bidding.'
'I employ many, that is true. Some do well running about the streets bringing me small bits of information, others do well sitting back and reasoning in their own right.'
I swallowed another draught of port then set down the goblet, off center, on the cloth. 'You wish to employ me. In which role do you see me, as runner or reasoner?'
A thin smile lifted the corners of his mouth. 'I see you as unique, Captain. You have an interesting perception of upper-class society-you are one of them but also on the fringes, and you can observe both as an insider and an outsider. You were reared at Harrow and Cambridge, yet you abandoned that life to fight in the heat of India and the mess of the Peninsula. You were an officer among officers, yet you achieved your rank through merit instead of money, which gives you a perception of what merit truly is. You are trusted by the demimonde, yet you choose your lovers from the loftiest of women. You can see what a man truly is and yet be blindly loyal to him for all his faults. You were befriended by Grenville, a severely cautious man who befriends very few, and you are equally befriended by people in the gutter. Even my own servants express admiration for you.'
I listened to all this with a touch of disquiet. 'I had no idea I was such a paragon,' I said.
'You are not. You are evil tempered and too ready to give in to your passions. You are too curious for your own good, and you have allowed past hurts to fester inside you. But these are flaws common to many.' Denis dismissed them with a flick of fingers and fixed me with a sharp look. 'What I can obtain from you is a unique perspective on events and your peculiar way of reasoning through a problem. Also, you are able to win people's trust and regard, which could be quite useful to me.'
'Useful to you,' I said. 'An interesting way of putting it.'
'I intend to own you, as I once told you. I still consider you a threat, precisely because of your unique perspective and the fact that people whom I do not own rally to your side.'
'I inconvenience you.'
'An interesting way of putting it.' Denis tossed my words back to me. 'I am making quite an investment, searching for your daughter and funding your divorce, and I intend to collect.'
'Do not bother with the divorce,' I said. 'I will look elsewhere for help.'
'Where? Of your acquaintance, only Grenville or I can fund such an endeavor. Lady Breckenridge could, but she would draw herself into deep scandal should anyone discover it. Sir Gideon Derwent could, but he would be more likely to encourage you to reconcile with your wife, which I know to be impossible. You and Grenville have had a falling-out, so I am much afraid, Captain, that you are saddled with me.'
I had reached for the port again during this speech, but at his last sentence, my fingers fell away from the glass. 'Good Lord, I've only just come from Grenville's.' I lifted the goblet and took one last sip. 'I suppose that each time I visit the privy, you receive a report.'
Denis smiled thinly. 'You exaggerate. One of my men saw you leave Grenville's very soon after you went in, and from the look on your face, you were upset and angry. You went away to find a hackney, and my man hurried straight back here, arriving before you did. I simply guessed the rest, and you have now confirmed it.'
'I must learn to control my expression,' I said.
'You never will. You convey your exact thoughts, which is a reason people trust you. You never say one thing and think another.'
'Many would call that rudeness.' I got to my feet. 'Do you have any other useful information for me, or shall I sit here while you tell me exactly what I do every day and why?'
Denis did not even blink. 'Question the young woman called Felicity. She has had the privilege, if you can call it that, of entering Mr. Stacy's coach.'
I stopped. 'Has she? How do you know that?'
'When you began an interest in Mr. Stacy this morning, I called in all information about him. He has often been seen in Covent Garden by my men. They cannot give me a list of names of which girls he has taken up, as it has been, up until now, casual observation only, but one saw Felicity with you and remembered that she had been one of them.'
'I wondered myself,' I admitted. 'Felicity is a beautiful young woman and stands out from the others. I doubt that Stacy could resist her.'
Denis quirked a brow at me. 'You have.'
I touched the head of the cane that Lady Breckenridge had given me, a gift that had sealed our friendship. 'I am satisfied with what I have. Stacy, obviously, is not.'
'Perhaps not. I have also asked my men to follow Stacy and his friend McAdams to see what they get up to. We will soon know if they lead us to the lost young women.'
'Thank you,' I said.
Whether Denis appreciated my gratitude or not, I did not know, because he drew his correspondence in front of him and returned his focus to it. He was finished with me. I was just as happy to depart.
Chapter Fourteen
I returned home to a written message from Thompson of the Thames River patrol. Like his speeches, the note was laconic.
Mary Chester suffocated-likely deliberate. She'd been dead two days when we found her. From the dirt stains on her frock, she'd lain in or rolled in soil before she died for whatever reason. Coroner is convinced it's unnatural death and has called an inquest for Monday. Sam Chester is beside himself with grief. Thompson.
At least we knew how Mary had died. Suffocated. The word implied a pillow or some such thing pressed against her mouth. I had a sudden fear that the soil stains meant someone had buried her alive, but consoled myself with the thought that, if the coroner had thought such a thing, Thompson would have written it.
I set down the letter, making a note to attend the inquest.
Grenville kept his word that his servants would continue to help. Later that evening, his coachman, Jackson, came to fetch me.
Jackson filled my doorway, a strong, broad-shouldered man who looked capable of handling unruly horses or ruffians. 'Mr. Grenville says you want to talk to Mr. Stacy's coachman,' he said. 'I know the tavern where he drinks. I'll take you there.'
I snatched up my coat, ready. Bartholomew, even during his continued searching, had found time to bring me beefsteak for supper and to brush my clothes. 'Will I be allowed into this hallowed hall of coachmen?' I asked.
Jackson smiled, revealing his pointed teeth. 'We'll make an exception, sir. Just mind your manners.'
The tavern he took me to was near where the Strand ended at Charing Cross. The church of St. Martin in the Fields loomed above the rooftops, but on this Friday night, the tavern was full to bursting with noise while the church sat silently.
The regulars of the tavern eyed me askance as I entered, but the landlord looked at my fine frock coat, courtesy of Grenville's tailor, and his eyes brightened.
'My lord,' he said, on the off chance that I was one. 'A private room for you?'
'No, thank you,' I said. 'But three tankards of your best ale, please.'
The landlord nodded, took the crown I offered him, and scuttled away. Jackson led me to a table where a man in coachman's livery waited. The long table was occupied by other drinkers, but the end Stacy's coachman had chosen was relatively empty.
Jackson hooked his foot around a stool and pulled it out, plopping himself down at the end of the table. I seated myself on the bench opposite Stacy's coachman. The landlord obligingly plunked three tankards of ale in front of us.
'Captain Lacey, this here is Payne. He's been coaching for Mr. Stacy for eleven years.'
Payne offered a work-roughened hand across the table. 'Obliged, Captain.' He raised his tankard to me and drained at least a third of it.
He was a bit older than Jackson, his hair going gray at the temples, with gray scattered through the darker hair on top of his head. Whitish lines feathered about his eyes. His square-tailed coat was of fine green serge, and the brass buttons on it gleamed with polish. A polished brass chain hung across his chest, and his coachman's tall
