The Ears Have It Read online

  Agents of the Convent

  Book Two

  by

  Rebecca Connolly

  More from Phase Publishing

  by

  Rebecca Connolly

  The Arrangements

  An Arrangement of Sorts

  Married to the Marquess

  Secrets of a Spinster

  The London League

  The Lady and the Gent

  A Rogue About Town

  A Tip of the Cap

  The Spinster Chronicles

  The Merry Lives of Spinsters

  The Spinster and I

  Spinster and Spice

  Agents of the Convent

  Fortune Favors the Sparrow

  More Romance from Phase Publishing

  by

  Emily Daniels

  Devlin's Daughter

  Lucia's Lament

  A Song for a Soldier

  by

  Grace Donovan

  Saint's Ride

  by

  Tiffany Dominguez

  The Eidolon

  Text copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Connolly

  Cover art by Tugboat Design

  http://www.tugboatdesign.net

  All rights reserved. Published by Phase Publishing, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  Phase Publishing, LLC first paperback edition

  July 2021

  ISBN 978-1-952103-30-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021913285

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  Acknowledgements

  To Addison, for being the best distraction from this project known to man. May I always be your favorite aunt, and may you always be as ridiculously fun as you are now.

  And to chocolate. All of it. For everything. All the time.

  Want to hear about future releases and upcoming events for Rebecca Connolly?

  Sign up for the monthly Wit and Whimsy at:

  www.rebeccaconnolly.com

  Index

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  London, 1826

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought on a night such as this, but she was convinced she had never meant it more than she did now. Emmeline Bartlett was not going to get herself out of her scrape this time.

  It would serve her right, of course. Young ladies of five and twenty did not gad about London’s seedy side in the middle of the night to satiate their curiosity. And they did not do such a thing dressed in men’s clothing. And they certainly did not steal from a gambling den when they did so.

  Yet here she was, bolting down dark, dank, and cramped corridors in the heart of the Seven Dials. Her legs were encased in trousers, a padded jacket was fastened about her chest, her hair was tightly plaited beneath her cap, and her booted feet slipped on the damp cobblestone as she ran for her life.

  In one hand, she had the list of names she had collected from that game of poker wherein young ladies of Society were being used as part of the ante. In the other… well, the other was gripping forty-seven pounds, three guineas, sixpence, and a ha’penny. That was her winnings—before the game had turned and the ladies started being used as chattel in a game they would only hear about in their nightmares.

  But that had been her purpose in coming out to the Seven Dials tonight and the past three nights, attempting to find the correct gambling den. Her information had been vague at best, but there wasn’t anything she could have done to improve her task except explore each option and rule them out. There were a dozen possibilities in the area of the Seven Dials she had isolated based on her information, and there was no simple way to remove oneself from such a place the moment it became clear it was not the correct locale. She’d managed two of them last night, but it had been a trial, and she understood completely why it was not a task that ought to be repeated.

  Tonight, however, she had found the correct place. And now she was running for her life.

  Oddly enough, it was not because she had been discovered as a woman but because she had cheated. Four others at the table had cheated as well, but she simply looked the least intimidating of the group. What she wouldn’t give for some convincing facial hair and the stench of gin at moments like that.

  She swiped an arm across her perspiration-dampened face, the carefully applied cosmetics smearing onto her sleeve. There was no point in keeping it on, given she had what she needed, and no amount of powder or shading would save her now.

  It was as close to appearing masculine as she could get, and it sufficed for the intoxicated individuals she encountered in places like this. But it would not have passed any closer inspection. Despite her plain face and angular features, she was not as manly as she was ambiguous. A young chap in a thoroughly adult environment was all she could claim, and there were plenty of sots willing to take funds off such an individual. Admittance was rarely restricted to a certain membership, and if it was, she had made enough seedy connections to gain entrance.

  She rounded a corner, her boots slipping again and nearly sending her crashing to the ground. She managed to catch her balance, and she turned to head down a new street in the exact direction she’d been coming from, which should, hopefully, confuse her pursuers.

  Apparently, Mr. Markham was not keen on cheaters, and her tendency toward flight rather than fight had earned her a turn as the fox while two rather large, smelly blokes turned to hounds in this scenario.

