lingered, determined to make as many pennies as they could before returning home. The square was littered with lettuce leaves, squashed cherries and strawberries, fowl droppings, and newspapers torn from wrapping flowers, fish, and greens.
I headed across the market with Gabriella to the base of King Street at the right side of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Bartholomew had accompanied us, declaring he needed to purchase some last-minute provender for tomorrow. We left him browsing while I escorted Gabriella halfway down King Street. I stopped a few houses away from her boardinghouse and let her traverse the rest of the street alone. I saw her square her shoulders, preparing to confront her mother and Auberge.
Just before Gabriella reached the boardinghouse, the door flew open, and Carlotta herself dashed from it. She flung her arms around Gabriella, holding her a moment, then she took a step back and began to scold.
Gabriella's stance remained tall and straight; she would not wilt. She said something to her mother and pointed back at me. Carlotta followed her outstretched finger, saw me, and gave me a look of outrage that I could feel where I stood three houses away.
Carlotta swung on her heel and dragged Gabriella inside. I tipped my hat at the door that slammed and turned away.
I caught up with Bartholomew on his way back to Grimpen Lane, his basket filled to the brim with foodstuffs. 'She yours, sir?' he asked as he fell into step with me. 'Your daughter, I mean.'
'Yes.' I glanced at him. 'I do not remember telling you that.'
'Didn't have to, did you?' He gave me a broad smile. 'She's the spittin' image of you, sir.'
The answer pleased me, and I suppose I smiled foolishly, because his grin widened in response.
I would speak again to Gabriella, I determined. I'd gradually bring her around to agreeing to stay with me while Carlotta and Auberge returned to France. I did not want to force my rights as her father, and things would be easier all around if she stayed by choice.
I needed to find Felicity and Nancy after I'd unceremoniously left them behind in the market. I assumed the two had either retired to Felicity's lodgings or to a pub to catch up on old times. Also, I'd told Louisa to visit me this evening so that I could take her to see Gabriella. I wondered now whether Carlotta would even let us in, and more so, whether Gabriella was ready to see Louisa. I thought not. I would try to persuade Louisa to postpone the visit.
I was reminded not twenty minutes after Bartholomew and I returned to my rooms that I needed to tend to other people as well. Bartholomew's brother Matthias rapped peremptorily on my door, and when Bartholomew opened it, Matthias announced that his master, Lucius Grenville, had tired of waiting and come to pay me a call.
Chapter Eight
'I have learned, Lacey,' Grenville said as Bartholomew let him in, 'that to stay in thick in an investigation with you, I must insinuate myself. So, I am insinuating myself.' He thrust his hat and stick at Matthias, then planted himself on the straightbacked chair and stretched out his legs.
As usual, Grenville dressed in the first stare of fashion; or rather, what he wore today would become the first stare of fashion tomorrow. He advocated monochrome colors, as had the famous George Brummell: black frock coat and tightly fitting trousers, ivory waistcoat, and glaring white neckcloth. In deference to the afternoon and the fact that he intended to hunt criminals, he wore a stock rather than a collar, his neckcloth was tied loosely, and he wore low-heeled boots and serviceable gloves.
'You did not happen to see Black Nancy on the way, did you?' I asked.
At my question, Grenville's famous dark brows rose. 'Black Nancy? The creature that Denis hired to lure you into a trap on one occasion? The young lady for whom I rowed about on the cold Thames, ruining my gloves, while you rescued her?'
'The same,' I said.
'The answer is no, I did not. I had thought her in Islington in any case.'
'She has graciously returned to the heart of London to help me look for these missing girls.'
Grenville put aside his dandy hauteur with a suddenness that was nearly comical. His eyes gleamed with interest. 'Excellent idea. Have you met with her yet? Has she found anything?'
So speaking, he reached for the bottle of wine I'd left half-empty and motioned Bartholomew to bring him a clean glass. Bartholomew did, taking the wine from Grenville's hand and filling that glass and mine. Grenville's observant gaze darted about the table, taking in the remains of the meal and the two plates.
'Nancy has already been of help,' I answered. 'She introduced me to a young woman called Felicity who knew one of the girls, Black Bess as she is called. I do not know yet whether they call her Black Bess because she has black hair like Nancy, or whether she has black skin like Felicity. Sergeant Pomeroy, it seems, was not amiss to kissing this Bess in dark passages, a fact he neglected to mention to me.'
'Hmm,' Grenville said. 'That is how many of these girls avoid facing the magistrates, you know. They bribe the Watch in kind.'
'Pomeroy is an elite Runner, not the Watch. I do not mean that I wish to see these girls in the dock, but I dislike Pomeroy exploiting the situation.'
'So many men do, Lacey.'
'Yes, but Pomeroy, at least, I can put my hands on and shout at.'
'I am certain he will be pleased about that,' Grenville said dryly.
I drank some of the wine, reflecting that Bartholomew had managed to procure a decent bottle. 'Nancy and Felicity told me of Black Bess's young man, who lives off Drury Lane. They promised to take me to him, but I dashed off and left them, and was about to go hunt for them again when you turned up.'
Grenville eyed me over the rim of his glass. 'That is most unlike you, to run off in the middle of an investigation.'
'Not really, sir,' Bartholomew broke in. 'The captain was helping his daughter.'
Grenville had started to drink. He coughed, then swallowed hastily and set the glass down. 'Indeed? You've spoken to her? What happened?'
I shot Bartholomew an irritated glance then explained, in clipped sentences, about my meeting with James Denis and my wife and about my choices for divorce. I also told him of Gabriella's distress when she learned of the matter.
Grenville shot me a look of compassion, then he strove to hide it, because he knew I did not like pity. 'A difficult situation,' he said. 'Though I understand how you feel about your daughter, now that I've connected with my own.'
His situation was a bit different from mine, because he'd not known the daughter existed until a few months ago. I would not say so out loud, however. Grenville was ecstatic about her, the happiest I'd seen him in a long while. Though the daughter was now touring the country as a celebrated actress, he loved writing to her, reading her letters aloud to me, and visiting her whenever he could.
'If not for Donata,' I said, 'I'd say the simplest solution would be to send Carlotta and her Frenchman back to France, and do nothing. They have been living in their supposed wedded bliss these fifteen years; they may as well continue. I can turn my back and declare that Carlotta is dead, and no one would be the wiser. But in that case, I would never feel right about marrying again. It would be bigamy, and I would know it.'
'I read of a convicted bigamist who was branded in the thumb,' Grenville said after a thoughtful sip of wine. 'But the iron was cool and the punisher was bribed to hold the iron to his skin only a second or two. This tells me that the law is unconcerned about bigamy.'
Matthias said, 'Bet his wives branded him good, though, when they found out about each other.' He and his brother shared a chuckle.
'Sometimes simply looking the other way is the only answer,' Grenville said. 'With the difficulty of ending marriage in this country, a couple who want to part and go their separate ways can only live happily by breaking the law.'
'All parties are agreed in that case,' I pointed out. 'They agree to say nothing.'
