hat with brush lay on the table next to him. He, like Jackson, had a master who wanted his coachman well turned out.
'Mr. Stacy is a good man to work for?' I asked.
Payne lowered his tankard and wiped his mouth. 'It's a good position, fine coaches to look after, and I'm fond of the beasts.'
I noted he'd said nothing directly about Stacy. 'I am afraid that I've come to pry into your master's habits. But there's been murder done, and I want to know by whom and why.'
Payne jerked his thumb at Jackson. 'So he said. I told Mr. Stacy I was meeting you here tonight-thought it would be fair. He told me to tell you straight up truth.'
'I appreciate that, both from you and Mr. Stacy. You know, in that case, that I wish to ask you about the girls Mr. Stacy invites into his coach in Covent Garden?'
'In Covent Garden, in Haymarket, in the Strand.' Payne looked mildly disgusted. 'He can't resist a tart swishing about in her skirts. He likes to watch them-from inside the coach, mind you-getting to know them all. You know, some gentry-coves like to look for birds and note them down in a book, some go into the country and pick up rocks and old bones. Mr. Stacy likes game girls.'
'His collection, so to speak.'
'A good way of putting it, sir. He has me dawdle the carriage along while he looks out of the window and watches where they go and who they talk to and what they buy in the markets. He learns when they come out and when they go home, and even where they live. And then, once he's decided which one he wants to meet, he gets out of the coach, chats to the girl, and invites her up. That's usually in the dead of night, although sometimes he'll get down in the evening, just to talk to them. Make an appointment to meet him later.'
I turned my tankard on the table. 'Once he invites one into the coach, he asks you to drive slowly about the streets?'
'Aye. He says I am to drive for one hour, very slowly, any route I choose, as long as I return to where I started at the stroke of the clock.'
Jackson offered, 'While he gets to know them even better, eh?'
Payne took another pull of ale. 'Do you know, sir, I could not tell you what he gets up to with them. They might chat about bonnets for all I know. I looks after the carriage, both inside and out, and I never find anything you might call disgusting.'
'Perhaps he is very careful,' I said.
'Oh, aye, he must be. Else he'd have the clap or something else nasty, wouldn't he? But Mr. Stacy is always clean as can be.'
I considered this as I drank my ale. The brew was good, a mixture of malt taste and a touch of tartness. 'I must ask you about Black Bess and Mary Chester. Will you describe what he did on the nights he took up with them? You know which girls I mean?'
Payne nodded. 'He told me you'd ask about them. He said to tell what I knew.'
'Start with Mary Chester, as she is the one who's turned up dead.'
'Poor girl, eh? Well, he meets this Mary about a week and a half ago, I'd say. He'd seen her when he had business over Wapping way. Mr. Stacy invests in ships, betting his money that they won't go down or be stolen by pirates. Sometimes he loses, mostly he wins. He likes to look at the ships, sometimes, so we go to London docks or Wapping.'
He took another slurp of ale and continued. 'On one journey, he sees the girl. She looks half respectable but smiles like one of them game girls. Mr. Stacy wants her, so there's nothing for it but he talks to her and fixes it up to come back after dark and have at her. I found him a public house that didn't look too down-at-mouth-which ain't easy near the docks, mind you-and he had wine in a private parlor, reading a book, nice as you please, until time. Then he goes, meets her, we have the hour drive, and he sets her down again. We went back to Mayfair then, thank the Lord.'
'And after that?'
Payne looked puzzled. 'How do you mean, exactly?'
'Did he ask Mary to meet him again, in Covent Garden perhaps?'
'Well, if he did, sir, he never told me.'
'Did he often tell you?' I asked. 'What he meant to do, and with whom?'
'Not in so many words. But I see who he gets down to talk with and who he invites in later. He never talks to me about it at all, 'cept to tell me where to go and when to do the slow drive.'
'Now for Black Bess,' I said. 'When did he meet her?'
Payne grinned, showing that he, too, had filed his teeth. 'I remember her. Black-haired wench, a taking thing. He met her about a day or so after Wapping. Had his eye on her for a long time, and it wasn't the first time he'd had her in the coach. He liked Black Bess. Had her twice. But he set her down again as usual, and we went off home. Didn't see her after that.'
'Again, did he make an appointment to meet her later in Covent Garden?'
Payne shook his head. 'Not that I knew about.'
It looked more and more as though McAdams could be the wealthy gentleman who promised to meet the girls. Stacy might have made the appointments for his friend, perhaps recommending girls he liked the best.
I halted that thought. Stacy was urbane and polished, McAdams crude, despite their similarities in station. I remembered Stacy's embarrassment at McAdams' boorish comments when Grenville and I interviewed him at Tatt's. Would Stacy wish McAdams' company on a girl he liked?
Then again, I had no idea how Stacy thought about things. The man had a wife and a daughter but preferred to hunt and capture game girls for his sport.
'I have to ask a distasteful question,' I said. 'Does Stacy hurt the girls?'
Payne looked surprised. 'Naw. Leastwise, I never saw such a thing. They like him, smile when the carriage stops and all. If they were afraid of him, they'd melt away when they saw him coming, wouldn't they? They must tell each other all about it, wouldn't you think?'
'True,' I conceded. If Stacy had the habit of beating the girls, word would get around, and only the most desperate would go to him. 'Now, we come to yesterday afternoon. Mr. Stacy was in Covent Garden?'
'That he was. I drove him-not through the square, too crowded-but down Russel Street, thinking to skirt round to Southampton Street. He was looking again, you know, for who he'd like to take up with next. At the edge of the market, he signals me to stop, and he gets down. There's an orange girl he talks to, and he sees her and makes his way to her. He paused to talk to another on the way, but he left her pretty soon for the orange girl. He likes her. He buys an orange and walks back to the carriage. He tells me to drive on, gets in, and we're on our way.'
'Did you see a young lady stop him, seemingly to ask directions?'
Payne looked shamefaced. 'I have to admit I didn't notice, sir. The crowd was big, and people kept pushing by the horses. A few boys were tweaking the harness, and I had to clear them off before they spooked the beasts. So Mr. Stacy might have talked to one such as her, but I wasn't looking at him all the time. Sorry, sir.'
'The game girl he paused to speak to-she could not have been my daughter? Gabriella has light brown hair, and she might have seemed agitated and in a hurry.'
'No, this were a game girl, right enough. My master knows the difference.'
No doubt he did. That was one point in Stacy's favor-at least he regulated his proclivities to girls who were used to such things.
I recalled Thompson's note about Mary. 'What was Mr. Stacy doing Wednesday night?' I asked abruptly.
Payne blinked. 'Wednesday?'
'This Wednesday just gone. Did he come to Covent Garden?'
'No, sir.' His voice held more confidence. 'He went to Almack's to meet his wife and daughter. They go every Wednesday.'
I'd never darkened the door of Almack's, that bastion of respectability, where the ton paraded. The most blue-blooded went to Almack's Assembly Rooms to parade their eligible daughters, drink lemonade, and dance on the roped-off dance floor. Young ladies making their debuts waited in some anxiety for the approval of the patronesses, in the form of vouchers for tickets, before they could attend.
