urchins and derelicts, some interested only in the brawl while others were attentive to the strangers who were its cause. “On your life, show no fear,” Darcy hissed to Fletcher, “and follow my lead.” Slowly he backed up to and along the church’s wall, being careful to display the fact of the walking stick as he did so.
“I’ve found the door, sir,” Fletcher gasped. “It is locked!”
“Knock, man!” Darcy brandished the solid brass knob at the crowd that was now hooting and calling out insults as well as demands. It was most likely the noise of the crowd rather than Fletcher’s knocking that attracted the sexton’s attention, for the door opened suddenly behind them, and heavy hands on both their shoulders drew them in and behind a man of stunning proportions. Cries of disappointment rose from the mob.
“Do no behef so,” the giant called out in heavily accented English. “Trit straungers lack dis? No! Go home; pray Fadder forgif. Go!” With that advice or command, Darcy knew not which, the man closed the door, turned to them, and held his candle to their faces. “Who?” was all that composed his simple question.
“Darcy. I am a friend of Lord Brougham.”
“Lordt Brougham?” The giant was clearly at a loss.
“Lord Dyfed Brougham,” Darcy tried again.
“Oh, Mr. Dyfedt!” Relief shone on the man’s face. “Yes, I know Mr. Dyfedt, but I not know Lordt Brougham. Brudder, maybe?”
Darcy smiled. “Perhaps.” Of course Dy would not be known by his real name here! What was he thinking? “Mr. Dyfed told me to find you if I needed his help. Can you contact him for me?”
The sexton drew back. “Name again, please.”
“Darcy…and this is my man, Fletcher. Mr. Dyfed knows us both,” he said and pulled out the slip of paper Dy had given him. “Here is his pledge.”
The sexton took the paper and held it up to the candle. Nodding, he returned it to Darcy. “Yes, Mr. Dyfed.”
“Can you get a note to him?”
The giant shook his head. “Ach, no. Ist business?”
Darcy shook his head wearily. “No, a young woman in danger. He knows people here who might be able to help me find her and restore her to her family.”
“Yong voman? Hmm.” The man’s brow furrowed. “Not business?”
“No, not business; a personal matter in which I know he would wish to lend assistance.” Darcy sighed.
“Then perhaps I can help you,” came the reply in perfect English. Both Darcy and Fletcher stared at the smiling giant. “But first let me offer you gentlemen some refreshment. You have had a hard night of it, I think.”
Drawing back, Darcy stared up into the amused eyes of their rescuer and tightened his grip once more upon the brass-crowned walking stick he had brandished at the unruly lot outside the door. The giant’s rumbling laughter in response filled, then echoed off the circular stone walls of the stairwell. “Please, sir, come up. If Mr. Dyfed sent you to me, you can have nothing to fear at my hands. Please…” He indicated the steps. Still uncertain as to the wisdom of accepting, Darcy cast a glance at Fletcher, but his manservant was otherwise engaged.
“Tyke? Tyke Tanner?” Fletcher stepped toward the giant, whose regard now swung to him in surprise.
“Who…?” he began, then stopped, his eyes nearly starting out of his head. “Lem? Lemuel Fletcher? I’ll be!” Reaching out a great paw of a hand, he clapped Darcy’s valet a hearty slap upon his back. “Ten years, has it been? Unbelievable!” That observation summed up Darcy’s sentiment as well. How in the world did his valet know this man? “And your parents! How are Mr. Farley and Mistress Margaret? Still atread the boards, I’ll be bound!”
“Ah, no.” Fletcher glanced at his employer nervously. “They have retired to Nottingham.” He cleared his throat. “But how did you come to be here and sexton of a church? Not your sort of role, Tyke.”
Tanner’s gaze flicked back to Darcy, and he hesitated. “Perhaps your gentleman would welcome that refreshment and a seat to enjoy it in, Lem. Sir.” He tugged at his forelock in Darcy’s direction. “I am completely at your service.”
