she stopped a cab, called out the Marylebone address and climbed inside. "Outstanding work, Tyler." "Thank you, sir." Nick inclined his head at Foster's words. "How in blazes did you pull it off?" Foster asked, lighting a cigar. He held out the box to Nick, who shook his head. "I had no idea this was what you were planning." "Just good old fashioned police work," Nick said modestly. "Along with help from some of my sources." "Ah, yes, your famous sources." Foster took a long pull on his cigar. "Did these sources tell you anything else?" "About what, sir?" "Anything," Foster repeated. "Other gangs, planned crimes on the horizon?" "No, sir. To tell you the truth, I've been concentrating only on this particular case," Nick explained. "As you should have," Foster agreed. "And while you were injured." Weariness crept into Nick's bones and he was tempted to sink against the chair's back. It had been almost four when 222


he got back to his rooms. Mrs. Wright's enthusiastic pounding on his door woke him a few hours later. Going back to sleep was impossible, so Nick dressed and reported to the Ivy Street Station where almost every man pounded him on the back, shaken his hand and offered up the heartiest of congratulations. Dobbins was conspicuously absent and Nick hid his grin. He'd give a fiver to see the look on the man's face at the news. "Such work should not go unrewarded," Foster said. "While I am still only the acting Commissioner of police, I have a certain amount of authority. How does Inspector Nick Tyler sound to you?" For a moment, Nick could not speak past the knot in his throat. "Are you sure?" "Absolutely," Foster said. "No man on the force deserves it more." He paused and added, "Your father would have been proud." So here it was at last. After years of pursuing those who took advantage of the less powerful, or who would harm others just because they could. Nights and days of chasing those who tried to outrun justice had finally paid off. Inspector Nick Tyler. By damn, he had earned it. Images best forgotten broke through Nick's carefully guarded defenses and the old rage pounded in his veins. The grim reality of matching headstones in a London cemetery had driven him into police work and followed him ever since. Not even a promotion to Commissioner could make up for that reality. 223


But then Sharyn Winslow's image rose before him and the rage ebbed away. The taste of her lips filled his mouth and he caught a whiff of lily of the valley clinging to his coat, clean and soothing. He looked up to find Foster staring at him. "Thank you. Has been there any word on your promotion to Commissioner, sir?" Foster shrugged. "The Home Office will do things in their own time. But I am hopeful." Nodding, Nick said, "If I may, I'd like to put Stanley Hopkins name forward for promotion. His help was invaluable." "We'll see," Foster said. "First we need to discuss changing your location." Startled, Nick said, "I would actually prefer to remain in the East End, sir." "Can't have London's newest hero grubbing about all those back alleys," Foster argued. "And—" A rap on the door preceded its edging open to show a constable hovering in the hall. "Begging your pardon, sir, but there's a photographer from the Times here. He wants to take a picture of you and Detective Tyler, if he may." "Tell him that's Inspector Tyler," Foster corrected. "Show him in." The constable gave Nick an open-mouthed stare before breaking into a wide grin. "Yes, sir!" Glancing back down the hall, he shouted, "Come here, you. And that's Inspector Tyler, if you please." 224


"Is this really necessary?" Nick asked. Having his picture plastered all over the papers could very well give him away to those who only knew him as the sullen faced man from the pubs and pawnshops. "This is no time to be modest," Foster said as the photographer entered. "London wants to see its newest hero." Sighing inwardly, Nick watched the photographer begin to set up his equipment and surrendered to his new status of celebrity. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-One "It has come to my attention you have been paying no rent on the house my mother let you use for your school," Arthur Daniels accused without preamble. "That's because she has never asked for any," Sharyn said, torn between anger and relief. The cab ride had been a nightmare of dreadful expectation. But as no black crepe draped from the windows and no funereal wreath hung from the door, Sharyn's worst fears had vanished. Now, anger straightening her spine, she added, "Those savings have allowed us to use her contributions on other expenses." "Ridiculous!" Daniels snapped. "If I thought I could prove you had taken advantage of her generosity, I would haul you into court. As it is, I intend to recoup the loss she has suffered." Sharyn stared at her nemesis in disbelief. "What are you saying? Your mother has suffered no losses. Indeed, she has always said the Lilac Street was one of the safest investments she ever made." Daniels' plump cheeks creased with displeasure. "The possibility for a substantial income has been lost. Allowing tenants to inhabit a building without charging them rent is as bad as making a loan without charging interest. Both are bad business." Panic hammered in Sharyn's pulse. "What do you consider to be a fair amount of rent?" 226


Daniels shrugged. "For a house of that size? Twenty pounds a month." "Twenty!" "That, of course, does not include back payments. You have inhabited the house for a year and a half, therefore you owe three hundred and sixty pounds. Payment in full is due within a week. You may expect a letter from my solicitor on the matter." "But the school doesn't have that kind of money!" Sharyn shouted. Smirking, Daniels sat back and folded his hands. "Then I suggest you begin working on a way to raise it. You should be grateful I'm giving you a week and not evicting you today." You should be grateful I don't apply my famous right hook to your long, pointy nose. "Your mother would never do this to us," Sharyn said, gripping the chair's carved arms. "But she's not here, is she?" Daniels baited. For a moment, Sharyn pushed aside her anger. "Will you not at least tell me how her recovery is progressing? Or let me know where she is so I can write her?" "And have you bother her for help? Out of the question," Daniels scoffed. "I suggest you use what little time you have to raise the money you owe." Sharyn rose and tucked her handbag under her arm. "You'll have it, Mr. Daniels. Every last shilling." "That I would like to see," he mocked. "Care to make a wager?" Sharyn shot back. "What kind of wager?" 227


"If we raise the money, you will let us continue renting the house for free until your mother is well enough to decide if we may continue to occupy it for nothing," she challenged. Daniels' hoot of laughter set his double chins dancing. "And if you lose?" Fear chilled her but Sharyn fixed her gaze on him. "You'll evict us," she said. "You have nothing to lose but what you say you have lost." Daniels smacked the top of the desk with his palm. "By Heaven, I'll do it. I'll do it just to see the look on your face when we come to close the doors." "Put it in writing," Sharyn demanded. "I'll not have you backing out on the agreement without a signed document." "Don't you trust me, Miss Winslow?" Daniels taunted, taking pen and paper from a drawer. "No more than you trust me," she countered. "And I want a witness, if you please." Daniels picked up a little bell from the side of his desk and rang it. The door to his office opened and a threadbare young man shuffled forward. "Yes, Mr. Daniels?" His timid expression could have rivaled Bob Crachit's and Sharyn called upon Dickens' Three Spirits for an emergency visit. Daniels scrawled upon the sheet and shoved it forward. "Sign this after she does," he ordered. Sharyn read over the paper before signing and handing the pen to the clerk. His face wrinkled as he read the paper but added his signature as well. "Will there be anything else, sir?" "No. You may go, too, Miss Winslow." A broadly grinning Daniels flapped his hands in dismissal. 228


In the hall, the clerk closed the door and gave Sharyn a despairing look. "Lord help us, Miss. Old Danny has you in a tight spot and that's no mistake." Sharyn raised her chin. "Never give up without a fight," she said with a determination she did not feel. "You're really gonna try to raise the money?" "I have no choice." Sharyn said, choking her handbag. It was a poor substitute for Daniels' neck. "May I help?" "What?" It was Sharyn's turn to stare. "Let me help," the man repeated eagerly. "I don't know how much I can do, but I'll do what I can. I've worked for Old Danny for three years and ain't had a shilling's worth of a raise in all that time." "What a skunk!" Sharyn declared. Her new friends scowled. "I can think of other names to call him, but you're a lady, so I won't. Brenton Hickson at your service, Miss Winslow." She took his offered hand. "How do I find you, Mr. Hickson?" "My rooms are at Darby's Boarding House around the corner," he told her. "Send word there." Her heart just a bit lighter, Sharyn gave him a smile. "You may count on it. And now you will excuse me, I have to put on my thinking cap. We have a week to work a miracle." "Where have you been?" Deborah demanded as Sharyn put her hat on the hall tree. "We've been out of our minds with worry." 229


"George said you went flying out of here as if the very hounds of hell were after you," Leanne added. "Where did you go?" Deborah asked again. As if in answer, the hall clock's deep voice chimed the hour of two. The death knell would have sounded more cheerful. Sharyn beckoned them to follow her to the parlor. When they were seated, Sharyn inhaled deeply and said, "Arthur Daniels sent a message, commanding me to come at once." Deborah's face paled. "Mrs. Daniels hasn't taken a turn for the worse, has she?" "The little toad wouldn't tell me," Sharyn said bitterly. "Oh, no. This was news of a very different kind. He has decided to start charging us rent and is demanding a back payment of three hundred and sixty pounds." "Why that thieving snake!" Leanne sputtered. "Can he do that?" "I don't know." Sharyn rubbed her throbbing temples. "He is acting as his mother's representative so I imagine he can do as he wants." "Mrs. Daniels would never do that to us," Deborah declared. "That may be, but her son is giving us a week to raise the entire amount or he will evict us." Sharyn put her hands over eyes. "And I haven't a clue as to how we're going to get a penny of it." "An emergency visit to the racetrack?" Leanne suggested, making a weak try for humor. "It earned you a hundred pounds the last time." 230


"You won a hundred pounds at the racetrack?" a dearly beloved voice called. Nick Tyler stood in the doorway, looking as handsome as ever despite his battered face. To Sharyn's eyes, Mrs. Briarley's cream seemed to be working. Already, his eye looked a bit less bruised, his lip less swollen. But of course, her friends had not seen him last night. "Good heavens, Detective Tyler, your poor face!" Deborah gasped. "All in a day's—or perhaps I should say a night's—work, Miss McMillan," he said. "How are you ladies today?" "Not nearly so well as you," Leanne said. "Congratulations on arresting the Porter gang, Detective Tyler!" His lips curved up into a wicked smile. "That would be Inspector Tyler, Miss Ellis." His answer brought Sharyn to her feet. "They promoted you?" she gasped. "Really?" "Really," he said simply, taking off his hat and hanging it on the hall tree. A single tear rolled down Sharyn's cheek. "Oh, Nick," she whispered. "How wonderful." "I think we need to go see what the children are doing," Leanne stood and wiggled her eyebrows at her cousin. "Or help Mrs. Briarley with all that baking she said she needed to do," Deborah agreed, getting to her feet as well. "Good afternoon, Inspector Tyler. Once again, congratulations." Their soft giggles trailed behind them and with a wink, Leanne closed the door as Nick crossed the room to gather Sharyn into his arms. She buried her face against his coat, 231


feeling his strength and listening to the reassuring rhythm of his heart. "You're not crying again, are you?" he teased. "Of course not," she sobbed. He lifted her chin and brushed away her tears with his fingers. "I hope they never put you on the witness stand," he whispered. "You're a rotten liar." "I'll try to remember that," she said. He laughed and hugged her again. "Are you crying because you're glad to see me or is there another reason? And what was that about you winning money at the racetrack?" She told him about her windfall that allowed her to open the school, but then her anger at Daniels returned. "My landlady's beastly son has decided in her absence to charge us back rent," she said bitterly. "A rent she never once charged us." "How much does he want?" "Three hundred and sixty pounds," Sharyn fumed. "Is there any way you can arrest him?" "If I could, I'd issue a warrant right now," Nick vowed. "How long do you have to raise the money?" "A week." His eyes narrowed in thought. "But what does your landlady say to all of this?" Sharyn explained about Mrs. Daniels' illness and her son's refusal to tell her where she was or how she was doing. "He's been an absolute pig," she declared. "I should like to roast him over an open fire." 232


