further?'
'No.' I told Thompson about Gabriella and that I needed to hunt for her.
His expression darkened. 'If I find the bastard who is doing this
…' He shook his head, his thin frame moving. 'I'll tell the magistrate of the Bow Street house and the others to put as many men as they can spare on it. I'll also employ some of my own.' He held out his hand for me to shake. 'We'll find her, Captain.'
His resolution only worried me more. Everyone except Auberge had offered the explanation that Gabriella had merely wandered off. Thompson, like me, believed something more sinister might have happened. Hearing my fear confirmed only increased the coldness in the pit of my stomach.
Auberge wanted to return to King Street and tell Carlotta what was happening. He and I, Grenville, and Pomeroy walked back to the Strand, Grenville fetching Jackson from the tavern to which he'd taken the others. Grenville ordered Jackson to drive Auberge back to King Street, while Grenville himself volunteered to remain and help renew the search for Gabriella. Thompson departed for the coroner's house to learn the outcome of his examination.
I decided to leave them and ride with Auberge, hoping against hope that Gabriella had returned to the house while we'd been distracted with the body of Mary.
But when we reached the house, Gabriella was not there. Carlotta flew down the stairs, wild for news. When Auberge merely shook his head, she flung herself into his arms, crying. I do not believe she even noticed me there.
I left the house, uncertain where to turn. I told Jackson to take the carriage back to Grenville and the others and help them continue the search. Jackson nodded and drove away. I tramped back to Covent Garden alone, drawn to the place as though it held the answers.
The stalls were shut and quiet, the market closed. That did not mean that the place was deserted. Game girls wandered the shadows, their high-pitched laughter promising a merry time. Thieves roamed, waiting for victims.
The pile of Covent Garden Theatre hugged the northeast corner of the square, the back walls marked here and there with small windows. The theatre's entrance and grand piazza were on its other side, in Hart and Bow Streets.
I saw a Mayfair gentleman near the back of the theatre, conspicuous in fine suit and tailed frock coat, a tall hat on his head. A dark carriage with a matched team waited not far from him. He was speaking to a game girl, the lady, bold in a feathered hat and scarlet dress, answering him with laughter.
After a time, he held his hand out to her, offering. She took it, and together they went to the carriage and climbed inside. The coachman gave office to the horses and drove on at a snail's pace. I stepped aside to let the carriage pass.
I'd recognized the gentleman, a man I'd met at White's with Grenville, one by name of Stacy. He was a husband and a father-likely his wife and daughter even now were inside the theatre, while Stacy entertained himself elsewhere.
I knew that some rich men slummed, picking up game girls without discretion. I wondered as I watched the carriage recede into the darkness of King Street how often Stacy visited Covent Garden, and whose company he enjoyed there.
I walked north on James Street. The intersection between it and Hart Street was busy with people leaving the theatre between performances. A few enterprising acrobats had set up on the corner opposite me, two men and a girl tumbling and dancing while a little boy wove through the crowd with an upturned hat.
The acrobats were quite good and had drawn a small crowd. The girl scrambled onto one man's back and stood up on his shoulders, then he tossed her high into the air. The other man caught her with ease and set her on her feet again. The audience applauded.
I crossed the street, letting a threepenny bit drop into the boy's hat. He said, 'Thankee, sir,' before moving along.
A carriage rattled to a halt behind me, and I looked around to see a window drop down and a white face topped with an odd lace and feather headdress appear. A pair of shrewd eyes observed me, then the face left the window.
A footman swarmed from the back of the coach and opened the door for me. He assisted me in and closed the door, shutting me into an opulent, stuffy, and dark box with the lady who'd stopped for me.
I sank into the cushions next to Lady Breckenridge, relieved to have somewhere soft to rest.
'Whatever are you doing wandering the streets, Lacey?' she asked.
Her drooping headdress swayed with the carriage. Female fashions were heading down the avenue of the ridiculous these days, with stiff lace and many flounced ribbons decorating skirts, the fabric almost like canvas for layers of decoration. Headdresses weren't much better. I preferred the simplicity of a bandeau woven through locks, but women, especially in the aristocracy, were keen to follow fashion. Lady Breckenridge managed to look pretty even with the baglike lace hood covering her hair and the peacock feathers that sagged to either side of her face. Gloves covered her arms past her elbows, her short-sleeved, summer garment shimmering gold and silver.
I'd come to prefer Lady Breckenridge in little but a peignoir, her black hair cascading, or better still, Lady Breckenridge wrapped only in her sheets. I raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
Her eyes darkened. 'Come with me to South Audley Street?' she asked.
I'd been her lover for a few months now, and every moment spent with her had been a delight. But I lowered her hand and shook my head. 'Donata, the most terrible thing has happened.'
I meant to say the words calmly, but my voice broke, and I could not continue. I sat mutely in the carriage while it bumped its way to God knew where, holding her hand and staring straight in front of me.
'What is it, Gabriel? Please, tell me.'
I had explained to so many people today-to Pomeroy and Thompson, to Auberge, to Nancy and Felicity. The words grew more difficult, not less, as I repeated them. 'My daughter has disappeared.'
Lady Breckenridge's eyes widened. 'Disappeared? What do you mean?'
I pressed my hand to my face. 'Oh, God, Donata, we've looked all afternoon and all night, and she is nowhere to be found. And someone is killing game girls in Covent Garden, and what if he took her too?'
I breathed heavily, my voice a dry rasp. I hated to break down in front of her, a woman whom I wanted to think nothing but high things of me. Most Englishmen hated displays of emotion-cool sangfroid was the rule, unless it was cold anger. I'd lived too long in hot countries, where rage or grief could be let loose under the merciless sun.
Lady Breckenridge chose neither to pat my shoulder nor to bathe me in scorn. Instead she waited until my weeping had run its course, saying nothing while the carriage creaked and swayed through the warm streets.
I drew a long breath and wiped my eyes, my hands shaking. Lady Breckenridge sat calmly, a drooping peacock feather brushing her cheekbone.
In a low voice that threatened to crack again, I told her of the events of the day, beginning with the meeting with James Denis and my wife. Donata turned away as I described speaking with Carlotta, and Denis suggesting I bring a suit of criminal conversation against her and Auberge. I told her of seeing Gabriella while I talked with Nancy and Felicity, how I'd sent Gabriella home, and how Carlotta had come looking for her later.
'We searched,' I finished. 'We took streets between us, and we looked and looked. Auberge and I walked every street, every lane, we looked in every suspect house. She is nowhere to be found.'
I finished, my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands. I could not afford to give in to despair. I had to remained clearheaded, to think.
Donata put her hand on my arm. 'Gabriel, stay with me tonight.'
I shook my head. 'I have to return to Grimpen Lane. She might make her way back there.'
Her hand moved, stroking my arm, soothing and firm. 'There is no reason she would try to find her way to Grimpen Lane. If she is free, she will go to King Street, where her mother is.'
Swift pain darted through me, but I realized she was right. I hadn't been thinking logically. She'd try to find her mother, of course. And Auberge, much as I hated to admit it.
'Still, I must continue looking.'