  A cramped alley to her right became rather appealing and she turned into it, desperate to find an additional burst of speed. But instead she found that she was growing more and more fatigued the more she ran.

  She’d rain down a curse upon the head of whoever decided young ladies should not exert themselves. Emmeline would have been far better suited to her present chase had she been permitted to do more than the sedate exercise of taking a turn about the room.

  Something to think about if she managed to escape this race of hers, but it was looking less and less likely.

  Her heart lurched forward as she saw the alley open into a main thoroughfare. At this time of night, there hopefully wouldn’t be anyone about. She was still not in any sort of polite section of London, but the closer she got to Covent Garden, the safer she would be, which was an ironic statement all things considered, but nevertheless…

  She tore out into the main street, her feet carrying her farther out than she’d intended with her haste. She wrenched to her left, her arms flailing with the change in motion, and begged her legs to keep going, keep moving, keep propelling her away from danger.

  Desperate to check the approaching threats, she glanced behind her, long having lost the sound of their paces behind her to the pounding in her own ears. She couldn’t stop even if they had, not until she was back into more familiar territory.

  Suddenly, she careened into a warm, lean body, falling to the side, and only just missing hitting her face against the cobblestone as a sharp pressure gripped her upper arm.

  “Cuidado te tengo,” a deep, cultured voice rumbled in a language she didn’t know.

  She was righted before she could react, staring at the man in horror, fearing the worst. But he was not one of the men who had been chasing her, unless someone had found a shortcut she did not know. His complexion was dark, though not so dark as the man standing just behind his right shoulder. Both were of an imposing height, and the man before her was rather striking in his attractiveness.

  Or would have been, had he not been gripping her arm. Neither were particularly well dressed, and both bore definite signs of scruff along their face. Fortunate men.

  “Are you all right, muchacho?” he asked, his impossibly dark eyes searching hers, the word he used holding a twinge of curiosity to it.

  Could he see that she was no man?

  “Let go,” Emmeline begged, lowering her voice as much as she could. “Please, sir. Please, let go.”

  He released her arm, nodding once. “Sí insistes. Take care of yourself.” He nudged his head behind him in suggestion.

  Emmeline did not need to be told twice. She dashed around them and used the size of the darker man to hide her retreat, staying as close to the buildings in the street as she could until she found another alley to cut back across. She would run back and forth all the way to Covent Garden if she had to. Whatever would hide her from the men from Markham’s.

  Some of these alleys would have smaller interior alleys that would hide her further still, and if she could find just one of them…

  A jolt of victory and elati
on surged through her as she found such a one, and she slipped into its narrow depths. She could now continue to move rapidly, though not at the same pace from before, and her limbs thanked her for the change. Her feet, however, began to throb, tingle, and ache, each sensation in a different part, and she longed to get back into the soft slippers of a proper lady’s attire. Perhaps there would still be a fire going in her room, and perhaps Bess would bring her a late tea if she were not already asleep.

  Emmeline had more than enough practice with brewing her own cup of tea, so if her trusted maid had retired for the night, a cup of tea could still be possible. If the fire was still lit, of course. She could build up a fire that was already aflame, but starting one on her own… Well, she would do the best she could if there was no fire to be had.

  Surely it couldn’t be so difficult.

  Scurrying as she was along the narrow alley, accompanied only by the occasional drip of the sewers, her heart began to slow its frantic pace. There were no sounds of pursuit, so unless Markham’s thugs knew exactly where she was and how to circumvent her route, she ought to be safe.

  Still, this was no leisurely stroll, and until she had reached her destination, she could not relax completely. Would not. This article was too important for that.

  For three weeks, she had been trying to get this information and all its specifics, and now she had them. She could now expose the supposed gentlemen who took part and, hopefully, prevent the societal sacrifice of any other young ladies. How many had already been given up under such circumstances without any part of Society knowing the truth?

  There wasn’t much time to waste, so she might as well write the article tonight rather than sleep. She could claim a headache when she was done and earn herself a few hours of respite afterward. Her aunt’s footman Declan would see the article was delivered as he always did, and she could enjoy watching the consequences of tonight’s actions unfold when it came to print.

  All of this would be worth it. She’d remind herself of that when she slept next, and when her body ached from tonight’s adventure.

  It would all be worth it.

  Her small alley was about to open into another street, telling her if she were in any sort of danger or not. If she would have to keep running or not. If she would make it or not.

