“She told me upon her arrival and should be joining us momentarily.”

  “Bloody hell,” Max murmured quietly to himself. She’d lied to him and had had no intention of traveling on to Dover. Though, he had lied to her, as he most certainly was not on his way to Italy.

  “You’re wondering why my collection is up here and the library is so bare, are you not?” Crisp asked.

  “Yes, actually.” Though he’d rather like to know why Crisp had written to both him and Rosemary.

  “I don’t wish to welcome thieves.” He shrugged. “If anyone is curious enough about the rumors of my collection and wealth to peek through a ground floor window, I’d prefer that they assume the rumors to be greatly exaggerated.”

  “I told him that he should at least line the shelves with books.” Rosemary glided into the room. “Nobody would think it odd if he did, and thieves rarely break into a home for such items.”

  Max stood. “Miss Fairview.” He greeted her in a stiff cool tone.

  She practically rolled her eyes. “You really must move past what occurred in Jerusalem. I have.” Rosemary settled onto the settee and smoothed her light blue skirt. “And I’ve forgiven your presumption that I am somehow in need of protection based on the mere fact that I am a female.”

  “You’ve forgiven me?” he gasped in outrage. “You are the one who left, and if you weren’t so bloody reckless, I wouldn’t worry.” She clearly didn’t understand the origin of his irritation.

  “I left you a note,” she reminded him, though it changed nothing.

  “Enough!” Crisp interrupted. “I think we shall skip tea altogether and move right on to brandy.” He crossed to the sideboard. “Good God, do you two ever cease arguing?”

  “I apologize for such behavior in your home,” Rosemary stated though she glared daggers at Max.

  “I, as well,” Max offered as he glanced to the entry. “Where is your maid?”

  “Bess is visiting her family and will meet me in Dover.”

  “Your guards?” he asked slowly.

  “The same as Bess,” Rosemary answered as if their location was of no concern.

  “You came to a bachelor’s home without the benefit of a maid?” Had she no care for her reputation? It was one thing to run about other countries where she’d not be recognized, but they were in Mayfair.

  Rosemary accepted the glass of brandy from Crisp. “As I’m visiting a friend, I have no reason for concern.”

  Bloody hell! She’d not be able to ever attend another Season if anyone recognized her arrival without the benefit of a chaperone.

  “You really should cease worrying about my safety and reputation,” Rosemary offered.

  He gasped. “Someone needs to since you don’t.”

  “Shall we discuss the reason why I’ve brought you here?” Crisp interrupted.

  At last, they were going to discuss the sword and then Max would depart in search of the antiquity, without the assistance or presence of Rosemary Fairview. At least in London he’d not need to worry about her putting herself in danger.

  “I was contacted by a soldier recently returned from the Continent. He’d taken the sword off a French soldier killed in battle.”

  “Someone was using it in battle?” Rosemary asked in the same alarm that shot through Max.

  “It was strapped to his back, more likely meant to bring him luck, which clearly failed him.”

  “How would a soldier know the sword of Joan from any other sword?” Max asked as disappointment settled into his bones. More likely, it was simply an old sword, and potentially not even that old. It was what he’d assumed when he first read the missive from Crisp. However, the possibility, no matter how slight, that it could be the famed sword once owned by the Maid of Orléans was impossible to ignore.

  “His father was a curator of religious antiquities and a historical scholar. This soldier had been surrounded by such antiquities since birth. Ever since rumor of the sword being lost in the Revolution, the father had been obsessed with where it could be and concerned that it would be damaged by a fool. The soldier was knowledgeable enough that when he saw it, he took it for himself instead of leaving it for any other looter who might pick it up, not realizing what he possessed. He’d hoped to have it cleaned so that it could be further studied once he returned to London.”

  “Looter?” Rosemary asked.

  “It’s not unusual for the bodies on a battlefield to be searched for valuables,” Crisp answered.

