I didn’t allow myself to linger over the unfairness of the situation. Mr. Grimshaw clearly regretted the matter but could do nothing for me. I would have to do something . . . go to someone else, though I couldn’t think whom just yet.
I rose from my chair, holding on to the back of it to keep me steady. My toes were numb, and the feeling slowly rose up to my ankles, my knees, until I could hardly feel my legs. But I’d wasted precious time here, hours during which I might have been searching for Harry.
“I am sorry to hear about your brother.” He frowned. “Have you any idea where he has gone?”
I bobbed my head. “He mentioned only that he wanted to go to sea. I will begin my search at the docks immediately.”
“I have contacts in shipping. I will send out some inquiries, see if I can discover anything.”
“Thank you for your help.” My voice was flat.
“Perhaps you might repair things with your aunt. I am sure she would not wish you to feel so desperate.”
A laugh bubbled up in me, though I felt the weight of tears behind it. The frozen feeling in my middle would never thaw.
Somehow I was at the door, the muffled sound of London traffic—drivers yelling, carriage wheels turning, the clip-clop of hooves hitting cobblestone—sounding in my ears. I pulled the door open, and the sound amplified, the brisk gust of wind that battered me clearing my head.
A hand on my shoulder made me turn. Mr. Grimshaw stood just behind me, his glasses a bit askew, as if he’d run after me.
“Miss Graham, wait. Perhaps there is something I can do. I remember your father very distinctly and how concerned he was for your wellbeing. I cannot in good conscience let you walk out of here in so desperate a plight. I have a sister, Mrs. Morton, who lives not far from here. She’s a widow—lives in a modest little home. I feel certain she would be willing to take you in for a time.” He caught his breath and then hurried on. “And I would like to offer you a small advance, from my own pocket.”
The tightly coiled tension that had been eating through my stomach eased a bit.
“Are you sure?”
He gave me a real smile then. “Your inheritance is certain. I see no reason why you could not borrow against it.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I put one foot in front of the other in a relentless push against the bone-chilling wind that had come out of nowhere over my past two days of searching. It was late afternoon, and the sun had long since retreated behind the dense gray clouds that threatened rain. Or snow, heaven forbid. The next dockyard was less than half a mile away, but with my fingers already numb and my feet past feeling, it seemed impossibly far. But I couldn’t give up for the day. Not yet.
The odor of the hot tar used to coat ship hulls mixed with the salty ocean air, burning through my nostrils and unlocking a host of memories. I combed through those remembrances for the thousandth time, hoping to uncover some clue as to where Harry might have gone. But I hadn’t been down to the dockyards in London in years, and all I could remember from when I was a girl was the mass of huge wooden masts, the call of boisterous sailors, and the effort it took not to trip over my feet as I took it all in.
I’d spent the last day and a half making my way up and down the docks, checking with every dock manager, hoping against hope that I might find Harry before he had a chance to find a captain who would take him and the ship could sail out.
A particularly heavy gust of wind made my skirt and cloak billow behind me, and I turned, trying to shield myself from the worst of it. Thank goodness Betsy had packed my heaviest cloak before we’d left for London; I couldn’t imagine facing this weather in anything less.
To my right a small group of unsavory-looking men sat on some old crates. A few were whittling, and one was smoking, but a large man with uneven teeth jeered at me, his words slurred from too much drink. “It’s not e’ery day we get the likes o’ you walkin’ down here.”
I kept my chin high and walked by.
“Too good for us, are ya?”
Though I’d encountered plenty of what my father would call riffraff over the last two days, my pulse still sped, and I quickened my step. A few others laughed at something the man said, but I was too far away to hear.
As I approached the next dock, I took stock of the man who stood as sentinel, hoping he would be more hospitable than the prior dockmaster had been. The man was wrapped from head to foot—with thick boots and a wool hat that protected his ears—far better prepared for the weather than I was. I pulled down my scarf so I could be heard over the wind. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, coming to a stop in front of the farthest quay.
My heart sank when I got a glimpse of his face. He had a heavy dark beard, and his brows hung down over his eyes in a way that made me think he disapproved of my very presence, even though I had yet to even state my purpose. A gruff “Yes?” was all he offered.
“I need your help. I am looking for my brother, Harry Graham. He’s run away, and I have reason to believe he’s looking for a position with a ship, perhaps one due to sail out soon. I was hoping you might be able to help me or direct me to someone who would know . . .”
The man looked to the east, where a small dark hut sat on the landing. It looked as though the stiff wind might blow it over. “If your