Darcy nodded, not at all satisfied with his understanding of what had just passed, but his cause for being in this unlikely situation was too pressing to puzzle it out now. “Lead on.” Tanner ducked his head in polite response and started climbing the winding stone stairway. A partially open door lay at the second landing, and at this he stopped and waited for them to precede him into the room. Darcy looked back at Fletcher, one brow quirked in question. The valet’s assuring smile was not entirely gainsaid by the wariness in his eyes, but it was a consideration. There was nothing for it but to trust to Dy’s instructions and the contacts those instructions offered to him. Really, given what he now knew about his friend, the odd nature of his contacts should not have been surprising. He looked up into their guide’s eyes again and wished to Heaven that this one were not so odd and so blasted large at the same time!
Gathering his resolve, Darcy stepped past the giant and into the room, Fletcher treading behind him, and then their host. Tanner paused to close the door and took the further precaution to lock it and hang the key on a hook to the side. Turning, he smiled at them and hurried over to the fire to swing a kettle above the embers, then began a search for the apparently rare clean cup. In an instant the man’s large frame became comic rather than threatening as he hurried awkwardly about his hosting duties in the confines of the low-pitched room that served as kitchen, sitting room, and bedchamber, all the while apologizing for its cluttered, unkempt appearance.
“Please, sir, have a seat.” He dusted off an ancient chair. “The water’ll be hot in no time. Lem, can you lend me a hand?” Fletcher looked down at Darcy. He nodded, and Fletcher followed Tanner to a table that served all its owner’s needs for a flat horizontal surface. Evidently, they had interrupted their host’s meal, for a plate with an enormous haunch of meat lay at one end while a mound of papers, pens, and an inkwell graced the other. True to Tanner’s word, a cup of hot tea appeared at Darcy’s elbow in record time. After handing Fletcher another, the great man stepped before Darcy and tugged again at his forelock. “Sir? How can I help you?”
“Tanner.” Darcy looked up into the curious eyes of Dy’s contact. “Mr. Dyfed gave me to know that any time I needed to find him, I was to come here, but he is not to be found, you say.”
“No, sir, and I cannot say when he will be found. More I cannot say, sir.” Tanner’s jaw flexed firm. There would be no more information in that quarter. “But perhaps I myself or some others of Mr. Dyfed’s friends may be of service?” Tanner’s eyes did not flinch from Darcy’s studied scrutiny, nor did he seem uncomfortable in his humble stance before him. Darcy considered his options. They seemed to come down to the fact that Dy trusted this man. Could he claim any more delicate a need for secrecy than Dy?
“It is a personal matter requiring the utmost confidentiality and discretion,” Darcy began slowly. “A young woman’s reputation, rather her entire family’s reputation, is dependent on her swift location and rescue from a man of base character. All my information indicates that she and the man came to London a week ago and have disappeared into the meaner parts of the city.”
“A kidnapping, sir?” Tanner’s beefy face hardened.
“No.” Darcy shook his head. “The young lady went willingly, and it may yet be that she remains enamored and desires no rescue. But she must be found and brought to her senses and out of the power of this man.” Darcy took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on their host. “I desire only help in locating her. I will endeavor to do the rest. Can you help me?”
Tanner’s eyes flicked to Fletcher’s for the briefest moment and then returned to Darcy. “Yes, sir, I can help you; and I will.” An angry whistle escaped him. “A common enough story; though it still makes my blood boil, begging your pardon, sir.”
Darcy negated the apology with an upraised hand. “The man’s name is Wickham, George Wickham, and the lady’s is Lydia. I will not say her family’s name. Lydia should suffice. She is a small, young woman, only sixteen years old, of good but not noble family. Wickham holds the rank of lieutenant and is absent without leave from the —— th Militia stationed at Brighton. He has little money and few friends. He is about my height, dark hair, thin. He has a weakness for gambling.” Darcy pulled a small package from his coat pocket. “You will find a tolerable likeness of him in this.” He handed it to Tanner.
“Oh, this will be of great help!” the giant exclaimed as he unwrapped the parcel and held the miniature up to a candle. “How shall I contact you, sir? You must know, you should not come here again.”
Darcy nodded. “Leave messages with my groomsman, Harry, at the mews for Erewile House, Grosvenor Square. Harry has no notion of this affair but will faithfully deliver whatever is given him.”
“It shall be done, sir. Whether there is news or no, I will send to you morning, afternoon, and evening of what