"Well, since murder is out of the question, we'll just have to raise the money," he said as casually as if she had suggested they talk a walk in Hyde Park. "I think your promotion has scrambled your thinking," she accused. "That or lack of sleep. How can we possibly do that?" "My dear Miss Winslow," he teased. "You are forgetting your Italian students are carpenters and masons of the highest caliber. So is my cousin. The answer is quite simple. We'll have a carnival in the back garden and invite the neighborhood. Your other students can help spread the word. And I—" he let his words trail away. "And you?" she echoed. "I'll simply order every man on the force to attend," he said with a grin. "And I'll do the same with my street contacts, and every two bit thief or hustler who owes me favors. And I assure you, the list is a long one." Her hands covered her heart. "You would to that for the school?" she whispered. He bent forward and placed the softest of kisses on her lips. "I would do that for you," he said. She touched his cheek. "What a very good man you are, Nick Tyler," she said. "When the cause is just, how can I not respond?" He lowered his head again and covered her mouth with his own. Putting her hands on the back of his neck, she held him in place while kissing him long and deep, her tongue swirling around his. The sound of his quickened breathing filled her with desire and she arched herself against him. He groaned 233


and pulled her even closer until she could not mistake his arousal pulsing at the junction of her thighs. Gasping, she broke away. "My goodness," she whispered. "Do you want me to stop?" he gasped in return. Heat burned her entire face and she lowered her eyes. "Someone might walk in on us." His old bantering tone returned. "Afraid to have your friends see you kissing a peeler?" "This is so new, Nick," she murmured. "And it's happened so fast. I—" "I understand," he said softly. "But dare I hope you might consider allowing a lonely policeman to share a greater part of your life?" She could only stare at the pair of sparkling stars in his eyes. "What are you saying?" The door banging open stopped her reply and Little Jack bounded in. "Hello, Mister Nick!" he shouted. "Remind me to teach him about the art of knocking," Nick groaned. But he opened his arms to lift up the grinning child. "Hello, Little Jack. How would you like to help Miss Sharyn and me plan a carnival?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Two Oh, my. Mouth suddenly dry, Sharyn gripped the edges of the tray as she stared at the bare olive skin of Nick Tyler's back. The past two days had been a cyclone of activity. After learning the school was in danger, the Italian men went straight to Mr. Bartoli. Not only did Bartoli arrange for the men to be away from their jobs, but he paid for the necessary lumber and supplies. The men had arrived yesterday morning to transform the school's back garden into a combination Italian street and English county fair. Now booths for games of chance lined the edges of the garden along with lanes for horseshoes, ninepins and bocce. And in the center of it all was a borrowed dunking booth, courtesy of Nick. "Give someone the chance to put a 'peeler' in a tank of water and you'll have a paying line around the block," he told Sharyn. "We have a lever in the back that we can push in case the children can't hit the one in front. I'll wager Lacy will want to throw the first ball." "At you?" Sharyn had teased. "Absolutely." In spite of her brain sending strict orders to avert her eyes, Sharyn continued to stare as Nick worked a paintbrush across the booth. Without the crisp fabric of his shirt, there was no hiding the tight muscles in his arms and back. Tears pricked her eyes at the sight of the clean bandage wrapped 235


around his left shoulder, but a pulse began to throb in her throat as her gaze traveled down his back to a narrow waist and finely muscled bottom. The images conjured brought forth an appreciative sigh. His head pivoted in her direction and heat erupted across her face. He stared at her for a long, unblinking moment. Then he turned. A fine crop of dark hair covered a sculpted torso, tapering down to his waist to vanish beneath his trousers. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and she noted a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. Hands trembling, she managed to carry the tray with its pitcher of lemonade and two glasses without dropping to a table he and George had carried into the garden and placed it beside his neatly folded shirt and waistcoat. He kept his gaze on her burning face as he approached the table and picked up a towel. Mrs. Briarley's salve had continued to work its magic and the blows he received from the Porters had faded. Slowly he dried his face and put the towel back. "I'm sorry," he said, picking up his clothing, "It was warm—" "Mrs. Briarley thought you would enjoy something cold to drink." Sharyn busied herself with filling the glasses. From beneath lowered eyelids, she watched him disappear behind the booth. A moment later, fully clothed, he reappeared. Taking the offered glass from her, he raised it in salute. "To our success tomorrow." Wrapping her hands around her own glass, Sharyn nodded as she surveyed the back garden with a mixture of worry and 236


satisfaction. "We never would have been able to do this if it hadn't been for the Italian gentlemen and Mr. Harris." "Don't forget the ladies," he warned. Not to be outdone, their female students—Italian and English alike—had spread word about the fair in their neighborhoods and beyond. They brought promises of free food and beverages while other merchants offered prizes and balloons. And yesterday morning, a scruffy looking man sporting an eye patch and calling himself Pirate Billy, appeared with a pushcart full of empty bottles for the shooting booth. "How did you know about the fair?" Sharyn had asked in astonishment. He had winked his good eye and tapped the side of his nose. "Pirate Billy 'ears a lot of stuff, Miss." "I am still quite astonished at everyone's wanting to help," Sharyn said now. They're fond of you." Nick studied her over the rim of his glass. She blinked. "Who?" He made a face. "Don't be perverse, Miss Winslow," he teased. "Your students. All of them. I believe they would do anything you asked them to do." His praise re-warmed her cheeks. "Thank you," she said. "And thank you for your help these past weeks. I never imagined—" "That working with the man who arrested you years ago would be so successful?" 237


Nodding, Sharyn said, "I suppose so. I know you had reservations." His pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Certainly," he admitted. "But people change, Sharyn, if you give them a chance." For a moment, her old suspicion flared. "Do you mean me?" "I meant me. I was wrong about you. And for that, I am sorry." He set his glass down on the table and came to enfold her in his arms. His eyes glittered and he brushed a tendril curling on her cheek. "You said the other day you were afraid someone might walk in on us. I love you, Sharyn Winslow and I don't care who sees us." His kiss was that of a starving man, threatening to devour her. She opened her mouth to him and feasted on his lips, his tongue. Through the fabric of his waistcoat, his heart hammered in time with her own, the sound of his breathing filling her ears like a song. Breaking away, Sharyn looked up at him. "Do you mean it?" she asked shyly. "Do you love me?" He actually rolled his eyes. "No, I'm just kissing you like a madman because I've nothing better to do." She cuffed his good shoulder. "Then I suppose I don't love you, either." "Liar," he accused. "Cocky as ever, aren't you?" she teased, returning to the style of their first days together. "Hopeful, my dear Miss Winslow." The bantering tone vanished into one far more humble. "Hopeful that a 238


policeman's story can have a happy ending after all. Another woman has said 'no' to a life with me." She realized just how little she knew about this man. "Another woman refused your proposal because you are a policeman?" He affected an astonished expression. "Sharyn Winslow, former notorious pickpocket sympathizes with a peeler's broken heart?" She cuffed his shoulder again. "Tell me about her." "Her name was Katherine," he said. "Her father refused to let us marry after I left his architecture firm and joined the police force. He couldn't quite see introducing me as his sonin-law at dinner parties. And Katherine never said 'no' to her papa." "Idiot," Sharyn pronounced. "But I am grateful she was. How could she have let someone like you go?" The familiar twinkle returned to his eyes. "I take it that means you might actually care for me?" She hugged him fiercely. "Now who's being perverse? I love you, Nick. I don't know when it happened, but I love you with all my heart." She stepped back. "And if Katherine ever comes looking for you, I'll show her my famous right hook." He laughed at her raised fist. "She's married, with three children." "Good." He kissed her again and said, "I'd better go. Otherwise I will keep you here all night, just for the pleasure of holding you in my arms." 239


He picked up his coat from the table and made his way across the garden to the open gate. Turning, he put his hand over his heart and bowed. "Arrivederci, cara mia," he called. And he was gone. "How much?" Sharyn asked anxiously. Deborah looked up from counting the coins on the kitchen table "Eighty pounds." Defeat clutched at Sharyn's heart. Despite the throngs of people who had arrived at the fair throughout the day, eighty pounds was nowhere close to what they needed. She could almost hear Daniels' triumphant cackle. "Why couldn't it have been him who had pneumonia and not Mrs. Daniels?" she fretted. A loud splash followed by a raucous cry of laughter from the garden signaled Nick had been plunged into the dunking pool again. His prediction had proven true—people had lined up just for the chance of putting one of London's finest into the vat of water. "We still have a few hours before dark," Deborah said hopefully. "There's the auction for the baked goods yet to come and we must have fifty items on the tables." "Even if we raised another eighty pounds, it's still not enough," Sharyn said bitterly. "Sharyn!" Leanne peered in from the back porch, her face bright with hope. "You must come at once. Mrs. Daniels is here." In a burst of speed, Sharyn dashed across the room and down the steps. Sure enough, her friend was chatting with 240


Mrs. Briarley and George. Her face lit up when she spied Sharyn. "My dear Miss Winslow," she greeted. "How very good to see you again." "We have been so terribly worried." Sharyn embraced her, nearly wincing at the feel of the older woman's slender form. "And we have had no word of you." "That foolish Arthur worries too much, shuttling me off to the country like that," Mrs. Daniels declared. Despite her weight loss, health bloomed in her face. "I suppose I should be grateful, but he is sometimes quite ridiculous." She looked at the activity around her. "But what is all this? A fair?" "We're trying to raise money for the school," Leanne put in before Sharyn could speak. "Thanks to your son," Deborah added tartly. Mrs. Daniels blinked and turned her gaze to Sharyn. "Miss Winslow? What is this all about?" Knowing her friend would accept nothing but the truth, Sharyn described Arthur's' refusal to continue funding the school and his recent demand for back rent payments. The color drained from Mrs. Daniels' face and Sharyn feared she might faint, but the older woman kept her gaze pinned to Sharyn's face. "I told him of our arrangement, but he refused to listen," Sharyn said, finishing her story. "He gave us a week to raise the entire amount." "Or what?" Mrs. Daniels asked softly. "Or he would turn them out with no place to go." Nick announced behind Sharyn. He had joined them with his 241


catlike tread and Sharyn quelled the urge to lean against him. His silky baritone gave her a measure of comfort as he added, "So we marshaled our forces to try to raise the money." Mrs. Daniels squinted at him. "And who might you be?" "Inspector Nicolas Tyler of the Metropolitan Police at your service," he said with a bow. Her mouth fell open. "You're the man who arrested the Porter Gang!" she said. "Yes, ma'am." "And you are a friend of Miss Winslow's?" His hand on Sharyn's shoulder said so much more than his simple words. "Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Daniels returned her gaze to Sharyn, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "How much has Arthur demanded from you?" A silence had fallen over the yard and Sharyn was aware all activity had come to a halt as everyone gathered around them. She had to swallow before forcing the words from her throat. "Three hundred and sixty pounds." "And how much have you raised?" Mrs. Daniels asked. "Eighty," Sharyn admitted. Mrs. Daniels bowed her head and agonizing seconds ticked past. But she then looked at Sharyn, a very healthy fury stamped on her features and Sharyn's heart surged in anticipation.

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"Wait until I get my hands on him," Mrs. Daniels fumed. "There's only one explanation for this. Arthur has been gambling again." "Gambling?" Sharyn repeated. "Yes." Mrs. Daniels said grimly. "He waited until I was gone, the little squeaker, and came up with this scheme to pay off his debts. Not even Arthur would be stupid enough to tamper with my bank account." She put her hand on Sharyn's arm. "I am so sorry you have been distressed over this, my dear. Our arrangement stands. You owe me nothing. In fact I think I will give the house to you. It's yours, if you want it." A roar of approval filled the garden. Leanne and Deborah let out twin screams and waltzed each other in triumph, followed by Mrs. Briarley and George. Around them, people clapped, stamped their feet and whistled. Shock rooted Sharyn to the spot, stopping her words of thanks. She tried to speak but her knees gave way and darkness misted before her eyes. But then a pair of dearly familiar arms caught her and Nick gently pulled her up to step into Leanne and Deborah's embrace. Looking at Mrs. Daniels, she cried, "Thank you. Thank you!" "Not at all," Mrs. Daniels said with a wave of her hand. "I think the time for formality is long overdue. I insist you call me Penelope." "And you must call us by our given names as well," Leanne said. 243


"Of course," Penelope said. "Now, I see some delicious items on that table over there and I am famished. Miss Ellis, Miss McMillan, would you please join me?" Leanne and Deborah linked arms with her and led her through the crowd. From a corner of the garden, the music of strings and horns began. Couples formed and began to dance, their laughter filling the early evening air with the sound of celebration. And there by her side, stood Nick. His smile sent Sharyn's racing heart into a more furious gallop. He bowed and reached for her hand. Turning it over, he pressed his lips to her palm before raising his gaze to her face. "You did it," he said softly. "We did it," she corrected. "We make a very good team, wouldn't you say?" he asked. He swept her out among the dancers and, in silent agreement, the others moved to the side, leaving Sharyn and Nick in the center. All chattering stopped as all eyes followed their steady, matched movements around the garden. But any awareness of the others vanished as Nick guided her around the garden. The outside world had vanished and all that existed was here in the shelter of his arms. Such heat radiated from his hands she feared she would burst into flames from his touch. "You see?" he said under the strains of the music. "I told you I knew how to dance." "So you did," she murmured. "So you did."