  “Well, that’s rather distressing.” Rosemary visibly shuddered.

  “Did his father confirm the age and ownership of the sword?” Max asked.

  “The soldier’s father died nearly two years ago, so he was not available to do so.”

  “Surely this soldier’s father had friends who could examine the sword to determine the age and former ownership,” Max insisted.

  “That was the soldier’s intention when it was stolen from him the night after his return to England, and before he could even determine if it were in fact the sword of Joan of Arc. He is certain that it is, but someone broke into his home while he slept. The man is only concerned about the sword as the other items taken were of little value and easily replaced.” Crisp took a sip of his brandy. “That’s when he came to me, because he wants it back.”

  “And you being the finder of all things…” Rosemary trailed off with a smile.

  “What other items?” Max asked.

  “Bottles of brandy and a silver bowl.”

  “Why haven’t you searched for it?” Max asked. “Why write to us?” Then he frowned. “Why write to both of us when one would do?”

  “If it were in my power, I would seek it out myself, but tomorrow I am required to journey home.” The good humor Crisp had possessed disappeared and sadness settled about him.

  “Is all well?” Max asked.

  Crisp let out a heavy sigh. “It’s my brother, Millard.”

  “I have not had the honor of meeting anyone else from your family,” Rosemary offered.

  “Millard is resentful of being a younger son. He doesn’t believe that he, as the son of a duke, should enter any honorable profession. He’d rather marry well so that he need not do anything else but enjoy life’s pleasures.”

  “Many sons of gentlemen feel no differently.”

  “Yes, well most of those sons don’t attempt murder in order to gain what they wish.”

  Rosemary gasped.

  “Millard decided a cousin removed, Lady Claresta Copeland, was to be his, as she is wealthy and brought property upon marriage. He’d been attempting to court her for a few years, but she’d continued to reject him. When it appeared that another might win her heart, Millard first poisoned glasses of wine at a ball, and when that failed, he succeeded in poisoning the man a second time and nearly killed him.”

  “Good Lord!” Max exclaimed.

  “Because he is the son of a duke, a physician claimed that Millard was not in his right mind, and my brother was allowed to be returned home where he’d be guarded as opposed to being sent to Newgate.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rosemary muttered.

  “He’s been causing difficulties, and my older brother has asked that we all return home to discuss what is to be done with Millard. Otherwise, I would be searching for the sword myself.”

  He tipped the glass of brandy to his lips and drained the contents as proof that the situation was very unsettling, as it would be for anyone, Max supposed.

  “There are other homes, not as nightmarish as Bedlam, where he could be settled, and it’s likely that is what we will do. I’ve three younger sisters at home and Leopold feels that Millard is becoming more dangerous as each day passes.”

  “I wish your family well,” Rosemary offered. “And I hope peace can be found for all.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded then rose to refill his glass. “I know of no one else who I’d trust in finding the antiquity and being able to determine if it truly is the sword of Joan of Arc other than the two of you. I’m only glad that I didn’t need to send someone after you in Greece, or wherever you might have been.” He waved a hand. “It is difficult keeping up with your travels.”

  Max kept a regular correspondence with Crisp, though it was writing to Crisp more than receiving correspondence in return, as Max often wrote of what he was searching for, and then when he found the item, he would announce where he was off to next. Rosemary had once told him that she did the same.

  “You could have sent for just one of us,” Rosemary reminded him.

  To which Crisp laughed. “I could not choose one over the other. If I cannot search for it myself, at least I’m comforted that the two of you will compete for the honor of being the first to find the prize.”

  Crisp certainly wasn’t wrong in his assessment. There was an added thrill when competing against Rosemary, not that Max would ever admit as much.

  Rosemary glanced at Max, her dark eyebrow raised in challenge. He knew that gleam in her brown eyes well. She was already plotting how to best him, which included disappearing the first chance she was given.

