"Not even to Sir Grant?" Vickery's surprise was evident.

"No one," Ross emphasized, giving the clerk a meaningful stare.

While Vickery conducted his search, Sophia helped Ross with a deluge of work. In addition to his usual responsibilities, he was engaged in planning a series of raids at the outskirts of London to clear out hives of vagrants. Furthermore, he was unexpectedly called upon to act as arbitrator in an impassioned demonstration for higher wages staged by a majority of London tailors.

Amused and sympathetic, Sophia listened to Ross's grumbling as he prepared to leave the office. "Will it take long to resolve the dispute?" she asked.

"It had better not," he said darkly. "I'm in no mood to tolerate hours of squabbling."

She smiled into his scowling face. "You will be successful. I have no doubt that you could persuade anyone to agree to anything."

His expression softened as he drew her against his tall form and bent to kiss her. "You're proof of that, aren't you?" he murmured.

Just as Ross began to take his leave, however, Mr.

Vickery knocked at the door. Sophia went to open it, and her stomach did a peculiar flip when she saw the triumphant glow on the clerk's face. He held a yellowing records file in his hands. "Sir Ross," he said with visible satisfaction, "by a stroke of luck, I have found the information you requested. It could have taken weeks, but somehow I happened upon the right box before I was even a quarter of the way through the records. Now, perhaps you might tell me why--"

"Thank you," Ross said evenly, stepping forward to accept the file. "That will be all, Vickery. You have done well."

The clerk's face was etched with disappointment as he realized that no further information would be forthcoming. "Yes, Sir Ross. I suppose you will read it after you return from the tailors' dispute--"

"The tailors can wait," Ross said firmly. "Close the door when you leave, Mr. Vickery."

Obviously perplexed at why an ancient court record would take precedence over the tailors' demonstration, the clerk complied slowly.

The quiet click of the door caused Sophia to flinch. She stared in morbid fascination at the file in Ross's hands, the blood draining from her face. "You don't have to read it now," she said scratchily. "You should attend to your responsibilities."

. "Sit down," Ross murmured, coming forward to rest his hand on her shoulder. Obeying the gentle pressure, she sank into the nearest chair and gripped the arms tightly. Her gaze locked on his impassive face as he went to his desk and spread the tattered file across the scarred mahogany surface. Still standing, Ross braced his hands on either side of the court records and leaned over them.

The silence in the office was smothering as his gaze scanned the pages. Sophia fought to keep her breathing steady, and wondered why she should be so nervous. After all, she was fairly certain what the records would reveal, and as she had said to Ross, it no longer mattered. She had forgiven him, and had found a measure of peace in the process. However, her body felt like a watch that had been wound too tightly, and she dug her nails into the chair arms when she saw the frown that pulled at Ross's forehead.

Just as Sophia thought she would go mad from the tension, Ross spoke with his gaze remaining on the court records. "I remember it now. I was the sitting magistrate that day. After hearing the case, I sentenced John Sydney to ten months on a prison hulk. Considering his crime, it was by far the lightest punishment I could deliver. Anything less would have aroused such public outrage that I would have been forced to step down from the bench."

"Ten months on a prison hulk because of picking someone's pocket?" Sophia asked incredulously. "Surely the punishment far outweighed the crime!"

Ross did not look at her. "Your brother was not a pickpocket, Sophia. Nor had he fallen in with a group of petty thieves. He was a highwayman."

"A highwayman?" She shook her head in bewilderment. "No. That isn't possible. My cousin told me..."

"Either your cousin was not aware of the truth, or she thought it was kinder to keep it from you."

"But John was only fourteen!"

"He had joined a gang of highwaymen and embarked on a string of increasingly violent robberies, until all four were brought before me and accused of murder. For some reason Sydney never mentioned his title--he identified himself as a commoner." Sophia stared at him blankly.

Ross met her gaze then, his face impassive as he continued in a monotone. "They stopped a private carriage containing two women, a small child, and an elderly man. Not only did they rob the ladies of their watches and jewelry, but one of the highwaymen--Hawkins--took a silver sucking-bottle from the child. According to the women's testimony, the child began to wail so piteously that his grandfather demanded the return of the silver bottle. A scuffle ensued, and Hawkins struck the old man with the butt of his pistol. The grandfather fell to the ground, and whether he died of the injury or his excitation is not clear. By the time the gang was captured and brought before me, public sentiment was greatly aroused against them. I bound the older three over for trial, and they were condemned and executed in short order. However, in light of John Sydney's youth and the fact that he had not personally attacked the old man, I managed to give him a lesser sentence. I had him sent to the prison hulk--which earned a great deal of public fury and criticism, as most were calling for his death."

"None of that sounds like my brother," Sophia whispered. "I don't think John would have been capable of such crimes."

Ross replied with great care. "A young man would not be able to survive in the London underworld unscathed. I suspect your brother was hardened from his experiences in the rookeries and flash houses. Anyone would be corrupted by such a life."

Sophia felt nauseated by the revelations, not to mention painfully ashamed. "All this time I've blamed you for injustice," she managed to say, "when you actually did the most you could to help him."

Ross contemplated the fragile parchment before him, his long fingers brushing over the faded script. "I remember there seemed to be something in him worth saving," he said absently. "It was apparent that he had become involved in something beyond his ability to control." Ross's gray eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the court documents. "Something about this case troubles me," he murmured, "I have overlooked something...I sense there is some connection that has yet to be made, but I'm damned if I can figure it out."

