Covent Garden, London, ten years later, spring 1777.

‎‎‎‎‎Eleanor peered over her best friend’s slender shoulder, then nudged Elizabeth—Libby—Archer in the back. “Does he look like a building to you?”

“Not on his best day.” Libby held her hands out in front of herself, pretending she had a gigantic imaginary belly. “Especially not with that paunch.”

Eleanor smiled.

Libby waved her hand over her head. “And with that hat and coat he’s wearing… Have you ever seen such a fellow? I can’t turn away.”

“That’s the point, dearest. While all eyes are glued on him, his companions pluck the unwary spectators like chickens heading for the stew pot.”

Libby’s eyes grew round with wonder. “Really? How clever.”

Eleanor snorted. “Buildings only. This was your idea, remember? Make accurate drawings so we can plan accordingly. We need doorways, alleys, things of that nature. Not the populace.”

“Spoilsport?”

Eleanor chuckled.

On a small grassy patch, a short distance from the dairy vendors, Eleanor and Libby sat back-to-back, each facing her easel. Eleanor removed her right glove. Free of its confines, she flexed her fingers and manipulated her charcoal with greater speed and accuracy. 

The world around them, on this early morning market day, rang with the clank of cart wheels over cobblestones mixed with the chatter of buyers and sellers—each one haggling over the best price for a chicken, a leg o’ mutton, a bushel of turnips, a dozen eggs, or a lump of cheese. The air was redolent with the savory—as well as the unsavory—smells that accompanied this sort of commerce.

All the inhabitants of the market, including the pickpockets and honest merchants, kept a respectful distance from Eleanor and Libby. This was due to the presence of the four armed and liveried Barrett outriders who had formed a perimeter about them. Each outrider was tall, built like a brick bake-house, and carried a loaded flintlock. No one with a lick of sense dared come near.

The sky was overcast, and if not refreshingly cool, at least she and Libby weren’t plagued by the oppressive heat, which wouldn’t settle in until later in the day.  Hazy daylight glazed the rooftops, casting the alleys between the buildings that faced the square into fathomless gray crevasses.

Eleanor peered over Libby’s shoulder again. “You missed a door.”

“Did not,” Libby said.

Eleanor pointed to the building in question. “Did.” She flicked her wrist. “Right there.”

Libby looked in the direction Eleanor pointed. “I don’t see it.’”

“To the right of that cheese man you were drawing.”

Libby considered the building again.

Eleanor waved her hand in an exasperated fashion. “That fellow in that ridiculous fool’s cap—the one you thought so compelling.”

Libby nodded. “I know who you mean.”

“Now look at his belt buckle, then move your eyes to the right.”

“I know where you want me to look. There’s nothing there.”

Eleanor poked Libby lightly with her elbow. “Obdurate chit.”

“Hah. Look who’s talking.”

“Up. Stand up, Lib.”

Libby made an aggrieved huff and stood. Then she sat back down like a dainty queen, arranged her skirts, picked up her charcoal and drew in the door.

“Well?”

Libby crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. “It’s not nice to be so enthusiastic when pointing out someone’s mistakes. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

“Indeed, as you well know. Repeatedly,” Eleanor said.

Libby’s lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Eleanor turned back to her work.

A Barrett footman approached carrying a tray with two cups. “Miss Barrett, would you or Miss Archer care for some refreshment?”

Eleanor and Libby each accepted a cup of lemonade. As Eleanor put her cup back on the tray, she made eye contact with a girl in the crowd. She was scrawny and her face and legs were smeared with grime. Her dress was too big and hung from her narrow shoulders like a scarecrow in a farmer’s field. And Eleanor couldn’t look away.

Libby’s hand came to rest on her arm. “Ellie? You can’t help everyone.”

Eleanor broke eye contact with the child. “Not everyone. If I give her coin, someone will steal it,

but…” Eleanor motioned to her footman.

“What now?” Libby asked.