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The music ended to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. Still holding her hand, Nick bowed again. "You are magnificent," he whispered. "Stay with me tonight." The words tumbled from Sharyn but she had no desire to call them back. "Please." His eyes widened. "Are you sure?" She met his gaze. "Yes." But then it was time to say farewell to the Briarleys as they departed for the train station. Nick gave her briefest of nods before slipping back into the crowd. Knowing the celebration would continue for at least another hour, Sharyn forced herself to smile at her guests, resisting the impulse to glance at her watch and count the minutes until she could be alone with the man who had captured her heart. "I think they're all asleep," Sharyn whispered, closing the door to the girls' room. "Even Lacy." From downstairs came the clock's striking the ten o'clock hour. After cleaning up the back garden, the guests, as well as Miss Ellis and Miss McMillan, had departed. The house was quiet and only Nick and Sharyn remained. Sharyn. His Sharyn. In her was everything he wanted, could ever want. He stared at her for a long moment before taking her hand. "Are you sure about this, darling?" She put her arms around him and her kiss told him all he needed to know. Her lips tasted of cherry wine, as sweet and tempting as a summer afternoon. "Don't you want me?" He smoothed her hair, letting the soft strands caress his palms. "You know I do." "Then come." 245


She led him downstairs to her room. Moonlight, fragile and pale as gossamer, glittered through the curtains onto the wide bed. From the open window, a soft breeze carried the scent of roses, warming the air around them. She faced him, waiting, her gaze never moving from his face. Then she raised her hands and removed the combs from her hair. The breath caught in Nick's throat as it tumbled in a cascade of golden curls past her shoulders and the thought of how it would look against her bare skin stirred his groin into a painful throbbing. Still watching his face, she started to undo the buttons of her blouse but he stepped forward and stayed her hands. "No," he whispered. "Let me do that." As his fingers eased open the buttons, his lips moved across her eyes, her cheeks, until they reached her mouth. Slowly, gently, he brushed the tip of his tongue across it as he undid the cuff buttons, eased off the blouse and tossed it on the floor. A groan broke from his throat as his hands cupped her breasts through the soft, silky chemise covering them. "Sharyn," he groaned. "Nick." Her answering whisper was like a song of invitation and he moved his hands to cup her bottom, lifting her against him, pressing his need against her. She moaned in response and he undid the single button of her skirt, shoving it past her hips and knees. She kicked it aside with a savagery that made him smile. Now it was her turn. Her quick and nimble fingers undid his shirt with an almost indecent speed, casting it aside with the same disdain as her skirt before tugging his undershirt 246


from his trousers and tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes. Her hands moved across his chest, smoothing the dark hair. Nick groaned again as her fingers fondled his nipples. "Do you like that?" she asked, her voice tinged with a shy innocence. "You have no idea." His skin burning with need, he led her to the bed, fighting the desire to rip off her remaining garments and plunge himself into her. But he knew without questioning, this would be her first time. It had to be right. It had to be perfect. He started to lower them to the bed, but she pulled back. Her smile stopped his question as she and reached down to take off her shoes. And then to his shock and delight, she stood and removed the silky undergarments. As she stated to unroll her stockings, Nick put out a hand. "No," he repeated. "Let me do that." Kneeling before her, he buried his face against the smooth creaminess of her belly while his fingers slipped under the stockings' hem and slowly tugged them to her ankles and off her feet. The sight of her skin glistening like alabaster in the moonlight enflamed him, hardening him further and making him nearly mad with desire. He moved his lips against the soft golden hair between her thighs. She gasped and her hands held him there and he continued the kiss, longing to taste the innermost part of her. He stood and cupped her breasts again, feeling the play of her nipples against his palms. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against her hair. "So very beautiful." 247


Abruptly, she kissed him with a delicious ferocity, her mouth and tongue assaulting his until he was gasping for air. "Let me see you," she whispered. Her hands tugged at his belt. "Have you ever seen a man before?" She shook her head. "Only statues." "Then I think you will find the feeling of love-warmed flesh far more pleasing than marble." Again she surprised him. As quickly as before, she rid him of his remaining clothes. Shoes, socks, trousers and finally his undergarment were cast aside, freeing his pulsing desire. She stared at him, here eyes wide in the moonlight. "Oh, my," Sharyn whispered. He pressed her close and captured her mouth while he throbbed against her. Entwined, they fell onto the bed's soft folds and Sharyn moved one hand down to the hard flat planes of his belly while with the other she moved across his chest. A groan issued from his throat as she stroked his nipples again. "Enough, you minx," he growled. He turned her on her back and his mouth fastened on first one breast then the other. Desire and longing, sensations she had only dreamed of, flooded over her. "Nick," she whimpered. "Nick." He nibbled and kissed and she trembled as he lifted them in his hands to continue his mouth's adoration. Fire traveled along her skin. "Touch me," she begged, not knowing what she wanted, only that she needed it. "Touch me." "Where?" "Anywhere. Everywhere." 248


His hands began a slow, exquisite torture across her body. He stroked her belly, smoothed the soft skin of her derriere and caressed the length of her legs. And all the while he kissed her in a lazy caress, her heart racing with a near painful speed. When he touched the spot between her legs, she nearly lifted off the bed but with one hand he grabbed her wrists while continuing the slow, steady movement. "Do you like that?" he echoed her question, his gaze fastened on her face. "Yes," she gasped. "And this?" He released her hands and with a slowness bordering on torture, he slid one finger inside her. Panting, Sharyn squirmed, as the gentle in and out movement of his touch left her aching and hungry for more. She reached to gather him in her hand. The length and heaviness of him lay against her palm and he groaned. "I can't wait any longer," he whispered. Raw, naked desire transformed his face. "Dearest Sharyn. I'll try not to hurt you." "You won't," she said, smoothing his hair. "You'd never hurt me." With an instinct as ancient as love itself, she opened her legs and he nestled between them. He poised at her opening, fighting the need to bury himself. As he entered her, she gasped and he slowed, feeling her exquisite tightness about him. "Easy, sweetheart," he coaxed. "Relax." His words seemed to do the trick because the tightness loosened just enough for him to continue his entry. Her legs 249


lifted to wrap around his waist and with a final push, he found proof of her innocence. Lord, she was so superbly tight around him. Heat covered her skin, warming his. Eyes glazed with hunger stared back at him and she moved against him. "Nick," she whispered. "Nick." She moved again and passion overtook him. With long steady strokes he loved her, no longer able to be gentle. A frenzy overtook him and her continued whisper of his name drove him into a faster, more urgent rhythm into her softness. She rocked beneath him and when, without warning, she pulled him even deeper inside her, a cry broke from his throat. Her cry answered his and together they went over the edge to oblivion to lie spent and quiet. "What time is it?" Nick chuckled at her question. "Why? Do you have some place to go?" She smiled into his shoulder. "Do people always do this the first time?" "Do what?" Even in the darkness he could see her blush. "Make love over and over again," she said. "Only if they're lucky," he teased. Seeing the shy delight in her eyes, he kissed her. "And I'm the luckiest man on the planet." He reached for his trousers and from the pocket, took out his pocket watch. Opening it, he showed her the time. "It's after two in the morning." 250


She pointed to the engraved words on the inside. "This was your father's watch, wasn't it?" He snapped it shut and laid it on the bedside table. "Yes. So I think I might understand how you felt when you pawned your mother's jewelry." "I hardly remember her," she said quietly. "And my father not at all. I'm so sorry for your loss." He kissed her again. "But at long last, something good has happened to me. You have happened, my dearest Sharyn." She smiled and her arms tightened around him. A moment later, her breathing became that of a woman who has loved well and is loved. Her face in repose nearly brought tears to Nick's eyes. He kissed her forehead and then he, too, slept. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Three "You wanted to see me?" Nick settled into a chair before Dobbins' desk without invitation. "Been laying low since your promotion?" Dobbins' eyes narrowed. "Or did Foster give you a day or two off?" "I've had things to do," Nick said coolly. With Fat Charlie gone, his information now came from Ben, the Flying Pig's proprietor. Much to Nick's relief—and no thanks to those damned pictures in the newspapers—no one in the pub recognized him as anyone but the smudge-faced man who had been coming there for years. More importantly than that, he had been busy searching for other lodgings. He had no intention of starting married life at the boarding house. And, of course, he had searched for the perfect engagement ring. He had put a bit aside for the proverbial rainy day, but now he could think of no better use for his savings. Perhaps something with blue stones to match her eyes. But of course, he had to ask her first. "—listening to a damn thing I've said?" Nick frowned at the interruption in his planning. "Did you say something?" "Cocky as ever," Dobbins accused. "And too busy to have heard the latest news, I'll warrant." Abruptly he smiled and Nick nearly recoiled at his sly expression. "What news?" he asked. 252


"About Lacy Allen." Not again. Nick forced a note of polite boredom into his voice. "What about her?" "She was seen in a pawn shop late last Friday night in Clerkenwell. Shortly after that, the owner found a valuable bracelet missing." Perhaps I do need to let Foster to transfer me out of this precinct, after all. But Nick only said, "That's impossible." "Not this time," Dobbins replied. "You're not the only one with informants. This time there is no doubt. We have an eyewitness." "And you're telling me this because—?" Nick prompted. "You're going to arrest her," Dobbins snapped. "Today. And don't bother running to Foster to beg off. He left London this morning. In any case, he agrees with me." "I don't believe it," Nick argued. "Foster wouldn't ask me to do that without telling me himself." "Are you going to disobey a direct order, from your immediate supervisor, Inspector?" Dobbins sneered the final word. "Your promotion isn't even cold yet." "Your informants are mistaken," Nick said, ignoring the uncertainty clutching his heart. Good God, let him be wrong. "You have your instructions, Tyler," Dobbins repeated. Nick got to his feet "When is this arrest supposed to take place?" "Right now," Dobbins rose as well. "And I'm going with you." "Like hell you are." 253


"Do you think I'm going to give you the chance to warn Lacy Allen or Sharyn Winslow?" Dobbins said coldly. "I'm still your commanding officer. Defy me and I'll have you back patrolling the streets before Foster gets back." Every ancient and present hatred of the man hurtled through Nick's memory. But proving Dobbins wrong would be almost as sweet as taking down the Porters. Better, perhaps. With a silent muttered oath, he followed Dobbins from the room. —and since we will be living in London, we see no reason to take the children out your school. You have taken care of our precious nephews and nieces when no one else would and for that we will always be grateful. Our voyage from here in Bombay should take a month or less, God willing. Sharyn re-read the letter from Aloysius and Elizabeth Fletcher and put it aside. Her charges' family was on their way home from China at last. Only a month before the Fletcher children were no longer "hers". They had been overjoyed, of course. Ralph had even produced a faded photograph of "Uncle Al and Aunt Liz" and Sharyn noted the kindness in their faces. It was good to know they wanted the Fletchers. All children should be wanted. Sharyn swallowed the lump in her throat. But Lacy and Little Jack were still hers. And now with the school's funding restored, she had no fears for its future. She giggled, recalling Mrs. Daniels' fury when she left the carnival to confront her son. The thought of Arthur Daniels facing his formidable mother made her laugh even harder. Even 254


Scrooge's Three Spirits would tremble before Penelope Daniels' considerable wrath. And as much as Sharyn feared to believe it, everything else was perfect. The carnival had netted them one hundred and twenty pounds. Several women from the neighborhood had asked to join the classes and Mr. Bartoli wanted her and Nick to start another class for other Italian families. Her and Nick. It still seemed like a dream. Sharyn's cheeks burned at the memory of their night together and what they shared. His mouth and hands exploring her body, teasing, caressing, loving. Loving her. And she had wanted it. Wanted him. She trembled at the thought of what was still to come. Leanne's raised voice in the hallway brought her out of her dream. She craned her head and listened to the answering voices. Nick? Yes, that voice could belong to no one but him. But someone was with him and that person's voice was angry. Very angry. Coming out of her office, she saw them standing by the front door and her heart quickened. His handsome features locked into a frozen mask, Nick's eyes held a dark, burning anger. Nearby, a thin little man shifted from foot to foot. But the angry voice belonged to the bearded man who vented his anger at Leanne. Leanne's matching scowl suggested she was not giving an inch. "This is outrageous," she sputtered. "Inspector Tyler, I can't believe—" 255


"Don't make me arrest you for interfering with police business," the bearded man interrupted. "But the police have no business here," Leanne shot back. "I have a warrant—" Knees trembling, Sharyn hurried forward. "Nick? What is going on?" The bearded man stared at her. "Who are you?" Lifting her chin, Sharyn said proudly, "I am Sharyn Winslow, the founder of this school. How may I help you?" Her gaze darted to Nick, but he remained silent and an uneasiness pricked at the base of her spine. "Well, Miss Winslow," the bearded man sneered, mimicking her lofty tone and holding out a piece of paper. "I am Chief Inspector Dobbins of the Metropolitan Police and I have a warrant to search these premises." The unease inched up her back. "For what?" Sharyn asked. "A woman's bracelet," Dobbins announced. "A very valuable one, I might add." "This is absurd," Sharyn argued. "Why would you think that such an item would be at my school?" "Because one of your students stole it from Mr. Jennings' pawnshop last Friday night." Dobbins gestured at the little man beside him. Sharyn began to laugh. "And how would you know it was one my students?" The shopkeeper scowled. "'Cause I know who she is that took it, Missee. Word's all over the street that you took in Lacy Allen, though most just calls her 'Lightfingers.' And she were in my shop Friday night, sure as Gospel." 256


"You're daft," Leanne pronounced. Sharyn looked at Nick again. Why didn't he say something? Looking back at Mr. Jennings, she forced a note of bravado she did not feel into her voice. "You are mistaken. Lacy did not leave this building last Friday night or any other night. And I'm quite sure she has never been to your shop." "And I says she did," Jennings insisted. "After eleven o'clock last Friday night it were." "Last Friday Lacy worked all day to help prepare for our carnival," Sharyn told him, shoving her hands into her pockets to hide their shaking. "At ten o'clock, I checked on her and the other girls, as is my habit. Lacy was sound asleep." Or was she? "Then she must have snuck out," Jennings shot back. Her impatience at Nick's continuing silence reached a breaking point. Turning to him, Sharyn said, "Inspector Tyler?" "This is just a formality, Miss Winslow. People often identify the wrong person." He spoke with a cool detachment, but underneath it, she heard a gentle reassurance and she relaxed. Confidence returning, she faced Mr. Jennings. "Even if Lacy were at your shop, which she was not, that is no proof she took the bracelet." The shop owner's sullen expression turned ugly. "One of my employees left the bracelet on the counter after someone came in. Lightfingers were there too. When my man went back, the bracelet was gone. So was that guttersnipe." 257