  “I will provide you both with the same information I’ve gathered. You will spend the night here, and in the morning, after we have breakfasted you will be allowed to leave on your quest.”

  “Tomorrow?” Rosemary questioned.

  “I knew you’d likely sneak off,” Crispin chuckled, to which Rosemary turned her glare on him. “Windows will be watched, as will the doors. This race for the sword must be fair.”

  “Very well,” she sniffed and sipped her brandy.

  “Will you give us the information this evening, or tomorrow?” Max asked.

  “Tonight, after dinner, then you can plot your course.” He glanced at them. “I can assume that you came directly here after leaving Cornwall and that your trunks are in your possession?”

  “Mine was delivered to my brother’s set of rooms at Albany,” Max answered. Harrison kept a set of rooms in London and in Portsmouth since he preferred to sleep on land when his ship was docked. Max rarely rented a room above a month because he traveled so much, and the only place that he had ever called home was the family estate in Cornwall.

  “Mine were delivered to the foundling home operated by Lady Victoria Westbrook,” answered Rosemary.

  “Then neither of you should be inconvenienced by waiting a day before you can begin.”

  “Must we wait until after dinner for the information?” Rosemary asked.

  “If I tell you now, the two of you will disappear above-stairs and into your chambers to plot. I’d prefer to learn of your travels and found antiquities since the last time we spoke.” He glanced to Max. “And learn what exactly happened in Jerusalem.”

  For a short time, Rosemary had forgotten that she was angry with Max as they told Crispin of their quests, exploits, and adventures from the past few years. There was much laughter as they had gotten into a few scrapes along the way, which weren’t as humorous at the time. Following dinner, Crispin had made good on his promise, and she did retire to her chamber to review the information he’d obtained so that she could determine where the search for the sword would begin. The only problem was that she didn’t know London as well as she should for such an endeavor. Further, it was a large city, spread out, not like many of the villages she’d visited in other countries.

  Crisp had said that the sword had likely found its way into a rookery to be sold, along with the silver bowl, which apparently had no distinctive marks to identify it.

  Unfortunately, London had several rookeries, and she wasn’t even certain where to begin. However, she’d often searched for items in strange cities so why should London be any different? Further, there were no language barriers, such as she’d encountered in Egypt, Italy, Greece, Palestine, and the other places she’d been fortunate enough to visit.

  By the time breakfast was complete, Rosemary had determined who had a more thorough knowledge of the rookeries, other than her host. She thanked Crisp for his hospitality and opportunity, then hired a hackney to drive her to the foundling home, where she changed into her disguise, which was immediately rejected by the women living there.

  While Westbrook House had dozens of children who had either lost their parents, or didn’t know who they were, the building also housed many women who were either hiding from a husband or father or wished to no longer work in a profession that was as old as time. The women, in turn, worked in the kitchens, cleaned, and those who could read taught in exchange for small payment, a roof over their head, and meals. Some had saved enough pounds that they could rent a set of rooms away from the foundling home, but few left because this was where they felt safe.

  They also knew the rookeries probably better than Crisp, as much of their lives had been spent there prior to arriving at Westbrook House.

  The foundling home was large since it had once been a mansion owned by a wealthy merchant. The five floors were filled with people old and young. For those who lived there, it was home. And it was the women, who had once lived in the worst parts of London, who insisted that Rosemary change her disguise.

  “You’ll not be fooling no one inta thinking yer a man,” Corliss laughed.

  “Not with those hips,” Hazel agreed.

  “Not enough binding for those breasts either,” Adda laughed.

  “If you were a thin thing, maybe, but nothing is going to mask that womanly form,” said Fern.

  Four residents of the foundling home surrounded Rosemary, studying her, while Edith stood back watching thoughtfully.

  Rosemary glanced down at herself, wondering if she’d been insulted. The only time that she’d been thin was when she was a child, but during her years at Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies, she’d grown inconvenient breasts, as her hips rounded, and buttocks filled, along with a small pooch to her stomach. Rosemary knew that she’d never be thin again, but wasn’t disturbed by the fact, except it made it impossible for her to masquerade as a man.