“Making sure she eats what I’m sending over. The outrider will stand with her until she finishes.”

The footman and the outrider nearest the child approached her presenting her with a small linen-wrapped bundle.

“For me?” The girl’s eyes grew round as she pointed to herself. She hesitated but then raised her hand and accepted the food-filled napkin.

“Miss Barrett says you’re to stay right here until you eat every last crumb,” the footman said.

The girl peeked around the footman at Eleanor, who gave the child a nod of encouragement.

Libby gazed about at the crowd watching them and shuddered with unease, then lowered her voice. “I’m glad we brought the outriders.  These people. So much need. I’m frightened.”

Eleanor squeezed Libby’s hand. “You worry too much.”

Libby shook her head. “And you worry too little.” Libby bowed her head and pulled her hand free. She leafed through the sketches they’d completed. “When we started talking about looking for those missing girls, I never thought we’d end up here. “ Libby’s brow furrowed.

 Eleanor felt a pang of guilt. “It seemed like the logical next step. Perhaps I should’ve come alone.”

 “You did a good job with the north side, despite those spirit merchants’ wagons being in your way.”

Eleanor stared at the top of Libby’s bent head. Libby hated to admit she was afraid, so now they were going to pretend Libby had said nothing. “Uhh, thank you.”

“Are you almost done with St. Paul’s?” Libby asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m quite ready to leave.” Libby scrunched her nose. “Besides, the smell is quite … overpowering.”

“I’m sorry, but if we’d situated ourselves by the flower sellers or the vintners, we wouldn’t have this excellent vantage.”

“I did try holding my breath, but it just made me lightheaded,” Libby added.

Eleanor smiled. “I’m almost done. My Aunt Bea is expecting us to pick her up tonight.”

A commanding male voice cut through the crowd noise. “Who’s in charge?”

Libby jumped.

“You there.” A tall, well-dressed blond fellow, accompanied by a large, splendid-looking collie, marched toward them.

Eleanor bristled.

The man with the collie pointed his cane at her father’s coachman. “What do you mean bringing these young ladies into this part of town? Viscount Barrett would not be pleased.”

Who the hell does he think he is, interfering with  my business?

One of her outriders stepped into the intruder’s path, blocking his advance.

Eleanor rose from her stool to confront the handsome interloper. He was still a few feet away, but she would guess he was above six feet. But tall or short, it made little difference to her. She would brook no interference—not with those missing girls’ lives at stake.

Eleanor walked up beside her guard and laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll handle this.” Then she stepped between the two men. An air of familiarity swept over her as she looked up into the blond-headed man’s face. “It’s a perfectly reputable part of town during daylight. Now be off with you before I ask my men to help you on your way.”

“I’ll not be dismissed by an impetuous female.” He looked over her head and addressed the outrider at her back. The stranger didn’t appear intimidated in the least by the size or weaponry of her guards. “Is Lord Emory or Lord Harleigh in the vicinity?”

His arrogant meddling and his attempt to ignore her lit a fuse to Eleanor’s temper. “Sirrah, cease your nebby inquisition. You sound like a Billingsgate fishwife!”

Her outrider choked back a laugh. “Miss? Perhaps …” His voice sounded conciliatory.

The intruder narrowed his eyes and his lips pressed into a flat line.

Libby poked Eleanor in the back and whispered, “Stop goading him.”

“He called me impetuous.”

“I heard. Rise above. Remember, we serve a greater purpose here.”

Eleanor looked away, clenching her jaw, biting back her rejoinder. She took a breath, then looked back. The marshal gleam in the obnoxious fellow’s deep blue eyes irritated her beyond bearing. She was about to launch her next verbal salvo when he stepped closer and every nerve in her body jumped to attention.

He looked down his nose at her and his voice took on an odious pomposity. “What is your name?”

“Who is enquiring?” Eleanor raised her chin another notch and leaned forward, for all the world looking like she was begging him to plant her a facer.