Sophia shook her head slowly. "I'm so sorry."

His lashes lifted, and his gaze turned warm. "For what?"

"For intruding in your life...for seeking vengeance when none was deserved...for putting you in an impossible position." She stood up with a great effort, her head pounding, her throat blocked, so that she could hardly breathe.

Ross came from behind his desk and tried to put his arms around her, but she gently repelled the attempt. "The best thing I could do for you," she said, "is to disappear."

His long fingers clamped around her upper arms, and he moved her in a soft shake. "Sophia, look at me," he demanded urgently. A sharp note, like anger or fear, entered his voice. "Look at me, dammit! If you disappeared, I would find you. No matter how fast or how far you went. So put that thought out of your head."

Staring dazedly into his piercing gray eyes, she nodded while her mind buzzed with miserable speculation. "Now promise me," he went on tersely, "that while I'm gone today, you will not do anything foolish. Stay here, and when I return we will sort things out. All right?" When she didn't respond, he lifted her until her toes barely touched the floor. "All right?" he repeated in a meaningful tone.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'll wait for you."

CHAPTER 13

With Ross gone for the day, there was little Sophia could do in the office, so she decided to take inventory of the kitchen larders. The new information about her brother and his tainted past was unexpected and sickening; she could hardly think straight. She went about her tasks mechanically, feeling defeated and weary, until finally something jolted her from the numbness.

A foul smell emanated from the slate shelf of the wet larder, and Sophia gasped in disgust as she searched for the source of the odor. "My God, what is that?" she asked. Eliza hobbled to the door of the larder to watch her.

It did not take long for Sophia to discover that the putrid smell belonged to a salmon that was long past its prime. "We could soak it in vinegar and limewater," Eliza suggested hesitantly. "That will take away most of the smell--if it's not too far gone, that is."

Sophia gagged as she threw a cloth over the slimy mess and lifted it from the shelf. "Eliza,nothing could salvage this fish. 'Far gone' is a distant memory...it is foul from head to tail."

"Here, I'll wrap it," the cook-maid muttered, fetching a day-old newspaper. Expertly she bound the salmon until its odor was safely smothered.

Sophia watched her with annoyance. "Lucie bought the fish at Lannigan's only this morning, didn't she?"

Eliza nodded. "He told her it was fresh."

"Fresh!" Sophia exclaimed with a cynical snort.

"I'll have her take it back, then." Eliza frowned. "Except that I sent her out to fetch nasturtium seeds for pickling."

"I will take it back myself," Sophia said decisively, knowing that Eliza's knee was not sufficiently healed to allow for a walk to the fishmonger's shop. She welcomed the opportunity to exercise her legs and perhaps clear her mind. "I have a few things to say to Mr. Lannigan. How dare he send such a poor excuse of a salmon to Sir Ross's household!"

"Miss Sydney, I think you will have to wait. Ernest can't go with you, as he has gone about some errands for Sir Grant."

"I will go alone, then. It isn't far, and I will return before anyone knows I've been away."

"But Sir Ross has said many times that you are always to take a companion when you go out. If anything happens to you..." Eliza nearly shuddered.

"Nothing will happen to me. It's not as if I am venturing into a rookery. I am merely visiting the fishmonger."

"But Sir Ross--"

"You let me handle Sir Ross," Sophia murmured as she went to fetch her bonnet.

Faced with Sophia's righteous indignation, and her reminders of all that Sir Ross had done for him in the past, Mr. Lannigan was full of apologies." 'Twas a mistake," he mumbled in his thick Cockney accent, his gaze chasing all around the shop to avoid hers. Embarrassment mottled his meaty face. "Why, I newer would send a salmon what's gown awe to Bow Street! To try an' chisel Sir Ross...why, I'd be off me nob to do such a thing, wouldn' I?" His expression lightened as a possible explanation occurred to him."'Twas that feather 'eaded Lucie...she took thewrong fish , she did!"

"Well, then," Sophia replied crisply, "I would like to exchange it for the correct fish, please."

"Yes, miss." Taking the paper-wrapped package from her, he sped with alacrity to the back of the shop, muttering to himself. "Only the best for Sir Ross, that's whot I allus say..."

While she waited for the new salmon to be wrapped, Sophia became aware of a minor commotion outside the shop. Curious, she went to the small, thick-paned window and watched as an excited crowd gathered around the entrance of the building across the street.

"I wonder what they are looking at."

Lannigan answered with a note of something that sounded oddly like pride. "Gentry's on the 'unt again."

"Nick Gentry?" Sophia glanced over her shoulder at the fishmonger, her brows lifting in surprise. "He is trying to capture someone, you say?"

Lannigan smoothed out a rectangle of brown paper and laid the fish reverently at one end. "Like a fox, Gentry is--the cleverest an' mos' fleet-footed thief-taker since Morgan, an' that's the truf." Expertly he tucked the fish neatly into its paper casing.

Returning her attention to the scene outside the window, Sophia surmised that the crowd was waiting for the infamous Gentry to exit the building. "Mr. Gentry may be a thief-taker," she said pertly, "but he is also a criminal. I would not insult Sir Grant by making such a comparison, as he is the most honorable of men."

"Yes, miss." Lannigan knotted a string around the parcel with a flourish. "But Gentry's a rum cove, jus' the same."