  Weighing her options and examining the map of London’s underbelly in her head, Emmeline held her breath before slipping around the corner and flattening herself against the wall. No steps sounded behind her, and none sounded around her.

  Perhaps it was over, then. But…

  She drummed her fingers against the cool brick wall at her back, then turned to her right and started toward the street at an easy stroll just as any London night dweller might have done. Her eyes darted back and forth, waiting for someone, anyone, to approach her from any direction.

  None did, meaning it was safe to proceed to her actual destination, which would have surprised the men chasing her. Had they continued the chase, she had an alternate location in place, one that she would have to go to anyway, and one that was safer if she were being pursued. This place, however, was always her preferred first stop on nights like this.

  She allowed herself to smile, moving almost silently along the streets, being free from any obstructions or distractions, free from any additional delays. Free to be a woman, in a manner of speaking. There was something beautiful about London in the middle of the night, and Emmeline was certainly the only one of her station—the only woman of her station—to understand that.

  The stars were so bright, even though she couldn’t see as many of them as she might when she was in Kent. At the Miss Masters’s Finishing School, the stars were endless on clear nights. Though she was only a teacher on an occasional basis each term, being in Kent was a breath of much needed fresh, cleansing air. With such open space and brilliant scenery, the soul could not help but be lifted.

  But, surprisingly, London at night almost felt like that. Almost. Although no one would believe her, should she have tried to explain those insights.

  She passed a few familiar buildings, her heart seeming to burst within her with the heat of abject relief. Tonight had not been the most dangerous situation she had ever found herself in, but it had been the closest chase.

  Emmeline moved down an unremarkable side alley, bemused as she found her present surroundings as comfortable as that of her aunt’s home, though the level of elegance between the two could not be more different.

  Aunt Hermione lived in relative luxury in Mayfair, though certainly not at the height of its fashionable extravagance. Covent Garden did not possess the same luxury. At least, not this side of it. Appearances where the wealthy haute ton might attend the theatre bore hints of finery, just enough to avoid offending its patrons. But this darker, reverse side was for the lesser creatures of London. And tonight, Emmeline was one of them.

  Most of the time when she was here, she was one of them. She had only attended the theatre as a patron a handful of times in recent years. Turning into a spinster without much bother would do that to one’s social calendar.

  She tucked into a small side alley along a building, her fingers tracing the surface as she walked. The unobtrusive door she sought was then before her, and, as usual, it was unlocked for her. She slid into the building, latching the door firmly behind her before heading down the cramped corridor, releasing a heavy sigh and tugging her cap from her head. Scratching at her pinned up plaits, Emmeline moved farther into the building, the dim light in the place surprising. She had expected full darkness, as had been the case on previous evenings when she’d needed to return here. Still, there was no telling what the life of the theatre was like when the patrons departed.

  She took care with her steps, not quite silently treading, but hardly stomping her feet to announce her presence. For all she knew, some of the actors might sleep here, and others might use the premises as living quarters—or for whatever else the space allowed.

  Such as costuming a would-be journalist for London adventures.

  She had her own collection by this time, of course, but she had only attained those articles of clothing by virtue of perhaps her greatest contact of all.

  “What have you done to my pieces, Ears?”

  Emmeline jumped at the sudden voice, turning toward the small room just off the main corridor where a woman, dark hair loosely plaited over a wrap-clad shoulder, stood watching her with a small smile on her lips. Her face was shockingly free of any of her usual cosmetics, which allowed the faintest lines on her face to be visible to the naked eye perhaps for the very first time. She’d called Emmeline by the pet name she’d had since childhood, yet it suited her activity in the streets too perfectly to ignore, and thus had become her self-declared code name. But as this woman knew Emmeline’s complete identity, and was the only person on earth who did, the code name was irrelevant in this situation.

  Which was likely why she had used it.

  “Gracious, Tilda,” Emmeline gasped, her heart barely managing to beat again. “I’ve had enough frights for the night, I hardly need you adding to them.”

  “Are you hurt?” Tilda asked at once, all teasing gone.

  Shaking her head quickly, Emmeline came over to her, putting a hand on her friend’s folded arms. “I am very well. Although my feet ache something abominable, and I may have turned an ankle, but all things considered, I am well.”