“I see.” Daventry studied Noah through narrow eyes, or maybe he was so tired his lids were too heavy. “Perhaps you should tell me her story.”
Noah wasted no time. “Her reprobate brother has been missing for a week. He is in debt to Flannery, the Turners and Mortuary Manning for a total of twelve thousand pounds.”
“Hell!” Daventry cursed. “Then the man is as good as dead unless he can find the funds.” He paused. “Still, we’re not in the game of helping—”
“Her cobbler was bludgeoned to death over a week ago. She received a blackmail note threatening to reveal a secret identity, forcing her to visit her publisher at night. While warding off the publisher’s amorous advances, someone broke into her house and stole every pair of shoes she owns. A thief attacked her and stole her boots as she walked home. Oh, and someone stole her undergarments from the washing line.”
Daventry relaxed back in the chair while absorbing the catalogue of information. “Publisher, you say? The lady writes?”
“Novels.”
“No wonder she captured your interest.”
“You know I hate to see a woman without family or means struggling to defend herself against threats from all quarters.”
Daventry’s penetrating stare softened. “Indeed.”
The man had once found himself in similar circumstances and was now married to the woman he had saved.
“We help those without funds, without connections,” Daventry continued.
“Miss Dunn has no friends and rarely ventures into society.”
Noah explained about her brother’s dastardly deeds. How he ruined his sister’s closest friend and stole his mother’s jewels.
“He ruined Benham’s sister?” Daventry’s features twisted in disdain. “And you agreed to find this devil? Is he not best left to rot in whatever sewer he’s crawled into?”
“I don’t care if the fool is a bloated corpse bobbing about the Thames. Manning will want his money and will go to any lengths to get it. The lady needs our protection. Manning is not averse to kidnapping.”
It wouldn’t come to that, but Noah’s current task was to get Daventry onside. Sir Malcolm Langley, a magistrate at Bow Street, had made it his mission to see Manning hang. He was busy gathering evidence and witnesses to crimes. Hopefully, Manning was too occupied to worry about punishing Miss Dunn.
“No.” Daventry sighed. “Manning is not averse to anything.”
“And you know what will happen to Miss Dunn should Manning take her in payment for the debt.”
“She’ll be sold to an evil bastard abroad who enjoys beating women.” Daventry rubbed his jaw as he considered the dilemma. “If the brother is dead and Miss Dunn is short of funds, we will pay the debt to Manning.”
If only that were possible.
“We cannot intervene. Sir Malcolm is getting closer to securing evidence to arrest Manning. There’ll be a trial. The Order must be seen to follow the law. If we’re to continue to offer support to the needy, we cannot be held to ransom by murdering scoundrels.”
That didn’t mean Noah couldn’t personally assist Miss Dunn.
“Agreed.” Daventry pursed his lips. “What about the Turners?”
“They’ll kill Howard Dunn if he fails to pay. But I’ve never known them take revenge on an innocent woman.”
Silence ensued.
“One thing is clear,” Daventry said. “You cannot work this case alone. There are too many loose ends. Good God, you have the mystery surrounding the blackmail note, the stolen boots and the murder of her cobbler to solve.”
Noah explained all that had occurred so far, omitt
ing to mention he had kissed Miss Dunn for the hell of it—because he couldn’t resist. He made no mention of their fake betrothal, either. Daventry would be sure to warn him over his foolish lapse in judgement.
“I’ve arranged for someone to guard her door and another to keep watch on Mr Hemming.” They had a group of capable men to call upon, ex-sailors and soldiers, good men who had fallen on hard times but who sought to make an honest living.
“That’s fine for the publisher. But if Manning is involved, I’ll send Bower to guard the lady’s house.”