'A young lady's family is looking for her. I want to find her and send her home.'
Nancy made a face. 'Well, what if she don't want ter go? Reformers try to send me home all the time. Stupid sods. Me dad's worse than any flat I ever had.'
Nancy had once told me that her father beat her, and I'd seen the bruises on her face that she tried to hide with paint and powder. 'I think I do not much like your father,' I said.
She chuckled. 'Suits me. I don't like him either.'
I strolled back toward Covent Garden, and she stuck to me like a dog following its master. 'What's this girl's name? Maybe I know her.'
'I'm not certain what she's calling herself. Maybe Jane. Or Lily.'
She pursed her lips. 'I know lots of Janes. No Lilies.'
I looked down at her. 'Are there any new girls on the streets of late? One who doesn't seem to fit in?'
'There's new girls all the time. They don't last. Would she work Covent Garden?'
I shook my head, depressed. 'You don't know anyone called Charlotte, do you?' I hazarded.
'How many ladies do you want, Captain? No, I don't know no Charlottes. Why don't you want a Nancy?'
I studied the white-painted face beside me. 'I have one more than I can endure now.'
She grinned, her scarlet mouth wide. 'Ain't you lucky I like you? 'Cause I'll tell ya something, Captain. I found your coachman.'
Chapter Thirteen
I stopped short and looked down at her in astonishment. A squat man stumbled into me, then pushed past me with a curse.
'Why didn't you say so?' I demanded.
'You never asked. You were pleased to go on about your Janes and Lilies and Charlottes.'
'Where is he?'
'Keep your trousers on, Captain. Or rather, no. I bet you're handsome in your skin.'
'If you are going to babble nonsense, I'll go home and keep my shillings.'
Nancy clung to my arm. 'Wait a minute. I'm only teasing yer. I did it just like yer said. I hung about watching the nobs come to the theatre. I asked and asked about people called Carstairs until I found their coach. But the coachman was new. Only been coachin' for the Carstairs for a couple weeks. Last coachman gave notice, you see, and went off.'
'Damn.'
She laughed and squeezed my arm. 'Don't fret, Captain. I kept plaguing him until he told me where the last coachman had gone. He drives for some cove called Barnstable or some such name. But I found him. This Barnstable goes to the opera, too. We're fine pals now, Jemmy and me.'
'Jemmy is the coachman?'
'Well, it ain't Mr. Barnstable, is it?' She snorted a laugh. 'So I found him for ya. Where's my two shillings?'
'I wanted him to pay a call on me.'
'Well, Jemmy don't want to. Why would the likes of him be going to a gentleman's rooms? No, I got him tucked away in a public 'ouse. Said I'd come and fetch you.'
'All right, then. I'll give you your money when I've spoken to him.'
'You're a mean one. Come on, then. It ain't far.'
She led me back toward Covent Garden market, closed now, through the square and to another narrow street. A pub with the sign of a rearing stallion stood halfway down the curved and aged lane, and Nancy took me inside.
The pub was crowded, with a stream of people coming and going. Burly lads in household livery were obviously footmen who'd stepped in for a pint while their masters and mistresses sat in the theatre watching plays or operas. They risked their places doing so-the master or mistress might want them at a moment's notice-but they seemed content to take the chance.
Men and women of the working and servant classes lingered contentedly, talking loudly with friends, laughing at anecdotes. In the snug, a barmaid led a rousing song. Nance took me to a highbacked settle with a table drawn up to it. She smiled at the man sitting there before snuggling in beside him and plopping a kiss on his cheek.
'This is Jemmy. I brought the captain to yer.'
I slid onto the bench across from them. Jemmy was not a big man; he'd be perhaps a half-head taller than Nance when standing, but his black coat, shiny with wear, stretched over wide shoulders and tight muscles. His brown hair was greasy and fell lankly over his forehead. His wide face split into a grin at Nancy, showing canine teeth filed to points.
Jemmy raised a hand, washing the smell of sweat and ale over me. 'Well, here I am, Cap'n. What do you want of me?'
A plump barmaid plopped a warm tankard of beer in front of me. She smiled at me, revealing two missing teeth, ignored the coachman and Nance, and sailed away.
'Bitch,' Jemmy muttered.
'Aw, Jemmy, you don't need her. You got me.' Nance wriggled herself under his arm. He encircled her shoulders with it, letting his fingers rest an inch from her bosom.
I had planned to question Jemmy subtly, but I was very bad at anything but blatant truths. Plus, the way he touched Nance sent flickers of irritation through me.
'You used to coach for the Carstairs family,' I said without preliminary.
'Yeah. What of it?'
'You once drove to the Strand and retrieved Miss Jane Thornton and her maid for an afternoon of shopping with young Miss Carstairs.'
He hesitated for a long moment. 'Who told you that?'
'I know it. Many people know it.'
Alarm flickered in his eyes. 'They sent me on all kinds of errands for the spoiled little chit. Don't remember all of them. I'd give her the back of me 'and, she was mine.'
I went on ruthlessly. 'On that particular day you went to fetch Miss Thornton and her maid, but when you reached the Carstairs' house, they were gone.'
His eyes went wary. 'I know that. They got in, but there wasn't a sign of 'em when I opened the door at the house in Henrietta Street. Could have knocked me down with a feather.'
'You never saw her get out of the carriage.'
'Saw who?' The corners of his mouth had gone white.
'Miss Thornton.'
'Oh, her. You ever driven a coach, Cap'n? You got to drive the team and watch out for other coaches and wagons who have no business being on the streets. They lock your wheels, you're done for. I don't got time to look out what my passengers do.'
'Or perhaps the passengers never got into the coach in the first place.'
His mouth hardened. 'Who's been telling you things? It's a pack of lies.'
I leaned toward him, the stale steam from my beer engulfing me. I was making guesses, pieced together from what Aimee and the orange girl in the Strand had told me, but I had to try. 'Someone paid you to look the other way that day. To drive to the Strand, wait a few minutes, then drive away again. You were to go back to Henrietta Street and claim you didn't know what happened. Perhaps later that night you were paid to return, to fetch the young ladies in earnest this time and drive them to Hanover Square.'
'I never. It's lies, that is.'
'If it is not the truth, it is very close to it.'
Jemmy shoved his glass away from him. Ale slopped onto the pitted and stained tabletop. 'Who says it is? You going to take me to the beaks? And tell them what? No one is left to prove it.'
'No,' I mused. 'Horne is dead; Miss Thornton is gone. Did Mr. Carstairs ask you to go? I wager he did not
