Roger gave a satisfied nod. “You’re the nob I was supposed to find. I’ve got a message for you.”
“I’m not a nob,” Griffin replied automatically. If there was one thing in the world he did
not
want to be taken for, it was an aristocrat.
Roger glanced around the hall and then raised his eyebrows, investing the look with a polite skepticism that would not have been out of place in the finest drawing rooms of the
ton
.
Griffin sighed. “Well, get on with it then. Who’s trying to dump this baby on me and claim that I’m its—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
The boy lifted his shoulders in an insouciant shrug. “Beats me, guv.”
Muttering under his breath, Griffin gingerly pulled up the infant’s lace-trimmed robe. He couldn’t fail to notice that the garment was fashioned of the finest lawn, nor that the matching cap was trimmed with lace.
“A boy,” he said, hastily tucking the material back around the obviously well-fed body.
Everyone in the hall seemed to let out a collective sigh, as if they’d all been dying to know the answer.
“Now that we’ve ascertained that pertinent fact, perhaps you can tell me what you’re doing with him, and why you brought him here,” Griffin said, gazing sternly at Roger.
The boy opened his mouth to answer, but the words died on his tongue when the green baize door swung open and Madeline swept into the hall in all her sultry glory. Roger’s gobsmacked expression was one that Griffin had seen on much older faces more times than he could count.
He cuffed the boy on the shoulder. “None of that. You’re much too young to even be looking.”
Madeline rustled across the hall to join them. “Goodness, is this little one truly yours, Griffin?”
“No,” he replied, trying not to growl with irritation. “But if everyone will kindly stop interrupting me, I might be able to find out who he
does
belong to.”
Madeline was staring at the baby with a surprisingly maternal look on her face. “Well, he seems very sweet.” She gently stroked the now-drowsy baby’s rounded cheek.
“Good, then you can hold him.” Griffin swiftly transferred the baby into her arms. She looked startled, but accepted the burden without protest.
“Now, you were about to say?” he prompted Roger.
“I haven’t a clue who the brat is, Mr. Steele,” the lad said. “Never saw him before a half hour ago. A lady said she’d pay me a ’alf a quid if I delivered him here, and waited to make sure you got him.”
Griffin blinked at the ridiculous sum the boy had been offered. “Did she say why?”
“Nah. Just said I was to deliver the basket straight to you and no one else. She was right certain about that. Said you, and only you.” Roger scratched his dirt-smudged nose, looking thoughtful. “Figured you must be the kid’s dad, she was that insistent.”
“Then she didn’t actually say I was the boy’s father.”
“Come to think of it, no.”
“And how were you to get paid for this little errand? Were you to meet her afterward?” Surely this mystery woman would not be so foolish as to pay a street urchin
before
he performed his allotted task. If she hadn’t, then Griffin could use the boy to track her down.
Roger gave him a gap-toothed, knowing grin, obviously comprehending exactly what Griffin was thinking. “Sorry, Mr. Steele. The lady already paid me. She walked me right up to your door and said she’d wait outside while I went in.”
After a moment’s surprise, Griffin exploded into action, bolting across the hall and yanking the door open. He ran down the few steps onto Jermyn Street, fairly quiet this early in the day. A few carts lumbered down the street and several plainly dressed persons, probably servants, hurried about their business. Griffin cast a swift glance in both directions, but the only possible lead to the mystery woman was an enclosed black landau that was bowling swiftly down the cobblestones to round the corner only a second later.
Cursing, he strode back into the house. “What did the woman look like? Did she come in a carriage?” he rapped out.
“Don’t know. She wore a veil,” came the clipped answer from Roger.
“And what about the carriage?”
The boy gave a nod. “Aye. She found me in Piccadilly. We rode to the top of the street, and then we got out and walked the rest of the way with the baby.” He looked thoughtful. “Wondered why we just didn’t drive up to your doorstep.”
“I imagine she didn’t want anyone looking out the window and sighting her carriage,” Griffin replied, feeling more frustrated by the moment. Whoever the mystery woman was, she’d taken great care to hide her identity while at the same time making sure the baby was safe.
“Did you notice anything particular about the carriage?” Madeline asked the boy after casting a worried glance at Griffin. “A crest on the side, or unusual markings?”
“It was black.”
