Page 84 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

She would go to France. Or Italy. Or maybe all the way to America. She would start a new life. She would...well, she didn’t know what she’d do, but surely there was something that would fulfill her.

Nathan’s knock startled her out of her thoughts, and she went to answer it, relieved to shove all that aside. She told herself Nathan could not possibly look thinner or wanner than he had the day before, but somehow he seemed to. It made her heart ache, and all she wanted was to take him in her arms and comfort him.

Verity never should have taken up with him. She should have known she would only hurt him. In fact, hadn’t she known? But she had done it anyway—and that just proved she was not the right woman for a man so kindhearted. It had been wrong and cruel to pull him into her life. Worse, she knew that if she had the power to do it all over again, she would do the same thing. She couldn’t resist Nathan.

“Good Gad, Verity,” Nathan said, staring at her. “I—you—I’m at a loss for words.”

She laughed, her spirits lightening as they always did around Nathan. “I decided not to reprise my widowhood.” Verity patted her abdomen, which was substantially larger than normal. “Padding.”

“But you look like you’re with child. You’ll be so...so noticeable. I can’t think that this is a good idea.”

“I thought you were at a loss for words.” Verity smiled. It felt so nice, but also bittersweet, to be trading teasing barbs with Nathan again.

“Apparently I recovered.” He grinned back at her.

“I got the idea last night when I saw Annabeth. When you’re pregnant, no one sees anything but that.” Verity pointed at her stomach. “They don’t look at your face. And I put on my old ‘Judy’ wig, which does nothing for my skin. It’s amazing how much that conceals one. If you’ll remember, you never noticed me when I wore it.”

“Oh, I noticed you.” The look in Nathan’s eyes made her heart do a little flip.

Verity could feel herself blushing, and she went on hastily, “The padding is practical, as well.” She slipped her hands into the concealed slits in her skirt and pulled out a gun and a knife from beneath the false stomach and brandished them in the air. “And I put on these old worn clothes so I’d fit in at the taverns.”

“Yes, I hear the taverns are often frequented by heavily armed pregnant women in dowdy frocks.”

She grinned. “Just so. The knife proves quite useful when strangers try to pat one’s belly.”

He began to laugh.

“Stop that. You’ll hurt poor Bertha’s feelings. She does her best, you know.”

“Bertha?”

“Yes. Bertha Goodbody, washerwoman.” Verity made a little curtsey.

“Such a pleasure to meet you.” Nathan sketched a bow and extended his arm to her. “I am at your disposal, Miss Goodbody.”

“Mrs. Goodbody,” Verity corrected as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’ll have you know I’m a good woman.”

“My apologies. Of course you are. Indeed, you’re the best.”

How in the world am I going to be able to part from this man?

They took a hack, her carriage being too noticeable in the former haunts of Hill and Shoemaker. Once in Cheapside, they proceeded on foot, questioning patrons of taverns and setting Verity’s band of street urchins loose to ask questions all around.

Nathan was somewhat surprised to find that, despite his doubts, Verity didn’t draw attention from the people they met. The low, rough voice and East End accent she adopted fit in, and most of them seemed too tired or too wary, too incapacitated by gin or simply too ground down by life to look at anything but the coins Verity and Nathan offered.

One or two people acknowledged that they’d seen the two men Verity and Nathan sought in this area, but none knew where they lived or who their companions were. They went to the flats where Nathan and Sloane had found Shoemaker and Hill before, but they were now occupied by other residents who disclaimed all knowledge of the former tenants.

Finally, after many fruitless hours, they returned to Verity’s house for afternoon tea. They were just about to return to the search when the leader of Verity’s crew of youthful informants knocked at the door.

“There’s not much, miss,” Sally said as she ate the remainder of their tea and cakes. “Nobody knows those blokes—or at least, they won’t own up to knowing them. I think some folks are dead scared of ’em. But...” She paused to take a gulp of tea. “There’s talk.”

“What kind of talk?” Verity asked.

“About men in the tunnels. Like where that bloke fell in the hole.” Sally jerked her head toward Nathan.

He sighed. “That’s how I’ll always be known, isn’t it? The bloke who fell in the hole.”

“That’s likely,” Verity agreed with a little grin. “Go on, Sally—what about these men? You think they’re Hill and Shoemaker?”