'You think Jane might have found her way here?'
'Could be. A girl at the theatre told me yesterday that there's a lady here that's stayed a long time. She came in same as the other street girls, but she's not a street girl. She talks genteel and is obviously well born and bred. But she's ruined like the rest of them. She helps the other girls through their lying-in and talks to them when they're blue-deviled. They call her Lady, but no other name.'
My heart beat faster. 'May I see her?'
'Cool your heels in the sitting room, Lacey. I'll find her.'
Alice and I went to the small and dusty sitting room, while Marianne skimmed her way up the stairs.
'Do you think it's her, sir?' Alice asked. 'It's just what my lady would do-never mind her own troubles to help others.'
'We'll know soon enough,' I said, though my characteristic impatience trickled through me and wouldn't let me sit. I paced while Alice watched me, not daring to hope.
After what seemed a long time, I heard Marianne returning. Another pair of footsteps overlapped hers. I turned, and Alice jumped to her feet beside me.
Marianne entered the room with a small young woman whose back was straight, her eyes large and brown, like a doe's, but holding a calm serenity. A white cotton fichu crossed her shoulders and tied at her sash, and she lightly touched it, as though it gave her comfort.
Alice's dark eyes filled with tears. 'It ain't her. It's not Miss Jane.'
'You are looking for someone?' The young woman's voice was polite, but her tone held caution.
'A girl called Jane Thornton,' I said. 'Or she might have used the name Lily.'
'You are her brother?'
I shook my head. 'Her family is looking for her. I'm helping them.'
The woman assessed me a moment then relaxed a fraction, as though I'd passed some test. 'If she came here, sir, then she is truly lost.'
Alice sat down abruptly. 'You've not seen her?' I asked the woman.
She shook her head. 'I've lived here since Epiphany and have met no one by those names. She may have used another name, of course.'
'You help the girls here?'
Lady inclined her head. 'I'm one of them. I help as I can. I like to be useful. I, too, am lost, as they are.'
My curiosity grew despite my disappointment. 'You came here for sanctuary?'
'I came here for my-lying in. I decided to stay, as I had nowhere else to go.'
Lady met my gaze with eyes calm and strong, but I saw grief in them. There were no signs or sounds of children here. If her child had not died at birth, she'd have given it up to someone else's care. I read in her that the decision had been a painful one.
Her acceptance made my anger flare. 'And the name of the blackguard who made it necessary for you to come to this place?'
To my surprise, Lady smiled. 'I will keep that to myself, sir. The sin was not all on his side, and I have been punished.'
Had he been punished? I wished with all my heart she'd tell me his name so I could break his neck. I needed to put at least one person's wrongs right.
I handed her one of my cards. 'If you hear of a girl called Jane Thornton, or Lily, or if she comes here, please send for me. Her family are worried.'
She took my card, read it, and looked as though something amused her. 'I will send word, of course, Captain.'
I thanked her, and we departed. Another argument began above stairs as we left that house, disappointed and dejected. I looked back once before ascending the hackney, and saw Lady framed in the sitting room window, her white fichu bright against the dark panes. She looked back at me, but did not raise her hand or nod in farewell.
We traveled back down Drury Lane toward the Strand. Carriages from Mayfair were just making their way toward the Theatre Royal, the glittering coaches and glittering people emerging a sharp contrast to the wretches who scrambled to get out of their way. Beggars thrust hands at the fine ladies with diamonds in their hair until liveried footmen drove the beggars away. Across the road, street girls sashayed back and forth and called to the men. Two well-dressed gentlemen broke away to speak to them, never mind the respectable ladies who stood not a yard from them.
I didn't see the Brandon carriage anywhere around the theatre, and Grenville was out of town. Lady Aline Carrington, however, was there in full force, I saw as we passed, the gossipy Mr. Gossington with her.
Our one-seated hackney was crowded with the three of us. Alice, stuffed between myself and Marianne, sniffled into a handkerchief, and Marianne crossed her arms and glared out the window, not bothering to hide her disappointment. We reached the Strand, and I stood down to help Alice out at the end of the lane to the Thorntons' lodgings.
Marianne did not speak to me as we rolled up Southampton Street and through Covent Garden to Russel Street and Grimpen Lane. I paid my shillings and caught up to Marianne waiting upstairs outside my door. She swung around as I stepped off the landing. 'What about my ten guineas?'
My mood had soured considerably. 'We did not find Miss Thornton.'
'I know, but I led you to a good place. If she's belly-full, it's likely she'll go there. I can use the blunt.'
'God damn your ten guineas, Marianne.'
She reddened. 'I like that! I go out of my way to do you a bit of good, and you throw curses at me.'
I strode into my sitting room and crossed to the writing table. I scribbled Grenville's address on the back of one of my cards, returned to the hall, and thrust the card at her. 'Give Grenville time to return from Somerset, then go ask for your bloody ten guineas. Tell him I sent you.'
I closed the door on her startled face. The image of Grenville's expression when she turned up on his doorstep filtered through my melancholia, and just for a moment, I let myself feel amused.
The next afternoon, I took a hackney to Curzon Street, the heart of Mayfair, pulling up, just at the stroke of three, in front of the house James Denis had directed me to.
The house reminded me strongly of Grenville's. The outside was plain, without ostentation; the inside was elegant, tasteful, quiet, and expensive. I paused before a painting on the landing, which depicted a young girl standing by a window, pouring water from a jug. The bright yellows and blues and greens were astonishing. I recognized the painter, one of the Dutch school of the late seventeenth century. The painting was exquisite, rare, genuine.
The footman's dry cough tugged me away, and I followed him up the polished staircase. A sharper contrast to Horne's household could not be imagined. Everything here spoke of refinement, of a person who knew the value of things and what made them precious.
The footman opened two double doors of rich walnut and ushered me into a library. The room smelled of books and wood and of a fragrant fire on the hearth. My boots sank into a red and black oriental carpet without sound.
Mr. Denis sat behind a large desk devoid of everything but one small stack of clean paper, a bottle of ink, and a pen. He was much younger than I'd expected; I put him to be in his late twenties at most. His hair was brown, close-cropped, and curled naturally, and his eyes were small under black brows. His mouth was straight and long, his face square. He rose while the doors closed behind me and motioned for me to advance.
As I limped forward, I noticed the large man standing still as a statue near the window. His arms were folded across his large chest, and he watched me from heavy-lidded eyes, as though he were half-asleep.
Denis came around the desk and shook my hand. He was of a height with me. His face might be described as handsome, but when I looked into his dark blue eyes, I saw nothing. No emotion, no speculation, no thoughtfulness. Nothing. If eyes were windows to the soul, the shutters of James Denis were firmly closed.
'Please sit down, Captain.' Denis returned to his desk and rested his hands on the bare surface before him, as if fully expecting to be obeyed.
A pair of damask chairs waited in the middle of the carpet. I moved to one of them and sat.
Denis studied me a moment with his emotionless eyes. 'Please clarify something for me. Are you an
