'No, she never said. She might not have known-he might have been one of her customers. Likewise, I do not know who is this wealthy gentleman you mention. The only man she ever talked about to me was Sam Chester. She loved him.'
'Black Bess-who did she talk about?'
'Oh, heavens, never tell me she has been killed too?'
'I do not know. She has disappeared as well. She, too, has a young man, a laborer who lives near Drury Lane. I have not spoken to him yet, but it seems she had the same sort of understanding with him that Mary Chester did with Sam. She mentioned meeting a wealthy man in Covent Garden, same as Mary.'
'I truly wish I could help, Captain,' Lady said, distress in her eyes. 'But I cannot. I have not heard from the others of a wealthy man offering them more than a night, and if I may say it, Captain, more than one highborn gentleman has had his way with street girls.' Her cheeks burned red.
'I know. I have my eye on one, whom I will shake about, but I know of no others. This is an imposition, but could you ask the other girls? If a wealthy man has been preying on them in Covent Garden, I want to find him. They might confide in you more than they would in me.'
Lady inclined her head. 'Of course. Anything I can do to help.' She looked curiously at Auberge, who had followed the discussion without a word.
'Now to the more difficult question,' I said. 'My own daughter has gone missing. She is seventeen, the same age as the game girls, and she has quite vanished.' I swallowed hard as I said the last word. Auberge bowed his head, not protesting that I called her my daughter. 'Her name is Gabriella. Do you know anything, anything, about her?'
Lady's eyes softened with compassion. 'Captain, I am so sorry. I am afraid I have heard nothing about it, although I will ask the girls who come in. She was not a…'
She left the question hanging, and all at once, I saw Lady as a refined young lady sitting in her parlor, pouring tea and talking of her charitable works with her father's friends. She did not belong here, and yet, she seemed to fit here, like a benevolent young mother to troubled children.
'She is not a game girl,' I said. 'She lived most of her life in France and knows nothing of London and its ways.'
'I am sorry,' Lady said. 'I will certainly keep my eyes open and ask the girls to also. If they know anything at all, where may I send word?'
'Any number of places.' I withdrew one of my cards and a stub of pencil and began scribbling. 'My rooms in Grimpen Lane or the bake shop below it. Grenville's house in Grosvenor Street. The Bow Street Public Office, or number 31 King Street, a boardinghouse there. Ask for Madame or Major Auberge.'
Lady took the card, and her brown gaze flicked again to Auberge, clearly wondering how he fit into all this. He stirred and offered his hand. 'I, too, am Gabriella's father. Her-how do you say in English? Stepfather.'
I saw the flash of confusion on Lady's face while she struggled to remain politely impassive. It was highly unusual for a father and a stepfather to be alive at the same time. That we were suggested scandal, but Lady was far too well bred to inquire into it, or even betray any interest in the situation.
I rose, ready to return to the search. Lady got to her feet with us. 'I will do what I can, Captain. I promise.'
She shook our hands prettily, again reminding me of the gentleman's daughter in her drawing room.
I did not release her hand, but held it and said in a low voice, 'Tell me who you are. I can restore you to your family, I swear to you. Or, I know people who could arrange a marriage for you, a good one.' I felt confident that between Grenville, Louisa, Lady Aline, and the Derwents, we could find a kind man happy to have such a pretty and compassionate wife, no matter what had happened in her unfortunate past.
Lady's smile deepened, and amusement twinkled in her eyes. 'You do not understand, Captain. I am happy here. This is my family, as odd as they are. My own family, I am afraid, are in no hurry to see me restored.'
'A marriage then. Let me do something.'
She shook her head and gently but firmly withdrew her hand. 'It is difficult to explain. At home, I did little besides look pretty in a frock and play at the harp and paint insipid watercolors. I was nothing, and I did not even know it. If I marry, I will be nothing again, a wife in a cap who arranges fetes and paints more insipid watercolors.' She spread her hands to indicate the room and beyond. 'Here, I found myself. After my initial distress, I realized that, at last, I could be useful. I can help a girl who is in despair, I can try to make her life better. They need someone like that, even if some of them hate me for it. The midwives and doctors will come here because of me, the apothecary will let me have medicines for little or nothing. The girls need me. I want to stay here. Please, Captain, do not inform my family, and do not find me a husband. Let me stay and do what I was meant to do.'
Her eyes glowed fervently, and I thought I understood. I bowed to her. 'I will keep your secret. But if you ever change your mind, you know you have only to come to me.'
She smiled, dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth. 'You are a kind man. I will help you all I can. Good day, Captain.'
'Good day to you, Lady.' I bowed again and left the room, joining Auberge, who waited, under the scrutiny of the curious maid, in the foyer.
We traveled back down High Holborn in near silence. As the carriage rolled along Drury Lane toward Long Acre, Auberge lifted his head and said, 'I am in near despair, Lacey. What do I do if Gabriella is truly gone?'
Chapter Twelve
I clenched the handle of my walking stick. 'Not despair. Not yet. We must not give in yet.'
As Auberge continued to watch me in anguish, I drew a breath and said, 'Good God, man, how do you think I feel knowing that if I had not expressed interest in finding Carlotta and Gabriella, she would even now be happily home in France with you. Denis used that interest to hunt them down and bring them here, where her world turned over. He never would have, but he saw how much I wanted to find them, and he did it to have leverage over me. How do you think that makes me feel?'
Auberge only watched me stonily. 'We were caught up in our own worries about this divorce, and we neglected her. If I had been more careful… If I had left her with my brother…'
'We can flog ourselves until we bleed,' I said. 'You brought her with you because of a young man, you said. Tell me about him. Is he the sort of blackguard who'd follow her to England and convince her to elope?'
Auberge switched to French, his words flowing more easily. 'I would not say so. Emile is no worse than any other young man. He is a few years older than Gabriella and will come into his money when he is aged twenty-five. We wished them to wait until then, but Gabriella is impetuous.' He sighed. 'I love Gabriella dearly, but she is stubborn. My God, but she is stubborn.'
I smiled grimly. 'I am not surprised. She comes from a long line of stubborn men and women. I eloped with her mother, and so did you, and I am afraid now that Gabriella knows that, she will use it as leverage in her argument to marry him.'
His eyes crinkled, his despair lightening a little. 'No doubt.'
'What is it about Carlotta that made us both run off with her?' I mused. 'Her air of distressed innocence, I suppose.'
To my surprise, Auberge smiled. 'She had her way, you know, even as we thought we were having ours. She is stubborn.'
'So I learned.' I paused. 'And you are-fond-of her?'
'I love her deeply.' He answered with a French lack of shame about sentiment. 'I know we wronged you. I knew even when I carried her to my home. But you never came after her.'
'I gave up, I suppose. I'd tried to be a good husband, and failed. I knew in my heart that she was better off with you. Happier. I am not amazed that she ran away with you. She must have hated me.'
Auberge gave me a surprised look. 'Carlotta never hated you. She was upset when we ran away, saying that you were a good man and that she hated to hurt you. She cried to think on what you would feel when you discovered her gone.'
I stared, astonished. 'Did she? She left a letter for Louisa. Not even a note for me,' I finished bitterly.