"Well, Inspector?" Dobbins gave him a mocking bow. "Are you going to carry out your instructions or not?" Nick's answering glance should have incinerated him. Coming to Sharyn's side, he said, "Will you show me Lacy's room please, Miss Winslow?" Disbelief froze her in place. "What are you doing?" she whispered. "Just let me look in Lacy's room, Sharyn," he whispered. "There's no need for you or her to worry." "Hurry it up," Dobbins growled. His arrogance inflamed Sharyn. "You may be sure I will be filing a complaint with the Acting Commissioner as soon as I show you how very wrong you are. Come, Inspector Tyler." She headed for the stairs. Behind her, Nick's silent tread should have comforted her, but on the second floor landing she paused and waited for him to step beside her. Looking into the face of the man she loved, she grabbed his coat lapels and asked, "You do believe her, don't you?" He took her hands in his. "Sharyn, there have been rumors floating about, about another young blonde thief. Have you ever known Lacy to leave the house after dark?" "I—" Fear closed Sharyn's throat and she watched the beginnings of doubt enter his eyes. "Just show me her room," he said, and his tone chilled her. Without another word, Sharyn led him down the hall. Inside Lacy's room, she pulled open the top drawer of the bureau. "This is Lacy's," she said. Carefully, she picked up the neat stack of clean underclothing. "You see? There is nothing there." 258


Nick nodded and glanced at the bureau. "Do the other drawers belong to the Fletcher girls?" "Yes." "Would you open them please?" "Nick—" "Open them, Sharyn." She pulled open the next drawer and fear tingled through her hands as she moved them through Daisy's clothing. They froze as her fingers found something cold and hard. Her expression must have betrayed her, for Nick reached into the drawer and pulled out a gold bracelet. He peered at the inner surface and held it out to Sharyn to show the label from Jennings' store. "How do you explain this?" he asked. "I—I don't understand." Sharyn could not keep the tremor from her voice. "Lacy wouldn't—I mean she told me—" "Told you what?" His tone could have frozen water. Sharyn tried to speak, to defend herself and Lacy, but the words stayed in her throat. Just as silently, Nick closed the drawer and left the room. It took a moment longer for Sharyn to force her legs to move across the floor and follow him downstairs. Leanne was still arguing with Dobbins "You are not taking Lacy and that's flat," she said. "I don't care what you found." "I can always take you with us," Dobbins threatened. "Mr. Nick!" Little Jack's joyful greeting announced the children's return with Deborah from their outing. Lacy stood among them, staring at Jennings, eyes wide with—what? Anger? Fear? Or maybe guilt. 259


Deborah reached the boy's shoulder to stop him from racing toward Nick as Jennings pointed at Lacy. "That's 'er!" he cried. "That's the brat who stole from my shop." "I didn't take nothing," Lacy said hotly. "And I don't know you." "Then how did this get in Daisy's bureau drawer?" Nick asked, holding it out to her. "That's my bracelet!" Jennings shouted, snatching it from Nick's hand. At the sight of it, Lacy's mouth fell open and her hands tore at her skirt. "I-I d-don't know," she stuttered. "But I didn't take it." "It didn't walk there," Nick said, his tone turning Sharyn's blood to ice. Lacy faced Sharyn. "You let him search my room?" she demanded. "I didn't tell, Lacy," a little voice said. The adults turned. Eyes brimming with tears, Daisy Fletcher said again, "I didn't tell. I promise." "Tell what, dear?" Deborah smoothed Daisy's hair. "That I saw Lacy come in the window," the girl said. Heart in her throat, Sharyn went to kneel before her. "When was that, Daisy?" "The night before the fair," Daisy said. "Last Friday. I had a dream about it and woke up. Lacy was coming in the window." She looked past Sharyn to Nick. "Please don't arrest her, Mr. Nick. You only arrest really bad people, remember? You told us so." 260


Dobbins strode forward and peered at Daisy. "Have you seen her come in the window at night before?" he asked. "Speak up now and don't lie to me, girl." "Leave her alone," Sharyn snapped, getting to her feet. "You're frightening her." "Y-y-yes," Daisy stammered, shrinking against Deborah. "One night Miss Sharyn saw her, too." "Did she indeed?" Nick asked and Sharyn felt all hope die within her. "I think that's all the proof we need," Dobbins announced. "Inspector Tyler, you have your orders. I expect you to carry them out." "Orders?" Deborah asked faintly. "Sharyn, what is he talking about?" "His orders to arrest Lacy Allen," Dobbins said. "He and Acting Commissioner Foster have been discussing her case for weeks." "You had a part in this?" Sharyn watched Nick place a pair of handcuffs about Lacy's wrists. The girl winced and it was all Sharyn could do not to snatch her away from him. "Foster told him if he solved the rise in thefts in this part of London, the promotion was his," Dobbins related. "Having Magistrate Hudson place him here just gave him a better chance to watch Lightfingers so he could catch her when she slipped up." "Her name is Lacy Allen," Sharyn said heatedly. "Lacy, dear. Just tell us what happened." The girl mutely shook her head and stared at the floor. 261


Digging her nails into her palms, Sharyn looked back at Nick. "All that sitting and talking in pubs you claimed to be doing all this time. It's been about Lacy, hasn't it?" "Traitor," Leanne hissed. "That's enough," Dobbins interrupted. "You should have stayed on the streets, Lightfingers. Who knows what Hudson will do with you now." He grabbed her arm. "Don't!" Sharyn cried. "Lacy!" The other children's wails of protest filled the hall as Dobbins dragged Lacy forward. Her expression void of emotion, the girl gave Sharyn one last look before Dobbins opened the door and hauled her through. A smug faced Jennings followed, slamming the door behind him. "You monster!" Leanne shouted at Nick. "How could you?" He ignored her and over the crying children, he said, "A few words, Miss Winslow." She matched the steeliness in his voice. "I have nothing to say to you." "Oh, I think you have a great deal to say." Sharyn looked at her friends. "Deborah, take the children to the kitchen. Leanne, when the afternoon students arrive, tell them we have cancelled classes. Come, Inspector Tyler." She watched her friends lead the still weeping children away before leading Nick to her office. The force of the door's slamming shut rivaled Jennings'. "Explain," she said. "I think it's you who needs to explain," he returned, shoving back his hat. "How long have you known Lacy was sneaking out?" 262


"How long have you been investigating her?" Sharyn lashed back. "And how did Dobbins know about the bracelet?" His face an expressionless mask, Nick said, "Dobbins has his own informants. And he told Foster. I had no choice but to follow orders and come with Dobbins to search Lacy's room." "How did Foster know?" "I have no idea," he admitted, his mouth stretching into a thin, grim line. "But I intend to find out as soon as he returns." "Oh, no doubt," Sharyn said sarcastically. "Perhaps you'll make Chief Inspector when you do. How could you, Nick? Come here day after day, play with the children, making them trust you just so you could have a hand in arresting Lacy?" His mouth turned into a ferocious scowl. "I came today to prove to Dobbins—and to Foster—that their suspicions of Lacy were baseless. I didn't expect to be proven wrong." "Are you denying that you've been asking about her?" Sharyn asked. When he did not reply, she covered her mouth and whispered, "Oh Lord. You have been." "I told you before the fair I had heard talk about a young blonde thief on the streets at night," he said flatly. "You assured me Lacy was innocent. You lied to me, Sharyn. You've known all along she was leaving the house." Sharyn let out a disbelieving laugh. "What if she has? She always came back. And did you really expect me to tell you that?" His eyes accused her more than his voice did. "I expected you to be honest with me about her. If you had, I might have been able to help her. But now—" 263


"It doesn't matter if you found the Crown Jewels in her drawer," Sharyn interrupted, "Lacy did not take that bracelet." "Give me one good explanation on how it got there," Nick challenged. "Because she said she didn't take it and I believe her," Sharyn replied. "You should, too. But you probably still believe she actually robbed those merchants." "She never said she didn't," Nick reminded her. "You brought her a cameo after you found out you were wrong about her robbing Old Becket and Josie." Sharyn continued her recitation of his crimes. "You were trying to 'soften her up.' This has all been about you winning the promotion, hasn't it? Not because you wanted to help the school or the Italian families." "That's not true and you know it." His pupils had reduced to twin pinpoints of angry darkness. She advanced on him like a Fury. "How do I know you didn't arrange to have that bracelet hidden?" He snorted in disbelief. "Why the devil would I want to do that?" "To make your case," Sharyn said. "You could have crept in her room during the fair and planted it." "That's absurd!" Rage finally sounded in his voice. "Congratulations, Nick." She pronounced the word like an obscenity. "It has all been a lie, hasn't it?" Sorrow tearing at her heart, she turned away. "I imagine our night together was a lie as well. Did you imagine yourself 264


the suave, charming policeman, 'softening me up' to help betray Lacy?" "No!" He grabbed her upper arms and turned her back to face him. The color had drained from his face, but his eyes still glittered black with rage. "Damn it, Sharyn, I love you." She jerked away and stepped beyond his reach. "You have an odd way of showing it." "Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me about Lacy?" When she didn't answer, his scowl returned. "Or perhaps you've never trusted me," he accused. "After all, I'm a 'peeler'." Sharyn stared at the door behind him. "I think you should leave now. "Sharyn—" She let out a mirthless laugh. "They say you can never find a policeman when you need one and now I have one that won't leave. Please leave now, Nick. And don't come back." She crossed the room and opened the door. "I will notify Signor Bartoli of the need for another instructor as soon as possible. Enjoy your promotion, Inspector Tyler. Goodbye." The clock's steady pulse beat loudly in the silence between them while tears she refused to let fall stung her eyes. Only her hand gripping the doorknob kept her on her feet. Leave, she prayed inwardly. Please leave. The silence stretched into interminable seconds until the voice she had come to love said, "This isn't over yet, Sharyn." "Just go." She choked out the command. He strode past her in a whirl of the familiar gray suit and spicy scent. His steps down the hall telegraphed his rage to 265


her until the front door slammed. Only then did Sharyn's tears finally escape and she sank to the floor and wept. [Back to Table of Contents]

266


Chapter Twenty-Four "How do I look?" Sharyn struck a pose. Leanne eyed the borrowed blue and gold uniform Sharyn wore. "I still can't believe Deborah talked one of her friends in God's Army into letting her borrow that. Are you sure you should do this?" Putting on the clear glass spectacles, Sharyn said, "I might be recognized at the Ivy Street Precinct if I didn't wear this. Hopefully the police will not refuse to let a member of London's best prison missionary society see Lacy." "What if Inspector Tyler—" Leanne's question died away. "Is there? He's probably too busy arresting other innocent children," Sharyn said bitterly. "Or hobnobbing with the highest ranking officials. I don't care. I'm going to see Lacy and ask her what she knows." "I never trusted Nick Tyler," Leanne fumed, forgetting her changed opinion. "Using us to get his promotion was beneath contempt. If he were here I would give him a piece of my mind." "Not before Mrs. Briarley got her hands on him." The cook had been enraged when she and George returned last night and learned of Lacy's arrest two days ago. The thought of her applying her very large rolling pin to Nick Tyler's head almost made Sharyn smile. Almost. She picked up the Bible and tucked it under her arm. "Wish me luck," she said. 267


It would take a while to walk to the Ivy Street station but the distance would steady her nerves. She could have taken a cab, but the Army of God's missionaries lived on donations and would not have been able to afford such a luxury. But on the sidewalk in front of the station, she hesitated. What if Nick were here? She had no words for him except those of contempt. Memories of his anger at her beat in her brain, and in spite of the day's warmth, she shivered. Memories of things best forgotten flashed before her eyes, and she blinked them away. She hardened her resolve for Lacy, and heart hammering, she hurried up the front steps. The constable behind the desk stared at her with open curiosity when she explained her mission. "I don't know, Miss." The man drummed his fingers on the desk. "I don't think Lightfingers can 'ave visitors." "But I brought her a Bible." Sharyn held it up as evidence. "Surely you won't deny her that comfort." "I don't know—" the man said doubtfully. "The Army of God has a mission to bring the Word to the incarcerated," Sharyn adopted a missionary's urgent tone. "Would you have the public know the police kept this lost soul from finding her salvation, Constable—?" "Wilson, Ma'am." "Would you want this child, this poor lost lamb, to be forever lost in darkness?" Sharyn intoned. "No, ma'am," Wilson said hastily. "Though I ain't never thought of Lightfingers being no lost lamb." "What's all this?" 268


Sharyn turned and her fingers tightened about the Bible. Stanley Hopkins approached her with the same quiet tread as his mentor. He no longer wore the uniform of a London bobby, but a plain dark suit. Promoted, no doubt, just like Nick Tyler. Her stomach rolled. They had probably been in cahoots together from the beginning to catch Lacy. Would he reveal her identity to the man behind the desk? But Hopkins surprised her. "Give me the keys, Wilson," he said. "I'll take her back." "But Lightfingers ain't supposed to have no visitors," Wilson repeated. "I could really get in trouble for this if Chief Inspector Dobbins finds out." "Then let's not tell him," Hopkins snapped. "If Lightfingers has been thieving, it will do her good to reread the Commandments. The keys, if you please." Sharyn bit her lip. She had expected resistance, but what was this? "Pretty cocky since your promotion, ain't you? Detective Hopkins?" Wilson accused. "Yes," Hopkins retorted, holding out his hand. "The keys, if you please." Grumbling, Wilson took a key ring from his belt and gave it to him. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said sullenly. "I know a good bit more about this case than you do, as I have been helping Inspector Tyler in his investigations," Hopkins told him. "If I say this lady may see the prisoner, then you would do well not to question my decision. This way, Miss." 269