Griffin pinched the space between his eyebrows. “Thank you for that trenchant observation. Anything else?”
Another careless shrug of the boy’s bony shoulders was the only answer.
“Too smitten with the blunt that lady gave you to pay attention to anything else, I reckon,” Tom said with sarcasm.
“I reckon you’re right,” Roger replied with a grin. “Can you blame me?”
“No, I suppose not,” Griffin said. “And you’re sure you never saw this woman before?”
“Aye.”
“And there’s nothing else you remember.”
Roger blinked rapidly several times, which seemed to aid the process of extracting a final bit of information from his brain.
“Aye, she did. She said to make sure you read the note in the basket, and not to lose the ring, neither.”
Griffin hunkered down beside the basket and rummaged through the blankets. They were of white wool, soft and well made, finished with satin ribbon. Like the baby’s clothes, they were scrupulously clean and obviously expensive. It appeared that someone cared a great deal about this infant.
He fished out a folded note, sealed with red wax. He tucked it into the waistband of his breeches and continued his search, digging through the blankets until he got to the bottom of the basket. Finally, he extracted a small, black velvet bag cinched shut with a drawstring. He untied it and upended the contents into his palm.
A ring rolled out. A heavy signet ring, worked in thick gold and with an intricate design carved into its face. Griffin slowly straightened up as he examined it.
Tom let out a thoughtful whistle. “That cost more than a bob,” he said, leaning close to inspect it. “What do you figure the markings for?”
Griffin held it up, trying to catch the light coming in through the arch window over the front door. “It looks to be a family coat of arms, maybe Italian. I can’t be precisely sure until I get it under a magnifying glass.”
“How do you know it’s Italian?” asked Phelps in a hushed voice, as if someone might overhear them.
Griffin glanced around. The little group in the hall had inched closer, eagerly straining to see the ring and obviously caught up in the bizarre drama. Even Roger seemed enthralled, creeping close to gaze at the heavy piece of jewelry. Or so Griffin thought, until he felt a flutter of movement near the back of his coat.
“I don’t think so.” He grabbed Roger by the wrist and pulled the boy in front of him. “You’ve already picked enough pockets today.”
The boy let out a dramatic sigh. “Can’t blame me for trying, guv.”
“Oh, yes we can,” barked Tom, seizing the boy’s shoulder and propelling him toward the front door. “To think you would try to fleece Griffin Steele, of all people. If you don’t have anything more to tell us, you little blighter, you can be on your way.”
Tom glanced at Griffin, silently asking permission.
“One more thing,” Griffin added. “Roger, if you ever see this veiled woman again, I want you to follow her until she arrives at her destination, and then come report to me.” Not much hope of that happening, but he might as well cover off every eventuality he could.
He nodded at Tom, who fished a shilling out of his pocket and gave it to the boy.
“There will be more of that if you come to me with useful information,” Griffin said.
Roger tipped his threadbare cap, gave them one last gape-toothed grin, and slipped out the door.
“Open the note,” Madeline prompted as she gently bounced the baby up and down in her arms.
Griffin glanced at the expectant faces of his staff. “Everyone loves a mystery,” he murmured, shaking his head. He didn’t. He hated mysteries and all the drama that came with them.
He slipped the ring into a pocket and then extracted the small note from the waistband of his breeches. The paper was heavy, obviously of good quality. Slipping his finger under the wax, he gently peeled open the note. The handwriting was clear and feminine, and the message contained only a few lines.
The child’s name is Stephen. His life is in grave danger. I beg you, Mr. Steele, to keep him safe until I contact you again. May God bless you!
A friend
Naturally, the note lacked any other identifying marks. That would have been far too easy.
“What does it say?” asked Tom with a curiosity he rarely displayed.
“That the baby’s name is Stephen and that we are to keep him safe until further notice,” Griffin said, repressing the impulse to curse.
“Well, that’s a right proper mystery, ain’t it, Mr. Griffin?” said Phelps in a voice of wonder. Clearly a mystery that Griffin’s employees found quite enjoyable. He didn’t share the feeling.
“It is,” he replied in a grim voice. “Phelps, I want you to find Dominic Hunter. I don’t care if you have to drag him out of his damn office in Whitehall or from the deepest pits of hell, but do not come back here without him.”