Where The Heart Leads Read Free

than appropriately, that popular judgment might well be correct. Yet her sister Portia had recently married Simon Cynster, and while Portia might perhaps be more subtle in her dealings, Barnaby recalled that the Cynster ladies, judges he trusted in such matters, saw little difference between Portia and Penelope beyond Penelope’s directness.
    And, if he was remembering aright, her utterly implacable will.
    From what little he’d seen of the sisters, he, too, would have said that Portia would bend, or at least agree to negotiate, far earlier than Penelope.
    “And just as with the others, when we went to Herb Lane to fetch Dick this morning, he was gone. He’d been collected by this mystery man at seven o’clock, barely after dawn.”
    Her story concluded, she shifted her dark, compelling eyes from the flames to his face.
    Barnaby held her gaze for a moment, then slowly nodded. “So somehow these people—let’s assume it’s one group collecting these boys—”
    “I can’t see it being more than one group. We’ve never had thishappen before, and now four instances in less than a month, and all with the same modus operandi.” Brows raised, she met his eyes.
    Somewhat tersely, he said, “Precisely. As I was saying, these people, whoever they are, seem to know of your potential charges—”
    “Before you suggest that they might be learning of the boys through someone at the Foundling House, let me assure you that’s highly unlikely. If you knew the people involved, you’d understand why I’m so sure of that. And indeed, although I’ve come to you with our four cases, there’s nothing to say other newly orphaned boys in the East End aren’t also disappearing. Most orphans aren’t brought to our attention. There may be many more vanishing, but who is there who would sound any alarm?”
    Barnaby stared at her while the scenario she was describing took shape in his mind.
    “I had hoped,” she said, the light glinting off her spectacles as she glanced down and smoothed her gloves, “that you might agree to look into this latest disappearance, seeing as Dick was whisked away only this morning. I do realize that you generally investigate crimes involving the ton, but I wondered, as it is November and most of us have upped stakes for the country, whether you might have time to consider our problem.” Looking up, she met his gaze; there was nothing remotely diffident in her eyes. “I could, of course, pursue the matter myself—”
    Barnaby only just stopped himself from reacting.
    “But I thought enlisting someone with more experience in such matters might lead to a more rapid resolution.”
    Penelope held his gaze and hoped he was as quick-witted as he was purported to be. Then again, in her experience, it rarely hurt to be blunt. “To be perfectly clear, Mr. Adair, I am here seeking aid in pursuing our lost charges, rather than merely wishing to inform someone of their disappearance and thereafter wash my hands of them. I fully intend to search for Dick and the other three boys until I find them. Not being a simpleton, I would prefer to have beside me someone with experience of crime and the necessary investigative methods. Moreover, while through our work we naturally have contacts in the East End, few if any of those move among the criminal elements, so my ability to gain information in that arena is limited.”
    Halting, she searched his face. His expression gave little away; hisbroad brow, straight brown eyebrows, strong, well-delineated cheekbones, the rather austere lines of cheek and jaw, remained set and unrevealing.
    She spread her hands. “I’ve described our situation—will you help us?”
    To her irritation, he didn’t immediately reply. Didn’t leap in, goaded to action by the notion of her tramping through the East End by herself.
    He didn’t, however, refuse. For a long moment, he studied her, his expression unreadable—long enough for her to wonder if he’d seen through her