McAlistair's Fortune (Providence #3)

She pursed her lips. “From time to time, but I limit those conversations, and I speak only in generalities. I’d rather they weren’t directly involved.”


“Because you know it to be dangerous,” he guessed, and watched as she shifted in her seat, recognizing the trap.

“Well, yes, there is that. But more…I don’t think either of them is cut out for the work, really. I don’t mean that to sound disparaging. It’s…Well, honestly, can you picture Kate trying to go anywhere incognito?”

Whit’s sister was renowned for her clumsiness. McAlistair imagined she’d get her veil caught in a door at the first opportunity. He didn’t bother asking why Evie had kept things from Mirabelle. They both knew that until recently, Mirabelle had been busy fighting her own battles.

“Who knows what you do, in general or specifics?”

“Outside of family—and that includes the Rockefortes—only those of us on this little adventure, Mr. Fletcher, and Lizzy.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

Lizzy could be the key, he thought, but knew better than to disparage the woman in front of Evie. “What about those who work with you?”

“None of them know who I am. The vast majority of our conversations take place by mail, and most of us make use of pseudonyms. The few times I have met with others, I have kept my face hidden.”

“Someone must know. How did you discover the group? Who vouched for your legitimacy?” One didn’t just stumble across an organization that relied on secrecy, and that organization wouldn’t endanger itself by taking on a new member without a recommendation.

“Ah, yes.” She bobbed her head. “Lady Penelope Cutler, a friend of my aunt’s, and a great financial contributor to our group. Lady Thurston was aware of her work and arranged to introduce us when it became apparent we held similar interests.”

“It was your aunt’s idea?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. That support and the work it allowed had no doubt been invaluable in restoring the confidence a heartless father had destroyed. “How long ago was that?”

“Oh…” She scrunched her face up in thought. “Six years ago, more or less. Lady Thurston made certain I had first experienced at least one London Season without distractions.”

“And where is Lady Penelope now?”

“She passed. Four years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He felt foolish saying the words. Just as he’d felt foolish and helpless when she’d spoken of her father. He wanted to offer her something more eloquent, more substantial, than “I’m sorry,” and “he’s an ass.” But it had been years since he’d had to find any words, let alone the right words.

Evie shook her head. “It’s all right. I didn’t know her well.”

He didn’t allow the air in his lungs release with a sigh of relief. But he did change the subject. “What is it you do, specifically?”

“Well it differs by time, place, and necessity. I write letters to members of parliament and press, anonymously, of course. I keep track of—” She broke off and tilted her head at him. “I suppose you’re interested only in the potentially dangerous bits.”

It was all dangerous, he thought, but nodded rather than commenting. Better to hear the worst of it first.

“Right. I’ve been acting as a sort of liaison for women—occasionally women and their children—who wish to escape from an intolerable life.”

“How?”

“Their trip—generally, though not always out of the country—is arranged beforehand, but there is always the risk that a woman might change her mind and return to her husband or father, or what have you, and confess all. As a precaution, she is given only enough information and funds to see her through one leg of her journey at a time. A member of the group meets with her at the end of each leg and provides the funds and information for the next. That is what I do.”

His heart caught in his chest. “You meet with these women.”

“Yes, but I keep my face hidden under a veil and stay only long enough to pass off the coin—”

“And no one in Benton has noticed a veiled woman haunting the coaching station?”

Her tone turned haughty. “Do give me a little credit, if you please. I’ve met a grand total of two women at the Benton coaching station in the last year.”

“Two women?” That certainly narrowed the field as to who might be seeking revenge.

“At the Benton coaching station, yes. I also met two women at the bookseller’s. One woman, sent by hired coach, on the side of a rarely used road. And three women in outlying villages. The year before was similar except that I used Maver’s tavern instead of the bookseller’s, didn’t meet anyone on the road, and met only one woman at the station.”

McAlistair frowned. Over several years, that was still a significant amount of time spent wandering around, wearing a veil. And nothing invited curiosity so much as a mysterious woman.

“Someone will notice eventually,” he pointed out.