Sharyn followed him through a set of doors, down a staircase and then along a long corridor. At the end, a matron sat behind a desk. She rose but, at Hopkins' stern look, she sat down again. Hopkins unlocked another steel door and Sharyn stepped into a dark corridor behind him. She blinked at him as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. "What was all that about, Detective Hopkins?" she whispered. "Better hurry, Miss. Dobbins might show up at any minute, seeing as how we're holding Light—I mean Lacy—and then my goose will be cooked." Hopkins hurried past the rows of cells. "There's something not right about this case with Lacy. At least that's what Inspector Tyler thinks." Sharyn tugged on his arm to stop him. "What are you saying?" Even though they were alone, Hopkins lowered his voice. "Inspector Tyler suspects someone planted that bracelet in Lacy's room to give Dobbins reason to arrest her." Recalling Nick's description of Foster's note, Sharyn asked, "But who told him the bracelet was there?" Hopkins' brows drew together. "Don't know, Miss, except Inspector Tyler's out on the street right now, trying to find out," he said. "He's spent most of the last two days since Lacy was arrested, talking to his snitches." He stopped in front of a cell. "Five minutes, Miss Winslow. I'm going back before Wilson gets more suspicious. Be just like him to tattle to Dobbins." "Miss Sharyn!" Lacy bolted across the cell to grab the bars. "Are you here to get me out?" 270


Sharyn swallowed the lump that rose in her throat as Hopkins unlocked the door. She stepped inside and wrapped her arms around the girl. "No, dear. We only have a few minutes." She handed Lacy the Bible and they sat on the stone cot built into the wall. Once they were seated, Lacy demanded, "Why can't you get me out now?" Hopkins' words pounded in Sharyn's brain. "Lacy, listen to me. What do you know about Chief Inspector Dobbins, the officer who came with Inspector Tyler?" "Nothing." Lacy shrugged. "I never saw him before." "Inspector Tyler told me he and Dobbins had orders to arrest you," Sharyn said. "That someone told them the bracelet was there. And Dobbins wanted to arrest you. What do know about him, Lacy?" Lacy's hands bunched the fabric of her prison dress into knots and she lowered her head. "Can't be sure, but I guess he's one of them," she said, keeping her eyes on her dress. Sharyn raised Lacy's chin with her fingers and asked gently, "One of whom?" Beneath her touch, Lacy trembled. "One of them peelers that's holding kids prisoners," she whispered hoarsely. Shock spread a chill across Sharyn's skin and her hand fell away. "Oh, my Lord," she whispered. "Children are being held prisoner by policemen?" "Yeah, in a match factory owned by a peeler," Lacy said with a nod. "He's had homeless kids as young as Little Jack snatched off the street to work for him." 271


Lacy's terror that day in court at the thought of being made a match girl slammed into Sharyn's memory. "How do you know this?" she asked. "'Cause the owner had me there as prisoner. Wasn't there long, only a few days." Lacy flashed a bitter smile. "I waited until Belle and Cyril who watched us got drunk and then I got down the drainpipe outside the window." "That's why you fell asleep so often in class, isn't it?" Sharyn guessed. "You went back to that awful place." "To take food, Miss." Lacy explained, her eyes searching Sharyn's face for approval. "Everything I stole before I came to the school I pawned to buy food. The night you caught me coming in, I'd been there." "Oh, Lacy," Sharyn whispered. "What if the owner had caught you?" Lacy shook her head. "Glad I did it. The kids hardly get fed once a day and they're all too afraid to leave. I didn't mean to lie to you, Miss Sharyn, but I couldn't stop trying to help them. I couldn't." Pulling Lacy into a tight embrace, Sharyn whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?" Lacy buried her face against Sharyn's shoulder. "Didn't know if I could trust you. Besides, Tyler had made you all sweet on him. Bet he's one of them, too. Once a peeler, always a peeler, no matter how many cameos he gives away, right?" "Right." Sharyn tried not to choke on the bitterness filling her mouth. "How do you know it's a policeman who owns the factory?" 272


Lacy shrugged. "I've seen him and I can spot a peeler a mile off," she said with a touch of her old bravado. "They all kind of look alike." Sharyn pushed a lock of hair from Lacy's eyes. "Where is the factory?" Lacy trembled again. "You mustn't go there alone, Miss. It's a bad, bad place." "I'll take George and Miss Leanne," Sharyn promised. "The sight of those two will scare Dobbins and anyone else to death." A shadow of a smile trembled about Lacy's mouth. "If he ain't, then he's dumber than I thought." Leaning forward, she whispered an address and this time it was Sharyn who trembled. Lacy had been held captive in that awful neighborhood? "I'm sorry, Miss Winslow, but I gotta take you back." Hopkins stood beyond the bars, key ring in hand. "I'll be sure Lacy is treated decent." Sharyn gave Lacy an apologetic glance. "I must go. But I'll be back tomorrow to bring you home." Giving the girl a quick kiss on the cheek, she rose and exited the cell. The door clanged shut with a ring of finality and Sharyn turned away, unable to bear Lacy's pleading expression. She followed Hopkins past the row of cells. As they reached the door leading outside to the corridor, she said, "Thank you for letting me see Lacy." For all she knew, Hopkins was part of the factory too. 273


Hopkins peered at her in the hall's dim light. "Did Lacy tell you anything, Miss? Something I can tell Inspector Tyler?" "No." Sharyn lied without hesitation. No matter what he had said about Nick's searching for clues, the memory of his betrayal sealed her lips. Heavy hearted and exhausted from the lack of sleep, she followed Hopkins back into the outer corridor, past the matron's desk and up the stairs. Wilson glared at them again, his gaze suspicious, as Hopkins gave him back the keys. "Thank you, Constable Wilson," Sharyn said. "I shall put in a good word with your supervisor for allowing me to see the prisoner. We must never pass up the opportunity to lead a lost soul back to the fold, must we?" "No, Miss." But Wilson's expression did not change. Outside the late afternoon light was quickly fading. At the corner, Sharyn waved a hansom to a stop and gave the driver an East End address. The man's face paled. "You can't mean that, Miss," he protested. "Nice young lady like you ain't got no business there." Sharyn opened her purse and gave him two pound notes. "Yes, I have. This is a matter of life and death." "Life and death? Ain't we better call the police?" "I have already spoken to them," Sharyn said impatiently. "Do you want the money or not?" Muttering, the man pocketed the money. Sharyn climbed inside and the hansom lurched forward. They moved at a speed that a Darby jockey would envy but the journey still took a good half hour. Clutching the strap hanging from the 274


wall, Sharyn forced herself to calmness as East End neighborhoods flew by. Hoxton. Shoreditch. Bethnal Green. The cab clattered to a stop and she peered outside. Broken windows and hanging shutters hung from the dilapidated buildings lining the street. Uncollected trash lay heaped in piles on the sidewalk and the air reeked of rotten vegetables and coal dust. Shivering, Sharyn asked, "Is this—" "Close enough. I'm sorry Miss, but I ain't taking you no further, fare or no fare." The cabbie opened the door and helped her to the sidewalk. He pulled his thin jacket up around his face as he pointed in the direction of a tangle of streets. "Three blocks that way is where you want. I hope you ain't got no more money with you." "I haven't." Sharyn hugged her purse to her chest. Concern filled the man's eyes. "Let me take you home, Miss. Free of charge," he urged. "Hell ain't no place for a lady." "Thank you." Sharyn squared her shoulders. "You've been very kind, Mister—?" "Harry, Miss. Harry Bennett." The man doffed his cap. "Ain't there no one who can go with you? There's safety in numbers, me old mum use to say." Sharyn hesitated. People spoke about this part of the East End in whispers of dread. Only Whitechapel with its horrific memories of the Ripper was avoided more. In the fading light, passersby eyed them furtively. Clerkenwell and Lilac Street's safety seemed as far away as the moon. Perhaps Harry was right. 275


But remembering what Lacy told her, determination seized Sharyn. She would not let children spend one more night, one more minute, in that wretched place. The least she could do was find it and keep watch for a bit for signs of suspicious activity. That would show Nicolas Tyler. The thought of besting the man at his own work brought a grim smile of satisfaction to her lips. Opening her handbag, she took out a small pad of paper and pencil. She scribbled a quick note and handed it to her new friend. "Would you please take this to the Lilac Street School in Clerkenwell? I have friends there who can join me." "Let me take you there and then back here, Miss," Bennett pleaded. "Lord save me, I've got a girl about your age. I'd never forgive myself if something 'appened to you." "I promise that once I find the building I'm looking for I will come right back and wait in that pub." Sharyn pointed across the street. Dirt smeared windows fronted the building and a battered sign painted with an angry black swan hung over the doorway. It rattled as a loudly singing man staggered outside and slammed the door. "That ain't no place for a lady, either," Bennett tried again. "I am quite sure there will be a constable within shouting distance," Sharyn said as he climbed back onto his perch. "I promise I'll wait in the pub, but please hurry." Muttering, Bennett flicked the reins against the horse's back and it trotted away. Sharyn drew a strengthening breath and started to walk in the direction the cabbie pointed out to her. She had no doubt her note would bring George and Leanne as quickly as Bennett delivered it. Purpose drove her 276


steps, her only thought of finding and bringing the captive children out of the bowels of Little Hell. "How in blazes did that bracelet get in Lacy's room?" Nick kicked the empty bottle on the sidewalk as he headed toward the Flying Pig. It careened away to splinter against a building, sending a man with a pushcart scuttling forward. The air stank from the smoke of coal fires and too many people living too close together. "And how in hell did Foster know about it?" The question had pounded in Nick's brain a score of times since the nightmare scene at the Lilac Street School three days ago. He had lived on coffee and nerves as rage and frustration drove him forward. Someone knew something about this and by damn, he would have it or he would turn in his badge. He had told Hopkins to keep his ears open and leave word at the boarding house if he learned anything. He had put out word among the denizens, trying to find even a scrap of information of any suspicious activity, especially of the new elusive blonde thief. He opened the pub's door. Even though it was midafternoon, it was crowded. Elbowing his way through the drinkers, he found a seat at the corner of the bar. Ben looked up from pouring a mug of ale and gave him a brief nod. After scooping up the coins on the counter, he poured Nick's usual cider and brought it over. "I got something for you," he rasped, placing the mug on the bar. "Fat Charlie left a message before he left." Nick took a long swallow. "What is it?" 277


Ben began to wipe the bar with slow, measured strokes. "That factory he told you about? The one that's holding missing street kids?" Anger surged through him, erasing his weariness. Leaning forward, Nick said hoarsely, "What about it?" "Peeler definitely owns it. One with a beard." His words struck Nick with the force of a blow and he lurched forward and grabbed Ben by the collar. "Why the hell didn't you send for me before now?" he snarled. "Hey!" Ben squeaked. "I've been busy. I knew you'd come by sooner or later." Nick tightened his grip. "What else?" "That's it, I swear!" Breathing hard, Nick let him go and sank into his seat. A policeman with a beard. Dobbins. It had to be. The bastard had managed to trick Foster into believing Lacy had stolen the bracelet because she knew something about the factory. It explained everything, except how the bracelet got there. Nick threw some coins on the counter and plunged his way through the patrons and shouldered the door open. By damn, he would string Dobbins up by his thumbs. And where the hell was Foster? He caught a cab back to the precinct but as he opened the door, a young boy came pounding down the front steps. Nick recognized him as one of the runners who often brought messages to him from his street contacts. The boy's face lit up with relief at the sight of Nick. "Thank God, sir," he panted, coming to the door. "I've a message from Detective Hopkins. You're needed." 278


"Where?" "The Lilac Street School." Nick reached out and grabbed his arm. "What's happened?" Fear covered the boy's features. "They want to know what you've done with Miss Winslow." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Five "Where is Sharyn?" Nick demanded. Night had descended on the Lilac Street School. The fragrance of Mrs. Briarley's culinary talents wafted from the hall to the parlor where Nick and Hopkins faced two anxious women. Somehow an invitation to dinner seemed unlikely from the united front of Misses McMillan and Ellis. "You don't know?" Astonishment replaced the fear on Miss McMillan's face. "I haven't seen her since the last time I was here," Nick said heatedly. "What's going on here?" "You mean you didn't arrest her?" Miss Ellis demanded. "Why should I do that?" Nick shouted. Good manners be damned. "Because she went to see Lacy yesterday," Miss McMillan explained. "We thought you might have arrested her because of that." Nick blinked in weary confusion. "Miss Winslow went to see Lacy?" he echoed. "You mean she didn't come back here after that?" It was Hopkins turn to look startled. Any more surprises and they'll have me in Bedlam. Nick faced London's newest detective. "Hopkins, what are you talking about?" Hopkins flushed. "Miss Winslow came by the station yesterday, sir," he explained hastily. "Dressed up like one of 280


those street missionaries, carrying a Bible. I let her see Lacy for five minutes." "She didn't have a file in the Bible, did she?" Nick asked sarcastically. "Sorry, sir," Hopkins muttered. "But I did tell her you thought there was something suspicious about Lacy's arrest." "And she didn't come back," Miss McMillan's voice hovered on the edge of tears. "At first we thought she might have gone to see Mrs. Daniels about raising bail for Lacy or hiring a barrister and spent the night with her. When she didn't return this morning, I went to see Mrs. Daniels. She's not seen or heard from Sharyn, either. We've been searching for hours but no one has seen her." "And exactly when did you plan on contacting the police?" Nick snapped. "Before or after we found a body?" Miss McMillan gasped and reached for her handkerchief but Miss Ellis retorted, "That's quite enough, Inspector. We have learned something. We know how that bracelet came to be in Daisy's drawer." Spare me from detective fiction reading citizens. "Indeed?" Nick could barely keep the sarcasm from his voice. "And how did that happen?" "Come with us." Miss Ellis left the room, Miss McMillan nearly treading on her heels. They led Nick and Hopkins to a classroom where a woman sat tied to a chair. Mrs. Briarley stood over her, her rolling pin in hand. Miss Ellis pointed at the bound woman. "This is Sally Pettigrew. She's the one who put the bracelet in Lacy's drawer." 281


