They walked briskly toward the narrow alley where she knew she would find the Children’s Aid Mission’s redbrick building. She stepped up to the door and knocked.
A girl of about twelve opened the door. She was wearing an apron and holding a bucket in one hand. “May I help you, miss?”
“Yes, thank you. I am looking for Mr. Wilson. Is he in?”
“Not at the moment, miss.”
Julia’s heart sank. What was she to do now? “Is there someone else I might speak with, someone in charge of the mission?”
“You mean Mr. Wilson. There’s no one else in charge.”
“Do you know when he might return?”
“No, miss. He didn’t tell me.” Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Perhaps you might speak with Mr. Langdon.”
“Good morning, Miss Grey. Miss Mayson.”
Julia spun around. She pressed her hand to her chest in surprise. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
She was standing so close to him she could see the thickness of his black eyelashes, the warm brown of his eyes, his perfect features, and his squared chin. There was a strange intimacy between them, as if they knew each other’s thoughts.
Was it her imagination or was he leaning toward her? His smile was truly heart-stopping as he focused solely on her. It was almost like looking into the sun—blinding and overwhelming.
Then his eyes clouded a bit as he asked, “May I be of assistance?”
“I came to speak with Mr. Wilson, but apparently he isn’t in.”
“Is it a matter you could discuss with me?”
“Oh no.” Julia had no wish to explain Sarah Peck’s situation to Mr. Langdon. “I am sorry, but I had a question that only Mr. Wilson might be able to answer.”
“I see.”
But it was clear that he did not see. After all, what business could she possibly have with his friend, the poor clergyman in charge of this charity mission? Felicity stood beside her, chewing her lip.
“Please forgive me, but . . .” Julia fought to think how to explain. “I wanted to ask Mr. Wilson about a way to help a friend.”
He gestured toward the door. “Won’t you come inside?”
Julia glanced at the open doorway. The young girl had disappeared. “No, we can’t stay.”
“Can I walk you to the Bartholdys’?”
“We’re not going there today.”
He fixed her with a penetrating gaze.
“Our hired coach won’t be coming for us for almost half an hour,” Felicity reminded Julia.
Julia winced inwardly at the confused look on Nicholas Langdon’s face. But if she could trust him with her life, perhaps she should trust him with Sarah’s secret.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nicholas couldn’t help staring at her. What strange business was this? Miss Grey was his contact with the Wilherns, risking her life to spy on her own uncle, though there could hardly be any benefit in it for herself. And now she was here, wanting to speak to John Wilson, a man she hardly knew, on behalf of a friend. What could she want with Wilson that she would not want to tell him about?
“Shall we take a walk, then, while you wait for your coach?”
Miss Grey took one of his arms and Miss Mayson took the other. As they walked along the alley toward the wider, cleaner Bishopsgate Street, she suddenly stopped and faced him.
“I have a request to make of you, Mr. Langdon.”
The back of his neck prickled as he saw desperation in her eyes. She blinked and it was gone.
“You may ask anything of me.” The polite words were what any gentleman might say to a lady in such a situation, an almost rote response. But in this case, with this particular lady, he was afraid he meant them.
“Please don’t tell anyone I was here today. It is of the utmost importance that my visit be kept strictly secret.”
“Of course. We both know the importance of keeping secrets.”
She nodded and looked away, as though suddenly remembering. “Yes. Yes, that is true.”
They resumed walking and Nicholas noted the simplicity of her hair, which was thick and looked soft and silky enough to line a nest with. Looking at her profile, he could see her lashes were exquisitely long. And she had the most perfect lips—he could hardly help noticing. Best of all, she had a certain innocent sweetness in her expression, along with a determined strength he had failed to discern until recently.
“Why don’t you tell me what you needed to speak to Wilson about? He is a good friend. I can ask him your question and tell you his answer later today.”
“I suppose that would be all right.” She bit her bottom lip. “I suppose I may tell you, if you promise not to tell another soul.”
“I most solemnly promise not to tell another soul. Besides John Wilson.” Curiosity was eating him up, didn’t she know? He gave her what he hoped was his most sincere expression.
She seemed to study his face, and gradually, she softened and didn’t look quite so worried.