I gave him a sardonic look. 'You are tarnishing my reputation, Sergeant.'
Pomeroy grinned, loving to tease and pleased that he could. 'You do have a way with them, Captain.'
Thompson looked slightly amused, betraying himself with no more than a twitch of lips. 'The magistrates are not worried about these missing women, as yet,' he said. 'They are only street girls, after all.'
'Meaning it's unlikely that a large reward will be offered for their return,' I finished.
'Exactly,' Pomeroy said. 'But if a gent like you was to take a poke around and make sure no man what should be in Bedlam has decided to start offing game girls, well then, that's a different thing.'
I knew how my former sergeant thought-I would investigate, and if a true crime were involved, I would report it to him so that he might find the criminal, get said criminal convicted, and reap the reward money. A gentleman did not accept a reward; this was considered beneath him, so Pomeroy's thoughts went. I'd brought him a few good convictions already, and he'd started to consider me a potential source of income.
Thompson, on the other hand, was more interested in the crime itself, though he'd not turn down any reward money that came his way. He did not often express emotion, but I had seen his passionate anger at the men of the world who perpetrated crimes against the helpless. He would worry about missing game girls where his magistrate would not. Likely he'd come here without his magistrate knowing a thing about it.
I was at present most distracted by Carlotta's sudden return and the vision of my daughter, grown and so beautiful, but I could not turn my back on a matter that Thompson, a man I respected, believed serious.
'I do have a few resources,' I said.
'Knew you'd understand, Captain,' Pomeroy said. 'You have a gab with the girls and tell us what you discover, eh?'
Thompson looked less optimistic. 'The sailor might be willing to speak to you, to tell you about his girl and her usual routine. He's leery of magistrates, though. He can meet you at a tavern, and I'm sure he'd be forthcoming to you if you purchased him some ale.'
'The Rearing Pony in Maiden Lane,' I said. 'It's a congenial house.'
'Then I will send him round there tomorrow, if it is convenient.'
Pomeroy and Thompson could tell me little more. The young man who had approached Pomeroy was called Tom Marcus and did odd deliveries in and around Covent Garden. I might be able to find him if I looked.
'By the bye, Captain,' Pomeroy said when I started to take my leave. 'Why did you look me up today?'
I still did not want to discuss things in front of Thompson, and I'd changed my mind about asking for the exuberant Pomeroy's help. Carlotta's actions-deserting me and taking my daughter, who, by law, belonged to me- could land her in the dock to be tried for abduction and abandonment. While I respected Thompson and stood in awe of Pomeroy's ability to catch even the most slippery thief, I scarcely wanted either of these men to arrest the delicate Carlotta on a point of law. Pomeroy and Thompson had to be sticklers for the rules, while I considered this a purely private matter. I could discover Carlotta's lodgings in King Street if I looked hard enough, and I'd deal with the problem myself.
'Passing the time,' I said. 'The summer days are long.'
Thompson sent me a sharp glance, sensing my disingenuousness, but Pomeroy took my words at face value.
'The long days suit me after a winter's gloom, that's a fact,' Pomeroy said. 'The robbers, they grow tired of waiting for the dark and attempt crimes in broad daylight. Makes things easier on me.' He guffawed.
I smiled and took my leave, but Thompson still watched me closely.
The mystery of my wife's presence in England was quickly solved. When I reached home, Marianne, the brandy, and Grenville's coach had gone, but I found a letter waiting for me from my uneasy ally, James Denis.
As you have discovered, he'd written, The woman who calls herself Colette Auberge-formerly Mrs. Lacey-has arrived in London. I will make arrangements to proceed with a divorce or annulment as you wish. I suggest a meeting in Curzon Street tomorrow at ten o'clock. My carriage will call for you. The letter was signed, simply, Denis.
Colette Auberge was the name Carlotta had taken when she'd moved to France with her French officer. James Denis had given me this information a year ago and had presented me with her exact whereabouts this spring when I'd been employed at the Sudbury School. Now it seemed, he'd taken it upon himself to bring them to London, not waiting for my instructions. I'd been making plans to approach him and ask for his help, but he'd taken the initiative, for whatever reason, in his constant game to maintain the upper hand with me.
I crumpled the paper. 'Why does the bloody man not stay out of my life?'
Bartholomew, entering with my freshly laundered shirts, started. 'What bloody man is that, sir?'
I tossed the paper in the grate, though there was no fire on this warm summer day. 'Bartholomew, you are quoting from Macbeth, did you know? King Duncan in the first scene, which is ominous. He died rather horribly soon after. I meant James Denis.'
'Oh, right, sir. I brought the letter upstairs from the messenger what left it in Mrs. Beltan's shop. Bad news?'
'No, more interference. Why will he not keep his fingers from my personal business?'
'Well, he's helped now and again,' Bartholomew said in a reasonable tone as he dove into my bedchamber with the shirts. 'Nabbed that Frog officer and helped get your colonel out of clink.'
True, Denis had assisted in many of the problems I'd solved in the last year or so-the murder of Josiah Horne in Hanover Square, the murder of Colonel Westin, the affair of the Glass House, the murder of one of Denis's own lackeys in Berkshire, and the mystery of Lady Clifford's missing necklace. He enjoyed helping me then reminding me that someday I'd be asked to pay him for his favors.
Denis lived in a fine house in Curzon Street, had power and money and servants to do his bidding, and held many a lord, MP, and respectable gentleman in thrall. He owned them outright-paying their debts, gaining them seats in Parliament, or assisting them in other plays for power.
He did all these favors for a very high price-the gentlemen were then obligated to make things happen in Commons or the Lords or in the courts, all for the glorious cause of making James Denis more money or bringing him more power.
He wanted me to work for him outright. I do not know quite what he wanted me to do, but it could not, in the end, be good. Denis did not help others from kindness-he was a businessman, and he always made a profit. He was simply better at the business than any of the men who paid him.
'He helps only for a price,' I said to Bartholomew. 'Remember that.'
'Right, sir.'
Bartholomew bustled into my bedchamber, where I could see him placing my shirts into the wardrobe. By the time he emerged, I'd scribbled a note on a half-sheet of saved paper, blew on the ink to dry it, then folded it over once. 'Please take this to Mayfair, to Mrs. Brandon. I need her help in a matter.'
In the letter, I asked Louisa to have a young woman formerly known as Black Nancy to come to speak to me. Louisa had taken Nancy, a game girl, under her wing and found her honest employment in Islington. However, if anyone knew or could find out what went on with the girls in Covent Garden, it would be Nance, and I'd welcome her help.
My pen would not write to Louisa the fact that Carlotta had returned. That was something I would have to tell her in person. 'I will give you shillings for the hackney,' I said to Bartholomew.
'No need.' Bartholomew snatched up the paper. 'Mr. Grenville obliges.'
Grenville paid for all Bartholomew's expenses-Bartholomew and his brother had both been footmen in Grenville's house until Bartholomew had begged to train to become a valet. Grenville had lent him to me, implying that I did him a favor. Bartholomew brushed my suits and got my meals, and Grenville paid his upkeep. As Marianne had observed, Grenville did like to run people's lives for them. But unlike Denis, Grenville did it out of a sense of generosity and large-heartedness.
Bartholomew departed, saying he'd get me in a meal before traveling to Mayfair. I quit the house and walked back down Grimpen Lane. The summer day had turned hot, and I was sweating by the time I reached Russel Street and turned again to Covent Garden.
The large square that comprised Covent Garden was bounded on one side by the pile of the theatre, two sides by rows of houses and shops, and the fourth by St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Houses ran along the outside of the churchyard, people squeezing themselves in any place they could.