For a moment, shock robbed Nick of his power of speech. Squinting at the prisoner, he finally said, "You were Liz's roommate, the one who gave Sharyn the watches Liz stole." "That's her," Miss McMillan affirmed. Fighting a rising excitement, Nick asked, "How do you know she put the bracelet in the drawer?" "Daisy told us," Mrs. Briarley supplied. "Told us at tea this afternoon. She said Miss High and Mighty Sally here wanted to see her room during the fair." "Did Daisy see her put the bracelet in the drawer?" Hopkins wanted to know. "No, but how else could it have come to be there?" Miss McMillan responded. "You know Lacy wouldn't have done that." Rage began a slow, steady ascent up Nick's spine as he leaned forward to ask Sally a one word question. "Why?" "He said he'd tell my beau I'd been in prison if I didn't," Sally wailed. "Or burn my face." By Heaven, I was right. Heart slamming against ribs, Nick said, "Someone was blackmailing you. Someone on the police force." Terror widened Sally's eyes. "How did you—?" Then she shook her head. "I ain't saying nothing else." "You don't have to," Nick said, "But I promise you," he said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "You will be spending the rest of your life in prison if you don't tell me what I want to know. Where is Sharyn Winslow?" "I don't know," Sally wailed. "I wouldn't hurt Miss Sharyn." 282


"A bit late for that," Nick retorted. "Mrs. Briarley, see what else you can get out of her. Ladies, would you come with me, please?" As if this were his own establishment and not theirs, Nick led the women and Hopkins back to the parlor. Dread crowding around his heart, he asked, "What time did Sharyn leave for the station yesterday?" A banging on the front door prevented the women's reply. Muttering, Miss Ellis hurried into the hall. A minute later her anguished cry nearly sent Nick charging after her. "He's seen Sharyn," Miss Ellis gasped as she staggered back into the room. Miss McMillan's hands covered her own cry of horror at the sight of the man who followed behind Miss Ellis. His face looked as if someone had used it as a punching bag. Like Nick's before Mrs. Briarley's salve, one eye was ringed with ugly bruises, swelling it nearly shut. A split lip and heavily bandaged nose added more proof that someone had meant business. Miss McMillan led him to a chair and the man sank into it. With his good eye, he squinted at the group. "Who's in charge, here?" Nick stepped forward. "I am." "I beg your pardon?" Miss Ellis snapped. "This is our school." "And when a woman has been missing for more than twenty-four hours, it becomes a police matter," Nick retorted. "Police?" The man held up a hand. "Hey, I ain't done nothing, now. I'm bringing news, that's all." 283


"I am Inspector Tyler," Nick identified himself. "Who are you?" "Harry Bennett. I drive a cab." The man winced as he settled against the chair again. "There was this lady outside the police station yesterday afternoon who asked me to bring a note here. Pretty blonde lady with blue eyes." Dear God, was all of London waiting to provide the authorities with information? "Why the Devil have you waited until now to say something?" Nick shouted. "Are you blind, Inspector?" Bennett thrust a finger at his face. "Beaten and robbed I was, just after I got off my shift. Bastard that did it left me in an alley and I didn't wake up until this morning. Ain't got a cent left and my wife nearly didn't let me out again after I got home." Nick reined in his anger. "You said something about a note?" Bennett grimaced. "That's right. Guess whoever done me wasn't interested in it cause they left that." "Sharyn gave you a note?" Miss Ellis asked. "Yes, ma'am. Picked the lady up down the street from the Ivy Street Police Station. "That must have been right after she left from seeing Lacy," Hopkins put in. At Nick's raised eyebrow he added, "Miss Winslow didn't tell me if Lacy said anything, sir." "As if she would," Nick growled. He gave his attention back to the cabbie and prompted, "So you picked up the pretty blonde lady down the street from the Ivy Street Station and— " 284


"She asked me to take her to—" Bennett's voice faltered and his fingers plucked at his coat. "Where?" Nick bit off the word. Bennett sank against the chair again as if expecting a blow. "I took her to the edge of Little Hell." "Dear God," Miss McMillan whispered and a cold sweat broke out on the back of Nick's neck, creeping down his back in an icy spiral. Little Hell. The very mention of the infamous tangle of streets deep in the East End was enough to bring a shudder of terror to any citizen, law abiding or not. Choked with every imaginable vice and danger, most of Nick's contacts refused to enter it. To travel there without invitation or damn good reason was to court disaster or worse. Sharyn was in that criminal inferno? Of course she was. Something or someone had sent her there in a hurry, with only a note to let others know where she had gone. Foolish, stubborn, beloved Sharyn. If I don't kill you before I ask you to marry me, it will be a miracle. "Big brave man, aren't you?" Miss Ellis taunted Bennett. "To let a lady go in there by herself." "Hey, I tried to talk her out of it!" Bennett protested. "Offered to bring her back here free of charge, but oh, no! She wrote out the note to bring so some friends could come and help her." His gaze accused the entire room. "I guess she meant the lot of you. She promised me she'd wait until someone came to help her." He reached in his coat, produced a folded piece of paper and held it out. "See for yourself."

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Still chilled, Nick took the note and scanned it. Good God. If a greater den of vice than the Black Swan existed in the East End, he had never heard of it. "But why?" A white-faced Miss McMillan demanded. "She knew it was dangerous. Why didn't she come home and let us go with her?" "Lacy told her something," Nick said slowly. "Something that made her go to Little Hell alone as soon she left the precinct." Sharyn's friends stared at him, their expressions a mixture of fear and hope. "What can we do, Inspector?" Miss McMillan whispered. Ignoring her question, Nick said, "Thank you for your help, Mr. Bennett. You are free to go. I must ask you to say nothing to anyone, in regards to this matter. A woman's life is in danger. I only hope I will not be forced to include you in any charges." Bennett did not need to be told again. He scurried from the room and a minute later the front door's slam echoed back with a dreadful finality. "So what are we going to do now?" Miss Ellis repeated. "We?" Nick asked in disbelief. "We are doing nothing. Hopkins and I will take over." "That's not fair," Miss Ellis protested. "Sharyn is our friend. We have a right to help in any way we can." "The last thing I need is to have two more women go missing," Nick said icily. "You can best help by reassuring the other children. Hopkins, come with me. I think there's a 286


young prisoner who needs to be questioned. I'll send another constable for Sally." "On what charges?" Hopkins asked. "I'll think of something," Nick promised. "You know how creative I can be." "You will find Sharyn, won't you?" Miss McMillan pleaded. "Promise you will bring her safely home to us?" The sweetness of their night together flooded Nick's senses, silencing him. The only thing that mattered was the chance to see Sharyn one last time, if only to explain everything and to tell her he loved her. "I promise," he rasped. He and Hopkins left the women to their task. Outside, Nick's cab still waited at the curb. Seeing their faces as they climbed inside, the driver needed no instructions to hurry. They hurtled through the darkness as if the Devil himself chased them while Nick's shuttling heart matched the rhythm of the clattering wheels. I'm coming, Sharyn. I'm coming. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Six The desk sergeant at the Ivy Street Station looked up, and smiled in recognition. "Good evening, Inspector Tyler. What brings you here?" "Good evening, Sergeant Richards. I've come to interview Lacy Allen." "At this hour?" Richards glanced at the wall clock. "Bit late, ain't it?" "A policeman's work is never done," Nick intoned and winked at him. "I've been after her a long time and I want my own crack at questioning her." "Well—" "No need to worry, Sergeant Richards," Hopkins assured with a broad smile. "Inspector Tyler's worked hard on this case. He ain't about to let anything happen to Lightfingers. He was there when the brat was arrested." "He was?" Curiosity lit up Richards' face. "He was, but he's been about gathering more information, if you know what I mean." Hopkins perched on the edge of the desk and tilted his head in study. "You're looking all peckish, Sarge. Ain't had your dinner yet, have you?" "No," grumbled Richards, "and I could use a bite of something hot." "Why don't you nip across the street and grab a bite of supper? I can watch the desk for you, long as you don't take too long," Hopkins urged. 288


"Go on, Sergeant Richards," Nick added. "Shame to work a man so hard he can't have his dinner." "Well, I guess it'll be all right." Richards stood. "I'll be back in two ticks." "Oh, you can take longer than that." Nick looked at Hopkins. "If you will take me back to the prisoner, then you can watch the desk until Sergeant Richards returns." "Right you are, sir. Let me see your keys there, Sergeant." Flashing a wide smile, Hopkins held out his hand. Richards hesitated, but handed him the key ring. "Guess it'll be all right since you've made Inspector, sir." "Good man," Nick praised. Once inside the cell-lined corridor, Hopkins looked at Nick. "That's the second time I've done that in two days. Suppose they'll take away my promotion when they find out what we're up to?" "I'll get you job with me in the family store," Nick promised. "And be careful of Richards. He'll probably be back in ten minutes. He's a real stickler for details." Hopkins nodded in agreement. "You leave him to me, sir. And thank you for taking me in your confidence." Nick clapped him on the shoulder. "I need one man I can trust." "Police officers up to no good," Hopkins said heatedly. "Makes me sick to think about it." Swallowing his own fury, Nick hurried down the corridor. Hopkins followed, the dirt from the unswept floor crunching beneath their feet. One or two women slept on stone beds but the other cells were empty. In the last one, a lone occupant 289


sat on the bed with her back to the wall and her legs pulled up to her chin. Lacy's eyes widened at the sight of Nick. "What you want, peeler?" she snarled. "'Cause I got nothing to say to the likes of you." "I think you will, Lacy." Nick said as Hopkins unlocked the cell door. He looked at the younger man. "Try to stall Richards if he comes back early." "Yes, sir." Hopkins darted a glance down the corridor as if expecting Richards to come after them, then looked back at Nick again. "Wouldn't you say, sir, that we're about to put ourselves in harm's way?" "What are you talking about?" Nick's eyes narrowed. "Just that when we go to find Miss Winslow, it might do well to go armed. There are several revolvers in the evidence room and I just happen to have the keys..." Hopkins held them up. Nick shook his head. "There's no "we" here, Hopkins. Just me. Get me a revolver while Johnson is gone." "But sir!" Hopkins protested. "You're going to need some help." "I need you here more to keep an eye on Richards," Nick said with finality. "And on Dobbins if he shows up." "Yes, sir." With a sigh of resignation, Hopkins slipped back into the corridor's darkness, his footsteps loud on the unswept floor. Nick pulled the cell door to a near close behind him and joined Lacy on the bed. Even in the cell's dim light, he could not mistake her angry scowl. 290


"I already told you, peeler, I ain't got nothing to say to you," she said. "Not even to help Miss Sharyn?" "What' cha mean, help her? She's all right, ain't she?" Lacy's voice wobbled. Nick fixed her with a stare. Everything hinged on what Lacy could tell him. And that everything was Sharyn's whereabouts and safety. The whole Metropolitan Police Force, promotion included, could go to straight to hell. At least selling tobacco was honest. "I don't know. No one at the school has seen her since she came to see you yesterday. What did you tell her?" Nick forced himself to speak calmly when all he wanted to do was shout at her. Lacy's gaze flickered around the cell. "Nuttin,'" she muttered. Rage at her obstinacy pelted Nick's insides. She knew where Sharyn had gone. She must. "Lacy, I know we haven't always gotten along—" For a minute, her fear seemed to evaporate and she snorted her disdain. "Haven't gotten any smarter since they promoted you, have you, Inspector Tyler?" "Probably not," Nick said. "But there is one thing you and I share." "What's that?" "We both love Miss Sharyn." "You love her?" All the scorn vanished from Lacy's face. "Swear?" 291


"Swear." Nick's fingers traced over his heart. As carefully as he would have comforted Little Jack, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "She's gone missing, Lacy, and I'm afraid something has happened to her. You're the only one who might know exactly where she is. I need your help to find her. She loves you, Lacy. Please help me. Please." Twin tears slipped from the girl's eyes and trailed down her face. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and took a ragged breath. "Awright," she agreed. "I'll tell you. On one condition." Checking his impatience once more, Nick sat back. "What?" "You take me with you when you go lookin' for her." "That's impossible." "No it ain't," Lacy insisted. "You're an Inspector. Figure out a way to sneak me out of here. You'll never find it otherwise." Her green eyes pleaded with him and Nick surrendered to the inevitable. "Very well. In for a penny, in for a pound. What did Miss Sharyn ask you yesterday?" Lacy gave him a tight smile. "First off, she wanted to know if I really stole that bracelet." "And you told her no." "'Cause I didn't. I wouldn't bring shame to Miss Sharyn or the school for nuttin'. I don't care if you believe me or not." "I do believe you, Lacy. We caught the real thief. Or at least the one who put it there." Lacy's mouth fell open. "Who?"