  “Washer woman,” Corliss offered.

  “Nobody is going to give a washer woman information,” Hazel argued. “But they may a lightskirt.” She winked.

  “Miss Fairview is not dressing as a harlot and going into a rookery. She’s likely to be accosted,” Fern argued.

  Hazel settled back and frowned. “You’re right. But what can she be that will allow her to gain information, but still respected so that she’s not harmed?”

  “I fear there is a risk no matter how she is dressed,” the more thoughtful woman, Edith, offered as she studied Rosemary.

  Unfortunately, what she said was true. Rosemary knew what dangers she was walking into, but she also carried a blade for protection.

  “Governess,” Edith offered after a moment.

  “Nobody is going to believe she is a governess. Not there. That’s too proper of a profession,” Fern offered.

  “Not if she’s been turned out by her employer and she has nowhere to go,” Hazel suggested.

  Rosemary gave it some thought. It was possible.

  “What reason could there be that would be so drastic that she ended up in a rookery?” Fern argued.

  “The young lordship took a liking to her.” Hazel grinned.

  “Which will make the others assume she’s a lightskirt and try to press her into service.”

  “Maid or widow,” Edith offered.

  “Widow?” Rosemary asked.

  “War widow turned out of her home. You could claim that your husband died on the Continent.”

  The Battle of Waterloo had only been a few months back and so many Englishmen were lost. “I don’t feel right portraying such a woman. It seems disrespectful somehow.”

  “Maid, then.” Edith pulled away from the wall. “You’ve been turned out because the mistress was demanding, and you were punished for the slightest imperfection and refused a reference, and you’ve been unable to find a new position.”

  It certainly seemed plausible. “I don’t have clothing that would be appropriate.”

  “I do,” Edith announced. “Clothing I wore while following the drum. Some is torn and stained, but it will help make your story about needing work believable.”

  It took no time at all for Rosemary to be stripped from her manly clothing and dressed in a simple calico gown. The fabric was faded, which served her purposes, and led to proof of her being down on her luck.

  “I’ll leave others in the chamber Lady Victoria has set aside for you,” Edith insisted.

  “What of you?” She couldn’t take the poor woman’s wardrobe.

  “I no longer wear those; they are from a different time in my life.” Sadness filled Edith’s eyes. “Just don’t be changing your clothes too often, or others will take note,” Hazel warned. “You’re poor. Only three dresses switched out over the week.”

  Once that was settled, she sat with the women to determine the best place to begin looking since they knew the rookeries and any place a sword might be pawned far better than she. And once it was established, she was directed to Clerkenwell. The women were certain if the sword wasn’t still there, that it had passed through, and someone had heard about it.

  Chapter 4

  Max had been in some unpleasant places and this small pocket inside of Clerkenwell might be one of the worst. Filth clung to the buildings while stench from rotting garbage, bodily refuse, and unwashed people assaulted his senses.

  Two lads rushed forward, and by all appearances seemed to be intent on their play as they knocked into him and hurried on. Maxwell was just as certain they’d be disappointed in the purse that they’d lifted, which contained all of two quid. His other one was tucked against his body, beneath layers of clothing, and not so easily lifted.

  As with many rookeries throughout London, this is where pickpockets and thieves made their homes, and Max had come prepared. Or as prepared as anyone could be who hadn’t been raised in this environment.

  As he’d already visited each pawn shop and learned nothing, Max continued walking until he came to the Rickety Cross Tavern, probably named because it sat in the shadows of Saint James Church Clerkenwell. It was here that he’d hoped to learn if anyone had news of the sword, though, being a stranger, it was unlikely anyone would speak to him directly. Nor did he have the time necessary to become part of the community to earn their trust. Such could take days, weeks, or months.