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"Sally Pettigrew, one of Sharyn's day students. During the carnival, she got Daisy Fletcher to show her where you girls slept. We think that's when she put it in the drawer." Pounding her knees, Lacy demanded, "Why'd she do it?" Time was short but Nick needed to insure her cooperation. "She said someone threatened to hurt her if she didn't do it. "About those other thefts, the ones Miss Sharyn paid for. Did you take those items?" Suspicion shuttered her eyes. "You already got me in jail, peeler. Why do you need to know that now?" Nick leaned forward. "Pretend I am Magistrate Hudson. Why did you do steal from those merchants?" "I was helping feed my friends." That was not the answer Nick had expected. "What friends are you talking about? Other pickpockets?" "You gonna be sassy with me, peeler?" she warned. The sudden tilt of her chin, so much like Sharyn's, made Nick's heart turn over. "I apologize," he amended. Recalling Ben's news, a glimmer of understanding began to beat in his brain. "Why do your friends need your help?" A shadow of fear crossed Lacy's face. "They're in a secret factory. A peeler owns it and he won't let 'em leave. Makes 'em work something awful, putting together match boxes." "The man who came to the school with me?" By God, Dobbins, I have you at last. I'll see you strung up for this. Lacy shook her head. "Nah. I'd never seen him before. The owner's got the same big, bushy whiskers, but he's taller and nearly bald." 293


Nick gripped Lacy's arms. "Nearly bald?" he asked hoarsely. "Are you sure?" She wriggled out of his grasp. "Yeah. I got a look at him once when he had me there." "You? You were there?" Nick could not believe it. "Yeah." Lacy said. "But I got away after a couple of days. I saw him again one night when I took food to the others after I was at Miss Sharyn's. He was outside the factory, sure as Gospel." Nick choked back the wave nausea rising in his throat. Grabbing a pencil and pad of paper from his coat pocket, he made a quick sketch. "Is this the man you saw?" Terror widened Lacy's eyes. "That's him," she whispered. "Acting Police Commissioner Foster?" Nick whispered. "Are you absolutely sure?" She nodded. "Yeah. He's had kids snatched off the street from all over the East End to work there." "He knew you could identify him," Nick said absently, disbelief hammering beneath his skin. "It would have ruined his career, let alone stopped his promotion to Commissioner." "He'd have killed me," Lacy said flatly. Nick slammed his fist against the wall. Foster had played him. Played him like grifter will play a spanking new constable. The bastard had set him up to trap Lacy, and Nick had walked right into it. God knows what he might have done to her if Hudson had not listened to Sharyn's appeal. Head still reeling, he managed to say, "Lacy, I'm sorry. Sorry that you felt you couldn't tell me about the children." 294


She shrugged. "You're not even close to being that bad," she said. "That Foster, he's a right evil one." "I suppose I owe you thanks for that," Nick said ruefully. "But why didn't the children's parents go to the police and report them missing?" Unexpectedly she chuckled. "'Cause them kids are like me. They ain't got nobody to miss them, 'cept them that trains 'em." "To be like you." Nick guessed. "To be street thieves." "Yeah," she acknowledged with a quick nod. "And so you started stealing to feed the children being held captive?" "Yeah," Lacy said again. "Just things I could pawn buy to food for 'em. Some of the kids are as young as Little Jack. I won't lie to you, peeler. I've stolen stuff to feed myself before and I had a little money from stuff I've pawned. But I had to help my friends. I didn't want to steal from Mrs. Briarley." "Lacy, if you knew children were being held prisoner by anyone, why didn't you tell me?" Her hoot of laughter chilled him. "Are you a daftie, Inspector? You knew I robbed those other people. Why should you believe me about one of your own?" Her sarcastic pronunciation of his title hit the intended mark. "All right." Nick admitted. "Is that what you told Miss Sharyn? That you'd been sneaking out to help the children?" "Yeah. I can get up and down the tree like nobody's business," Lacy boasted. "She was right put out with me." In spite of his worry, Nick smiled. "You mean when she caught you?" 295


"Yeah," and she giggled, reminding Nick, that in spite of everything, Lacy was still a young girl. He gave her a small smile. "Did you really sneak out that Friday night before the fair?" "Yeah." She giggled again. "I was out making sure people I knew from the streets came to the fair. But I didn't go nowhere close to that rat Jennings' pawn shop. Most of his stuff is junk anyway." "Who's watching the children still in the factory?" he asked. "Belle and Cyril." Lacy's mouth twisted in disgust. "Real mean ones and both of 'em drink, always threatening to tell Bushy Beard—I mean Foster—if the kids don't work hard enough." "Have they or Foster hurt the children?" Nick asked, fighting the urge to slam his fist against the wall again. Fear flashed across Lacy's face. "Tom—that's the oldest boy—dropped me a note one night. He can read and write and told me not to come by too often. Foster told 'em if they didn't work hard enough, there were always more kids he could get...." her voice trailed away. "Enough." Nick didn't want to hear anymore, didn't want to think about the threat of harm to innocent children. "You told Miss Sharyn the factory is in Little Hell, didn't you? That's where I think she's gone." "Oh, Lord, she didn't go there alone, did she?" Lacy shrank against the wall, wrapping her arms around knees. Tears streamed down her face. "I swear I didn't tell her to go there, Inspector Tyler, I swear. I begged her not to go." She buried 296


her face in her arms and wept, sobs convulsing her thin frame. "Inspector." Hopkins reappeared at the cell door and passed a revolver through the bars. "Richards is back. What do you want me to do?" Nick left the bench to take and pocket the gun. "Take him back into the evidence room. Show him the knife you took off that cutthroat last week. Richards collects knives. Give me just enough time to get Lacy out of here." "What?" Hopkins' eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You're taking her with you?" "Yes," Nick said. "Anyone else out there?" "No, sir. I'll take care of Richards." Hopkins hurried away again. Nick gave Lacy a long, hard look. "I'm trusting you, Lacy. Don't disappoint me." She scrambled off the bench. "You're gonna get in trouble because of this, aren't you?" "Very likely. But sometimes a man needs to do the right thing, even if it means breaking the law. Just like you stealing food for your friends." Her mouth fell open. "You mean you don't blame me for stealing?" she asked. "You understand why I did it?" "Yes." Her gaze searched his face for a trick. "And you really believe I didn't steal that bracelet?" "Yes," Nick repeated. "But even if Sally didn't admit putting it there, I'd believe you." The old suspicion returned to Lacy's face. "Why?" 297


Nick shrugged and said simply, "Because Miss Sharyn does." Lacy stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then her thin, clever fingers laced about his, warming his hand and providing a small sense of hope. "Well then, Inspector Tyler," she said softly. "I'll take you to Miss Sharyn." Thankfully, the front hall was empty. From the evidence room, Nick heard Richards laughing at some tale Hopkins was relating. He hoped the young man's loyalty to Nick would not cost him his promotion. Outside, he flagged down a cab. Lacy scrambled in and Nick called out their destination. The driver balked at the address but a threat of arrest shut up him up. Climbing inside, Nick slammed the door and the hansom jumped forward. In the passing streetlights Nick watched Lacy. In profile, her face was blank—her eyes shuttered—and Nick felt his old doubts about her return. What if he were wrong? Lacy had lied to him before. After everything Nick had done to her, what would keep her from doing so now? The ride to Little Hell seemed to take forever. At last, Lacy stood and rapped on the roof. The hansom skittered to a stop and she hopped out, Nick following. He paid the driver, who lost no time in making a hasty departure. "What now?" he asked. "I go ahead first," she said. Nick shook his head. "You're not going without me." 298


She scowled. "In them clothes, you'll give us away in two ticks. Besides, I've got to get inside and unlock the door." "And how do you propose to get inside?" Her look suggested he was the village idiot. "Tom's most likely expecting me. He'll have left the rope." "The rope?" "You ask too many questions." She gave him directions and said, "Wait five minutes, then come down the alley. If you don't see the rope, it means I'm inside and the front door's unlocked." "And if I see the rope?" Nick demanded. She shrugged. "You'll just to have to trust me." "Trust her," Nick whispered. He watched her slip into the darkness, a slender figure in a gray prison dress and the thief who held the key to his future happiness in her hands. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Twenty-Seven "Take the gag off her," Foster ordered. Belle shuffled forward and untied the filthy rag wrapped around Sharyn's mouth. She took a long breath and choked on the stale, dank air of the windowless room. The dirt caking her lips made her cough again and she longed to wipe them clean. But having her hands untied any time soon was unlikely. "You're a great deal of trouble, Miss Winslow. But then you have a talent for interfering in police affairs, do you not?" "I'm in trouble?" Sharyn struggled against the ropes binding her to the straight back chair. "The Acting Commissioner of police kidnapping children, holding them hostage and forcing them to work for him? I'd say yours is the greater trouble." Except for visits to the toilet, she had remained tied to the chair since Foster had caught her in the alley yesterday. Her back ached from sitting in one position for so long and the ropes lashed about her wrists burned her skin. She shook back the lock of hair hanging in her eyes. "When I am found— " "But no one is going to find you." Foster's voice turned silky with menace. "No one will think of looking for even a woman like you in Little Hell. Ladies would never come here, but that title hardly applies to you, does it? You will have disappeared on the London streets like so many unfortunates." 300


"Someone will be searching for me." Sharyn declared with a confidence she did not feel. If she told him about the message she sent back to the school, he would kill her now instead of later. But why had the note not brought help? "The only one who might know you are here is that brat Lacy Allen and I will take care of her soon enough," Foster spat. "Just how much did she tell you?" Dear Lord, don't let him hurt Lacy. Sharyn's pulse pounded beneath the ropes but she stared through him. "You arranged it all, didn't you?" she guessed. Concern for Lacy made her dangerously bold in her questions. Her thoughts raced over the past few days' events. "You had Sally put that bracelet in Daisy's drawer. You were blackmailing her, weren't you?" Foster grabbed her chin. "What did Sally tell you?" he growled. Sharyn jerked her head back. "And that man, Mr. Jennings," she continued. "No doubt you forced him to help you, as well. You staged the whole incident because you were afraid Lacy would tell someone about your factory. You had to arrest her so you could..." Shuddering, her voice trailed away, realizing just how evil this man was and what he might have done, could still do, to Lacy. "You're a smart one, I'll give you that," Foster admitted. "You've been on the streets. But not smart enough to not poke your nose in other people's business. You former criminals turned reformer are all alike, out to save the world and snooping where you don't belong. If Hudson had put Lacy 301


Allen in jail, I'd already be rid of her and no one would be the wiser. As for Tyler—" The mention of Nick churned up the dull ache Sharyn had carried in her heart since he arrested Lacy. "Does he know about you?" she asked, fearing his answer. "Hasn't a clue," Foster bragged. "Just like his father, highminded and noble. He'd never suspect anything about the man who's cheered him on and gave him the promotion he's been waiting on all these years. I made sure Dobbins took him along when he arrested Lacy." A wave of contempt spread over Sharyn. "You used him," she accused coldly. "Allowed him to put himself in harm's way time and time again, knowing he would always do the right thing." "Why not?" His mocking grin only increased her loathing, and the tears she had held back since yesterday threatened to spill over. Oh, Nick. How could I have doubted you? A loud pounding on the door broke their conversation. Foster wheeled about and shouted, "Keep your shirt on, I'm coming." He stomped to the door and it jerked open. "This better be good," he spat. "It is." Nick pointed the revolver directly at the man's heart. "More than good. Put your hands up and step back. It would give me the greatest pleasure to shoot you like the coward you are, but going to jail has never been in my future plans." "How the hell—?" Foster sputtered as he backed up, arms raised over his head. 302


"I had some assistance. I would put her on the force, but we are not so open-minded as to let females, let alone children, on the force. Lacy, are you there?" "Right here, Inspector Tyler." The London street girl stepped from behind him. His heart in his throat, Nick stared across the room at the woman he loved tied to a chair. Locks of untidy hair tumbled from about her face and her clothing was rumpled and stained. "Dearest, has this piece of filth harmed you?" "No, Nick. I'm quite unharmed." She smiled, but the terror and weariness staining her face belied her words and new rage seethed through him. He craned his head slightly. "Lacy, there's a knife in my back trouser pocket. Take it and free Miss Sharyn while I handcuff this poor excuse for a policeman." "Right." Lacy took the knife from its hiding place and darted toward Sharyn. But as she slipped past Foster, he lunged and pulled her to him, snatching the knife from her hand. Placing it against the girl's throat, he snarled, "Now who's got the upper hand? Listen to me, Tyler. Put the gun down and kick it over to that corner or I'll cut her throat as sure you stand there. Now." He tightened his grip on the knife and Lacy whimpered. "Hurt that girl and I'll put the noose around your neck myself." Never taking his eyes from the pair, Nick lowered the weapon and kicked it across the floor. "You'll have to catch us first." Foster half-walked, halfpulled a struggling Lacy toward the door. "No matter what happens to me, you can kiss your promotion goodbye for 303


helping a known felon like Lacy Allen escape from jail. You won't be able to find a desk job—OW!" He doubled over as Lacy sank her teeth into his arm and pulled free. Nick hurled himself against Foster, sending them both to the floor but only for a moment. Nick jerked Foster upright and slammed his fist against the man's jaw. The sound of bone against bone made the most satisfying sound Nick had heard in ages. He started to apply another blow but a fierce tug pulled his arm back. "Stop, Mister Nick." Mister Nick. She called you Mister Nick. Breathing heavily, Nick looked at a scowling Lacy. "Ain't gonna do you no good to have saved everybody if you're in jail," she scolded. "You're right." Nick dropped an unconscious Foster to the floor, took the handcuffs from his pocket and gave them to her. "You can do the honors, 'Constable' Lacy." The girl grinned and went to her work. Grabbing the knife from the floor, Nick charged across the short distance to slash the ropes holding Sharyn to the chair. The knotted cords fell away, and he pulled her into his arms. She buried her face against his shoulder as shuddering sobs racked her frame. "Shh, dearest. I'm here." Nick pressed his lips against her hair's wild disarray. "Please don't cry." She lifted her face from his neck, tears streaming down her dirt-smeared face. "How did you find me?" Nick nodded across the room. "We have Lacy to thank for that. If not for her, I'd still be spinning my wheels." As gently as possible, he traced her lips with his finger. "Did Foster hurt you in any way? Because if not, I am going to kiss you right now." 304


She smiled weakly and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I must look dreadful." Tears stung his eyes as he cupped her chin. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he pronounced huskily. "And the bravest." He kissed her, gently at first, but Sharyn pulled him closer, her own kiss demanding, and he feasted upon the sweet familiar taste of her lips while her heart beat wildly against his chest. "What the hell is going on?" A grim-faced Dobbins stepped into the room, breaking the moment. Hopkins followed, holding a sniveling, handcuffed man by the arm. Relief lit up his face at the sight of Nick and Sharyn. "I had to tell him, Inspector Tyler," he explained, nodding at Dobbins. "Richards opened his yap and told him you'd let Lacy escape. I told him about what Sally Pettigrew did, too." "Foster had Sally put the bracelet in the drawer," Sharyn told Nick. "He has been kidnapping children off the street to work in this factory. He had Lacy here for a few days before she got away." "I know," Nick said, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "Lacy told me everything. Foster needed to silence her before she told anyone about the factory. She brought me here." Sharyn's glance darted to Hopkins. "And how did you find us Constable—excuse me—that's Detective Hopkins, isn't it?" Hopkins smiled proudly and stood straighter. "I went to the Black Swan and threatened to arrest everyone if they didn't tell us what they knew about the factory," he said. Giving his prisoner a shake, he added, "This bloke made a run 305


for it and I sprinted for him. Guess those extra pints slowed him down a bit, but he brought me here." Still staring at the unconscious Foster, Dobbins shook his head in disbelief. "All those years on the force..." His glance flickered over to the grim-faced Lacy, who held Nick's gun in a tight fisted grip, and back to Nick. "And you knew about this?" "Yes. Thanks to Lacy Allen," Nick praised. Dobbins pointed at Hopkins' captive. "Lacy, is this the man who helped Foster hold the children prisoner?" "That's him, that's Cyril." Lacy nodded and gestured to the sniveling woman in the corner. "That's Belle." "Outstanding, work, Hopkins," Nick saluted his colleague while his other arm slid around Sharyn's waist. "Thank you, Detective Hopkins," Sharyn called. "Good to see you safe and sound, Miss Winslow. Inspector Tyler's been right worried about you and that's a fact." Hopkins winked at her. Slipping from the safety of Nick's arms, Sharyn hurried to embrace Lacy. The girl dropped the gun and her menacing scowl crumpled as she buried her face against Sharyn's shoulder and burst into tears. "Lacy, Lacy," Sharyn crooned. "You saved my life." "Wouldn't have much of a life if it weren't for you," Lacy gulped. "I made Inspector Tyler bring me. He'd never have found it here without me or got in the door." "Knows London better than I do," Nick said proudly as he joined them. 306


"I'll need a complete statement from you later, Tyler," Dobbins said gruffly. Nick's years of loathing for the man threatened to spill over. "You thought I was working with Foster, didn't you?" he asked. Dobbins' face reddened. "You've been Foster's fair-haired boy for ages," he defended himself. "And if it looks bad and smells bad, it usually is. Looks like I was wrong." He hesitated and then crossed the room to offer Nick his hand. "Good work, Inspector." If anyone else but Sharyn had been at his side, Nick doubted he would have been capable of shaking hands with his nemesis. But with her, anything was possible. "Thank you," he managed. "I'll leave you in charge, then. Thank you, Miss Winslow." Dobbins nodded and left the room. "I think it best we get the prisoners off to jail, don't you sir?" Hopkins glared down at Foster's still limp form. "Sooner we have this vermin of the streets of London, the better off her law-abiding citizens will sleep." "The other children," Sharyn said suddenly. "Are they safe?" "Yes, ma'am," Hopkins assured. "I sent the oldest boy in the other room to find another constable, as it looks as if we have several prisoners. But where can we take the children?" Sharyn hugged Lacy. "They can come with us. We have lots of room, don't we?" "Anything you say, Miss Sharyn." A grinning Lacy nodded. 307


"Lacy why don't you gather your friends together and take them downstairs," Nick suggested. "Do you suppose Mrs. Briarley will have enough to feed them all?" Lacy laughed. "She don't need no excuse to cook for kids. I'll go get 'em." "What's all this, then?" From the doorway, a tall strongly built man in a blue uniform pronounced the blessedly familiar statement of the London street bobby. Another constable stood behind him. "Having a bit of trouble, are we?" Hopkins shoved Cyril at him. "Take him to the closest Station, Constable." He pointed at the woman in the corner and said to the other one, "I'd cuff her if I were you. She's been holding children prisoner." The second constable glared at Belle. "Hurting kids? You oughta be ashamed. Local judge ain't gonna like that one bit." After they departed, Hopkins glanced down at Foster. "Shall we take him in now, Inspector?" "You may have that privilege, Hopkins," Nick said. "You've earned it." Hopkins grinned. "Thank you, sir. Come on, Foster old boy." He jerked the slowly waking man to his feet. "It gives me the greatest pleasure to tell you that you are under arrest for kidnapping Miss Winslow, Lacy Allen, innocent children and all other kinds of things. Anything you say may be used against you as evidence and, from what I see, we've got more than enough to send you away for a long, long time." He dragged Foster from the room and at last, Sharyn and Nick were alone. 308


He gathered her into his arms, kissing her far more thoroughly than before. She fit against him as if she had been designed just for that purpose. But then, of course, she had. "I think," he murmured at last, "I should take you home. Once we are there, I have a very important question to ask you." "Why not here?" she teased around another kiss. "I don't like our present location. And being a romantic Italian, the setting should be perfect." "And this question would concern...?" "About what you are doing every day for the rest of your life, my dearest Miss Winslow," he whispered. "And if there is room for a lonely detective in it." Very gently, she kissed him. "I think," she whispered, "that my answer will require Mister Gilbert and Mister Sullivan to rewrite their lyrics about unhappy policemen. At least for one policeman." Happiness tightened Nick's throat. "Then let's go home, Miss Winslow. Let's go home." Magistrate Hudson looked at the assembled group before him, his heavy eyebrows drawn together in stern warning. "This is a very important and solemn occasion. I would advise all of you to consider that." The light conversation and whispers died away. Hudson cleared his throat and said, "Let the principals step forward." Hand in hand, Nick and Sharyn Tyler moved to stand before the robed man. Their shining faces bore the same wondrous joy as on their wedding day two weeks ago. A smile 309


twitched at the corner of Hudson's mouth as he called, "Where are Lacy Allen and Little Jack?" "Here, Your Honor." Lacy took her new brother's hand and moved to stand before the newlyweds. She leaned against them and felt their love rush over her. Every possible fear had followed her the week they were on their honeymoon. They would drown in the ocean or run away to Paris. Be robbed by brigands or kidnapped like poor Davy Balfour in Mr. Stevenson's book of the same name. Or, worse still, simply change their minds about adopting her and Little Jack. But Magistrate Hudson's smile banished all her fears as he said, "There are no formal laws for the adoption of children. A responsible party may take children into their home, provided they can promise to care for them." He stared at the couple behind her. "As the father of four, I must advise you that becoming a parent is the most important responsibility you will ever undertake. But as you have declared your willingness, we will proceed. Nicolas and Sharyn Tyler, do you wish to adopt Little Jack and Lacy Allen, formerly known as 'Lightfingers'?" The guests laughed and Lacy grinned. Behind her, came the couple's unison reply, "We do." "Will you care for them, raise them and give them love and support as though they were your own flesh and blood?" "We will." "And even if you are blessed with children of your own, still regard Lacy and Little Jack as the same?" 310


Silence followed his question and a darting glance showed Lacy that Miss Sharyn-Mama was crying. She blinked and nodded as Papa declared firmly, "We will." "Lacy Allen and Little Jack," Hudson intoned. "Sharyn and Nicolas Tyler want to become your parents. Will you try to obey them, be patient with them and love them with all your heart?" "Yes, sir." Lacy did not hesitate. "I always do what Mama Sharyn and Papa Nick tell me," piped up Little Jack. Hudson's smile broadened. "Then as all parties are in agreement, I declare that Little Jack and Lacy Allen are to be known from this day forward known as Jack and Lacy Tyler, the legal children of Nicolas and Sharyn Tyler. Congratulations." The assembly roared its applause as Sharyn knelt and pulled Lacy into her arms. Nick picked up Little Jack and ruffled his hair. "Hello, son." Putting the boy down, he kissed Lacy on the cheek. "How does it feel to be the daughter of a peeler?" "Right fair, Papa. Right fair." She beamed up at him. Little Jack tugged at Nick's trousers. "Papa, I'm hungry." "Spoken like a Tyler!" called Nonni. "You come with me, Little Jack. You too, Lacy. We have a very large cake to cut." The little Italian took her new great-grandchildren by the hand and led them to the waiting buffet in the dining room. The guests followed, leaving Sharyn and Nick alone. She smiled up at him. "Any second thoughts?" 311


"None. I look forward to being a father almost as much as I do a husband. But being a husband has certain advantages." "Such as what, Mr. Tyler?" "This." He pulled her close and kissed her, long and deep. Sharyn wrapped her arms about him, savoring the intensity of his kiss. Their honeymoon had been beyond any happiness she could imagine, each day and night better than before. "Papa. Mama. Are you coming or not?" Lacy called from the door. Grinning, she shook her head. "Always kissing!" "Come, Mama. Our children are calling," Nick said softly. "The first of many, I hope." Sharyn took his hand. His eyes twinkled in such a way that Sharyn blushed. "Looking forward to it, Mrs. Tyler. Looking forward to it." And arm in arm, they walked toward the kitchen where their family, their friends and their future waited. [Back to Table of Contents]

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About the author... In high school, Karen Hall fell in love with all things English after discovering Masterpiece Theater. When not writing historical romance, she enjoys gardening, singing in her church choir and going to the opera. She makes her home in East Tennesse with her four-footed children. Visit Karen at www.KarenHallbooks.com [Back to Table of Contents]

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Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication. For other wonderful stories of romance, please visit our on-line bookstore at www.thewildrosepress.com For questions or more information, contact us at [email protected] The Wild Rose Press www.TheWildRosePress.com [Back to Table of Contents]

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Other Historical Roses to enjoy from The Wild Rose Press from Vintage Rose (historical 1900s): DON'T CALL ME DARLIN' by Fleeta Cunningham: In Texas, 1957, Carole the librarian faces censorship. Will the County Judge who's dating her protect or accuse her? SOURDOUGH RED by Pinkie Paranya: At the end of the Klondike gold rush, Jen and her younger brother search for her twin, lost and threatened in Alaskan wilderness. from Cactus Rose (historical Western): OUTLAW IN PETTICOATS by Paty Jager. Maeve had her heart crushed; it won't happen again. Zeke has wanted Maeve since he first set eyes on her... SECRETS IN THE SHADOWS by Sheridon Smythe. Lovely widow Lacy had taken in two young children—and the rambunctious little angels wasted no time getting her into trouble with Shadow City's new sheriff... from American Rose (historical U.S.A.): EXPEDITION OF LOVE by Jo Barrett. An up-and-coming scientist in the world of paleontology collides heart first with an unconventional suffragette who has no desire to marry. Can they resolve their differences? WHERE THE HEART IS by Sheridon Smythe. Orphan Natalie Polk steps into the shoes of the errant orphanage house mother. The new owner not only accepts her as 315


capable of running the home but falls in love with her, with obstacles galore. How can they have a future? from English Tea Rose (non-American): HIGHLAND MOONLIGHT by Teresa Reasor. Seduced by the warrior to whom she is betrothed, Lady Mary flees to sanctuary. But she is forced to wed him, to save him from the executioner. Was her dream as elusive as Highland Moonlight? THE RESURRECTION OF LADY SOMERSET by Nicola Beaumont. An age-old mystery, a risky assignment, a marriage devised to suppress a secret... Lark has been hidden most of her life. With the death of her mentor comes the command to marry the new Lord Somerset. Without this marriage, the estate falls to his wastrel brother. Can either suitor satisfy the lady?

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