A Covent Garden Mystery

Chapter Nine

To my annoyance, I found Pomeroy not at home. His landlady, a woman of about thirty, her three small daughters busily cleaning the downstairs hall, told me he was looking into a death in Marylebone, trying to decide whether to put it down as suicide or murder. She seemed proud to have a Runner staying in her house.

I left my card with a note on the back to Pomeroy to look me up at Grimpen Lane immediately on his return.

My leg aching with all my walking, I hired a hackney to return me home. The hackney moved through the crowd about as fast as I could walk, and I spent my time gazing across people and horses and down passages between tall slabs of houses to see if I could spy my daughter.

I pictured in my head that Gabriella would be at the bake shop when I returned, with Carlotta there, scolding her. Everything would be all right, and we'd laugh at the fright she'd given us.

I held on to this vision, so certain of it, that I knew that it would be true.

But when I arrived at the bake shop, it was shut and dark, Mrs. Beltan gone home. The disappointment of that cut me near to despair. Upstairs, empty rooms awaited me, with no Gabriella.

To keep myself from thinking of dire scenarios, I retrieved paper and sharpened a pen, and began making a list of likely places I could check and people I could call upon to help me.

My list grew lengthy, and I looked in surprise at all of the people with whom I'd forged ties since arriving in London: Sir Gideon Derwent; Leland Derwent and his friend Gareth Travers; Lady Aline Carrington; Sir Montague Harris, magistrate at the Whitechapel house; Thompson of the Thames River patrollers; Lady Breckenridge; Louisa Brandon and the many people she knew; Grenville, of course; and James Denis.

I looked at the last name and felt my mouth go dry, the gin having left a foul taste behind. If Gabriella were truly missing, I would be a fool not to go to Denis. If any man could turn the city inside out, it was he, a man with resources I could not begin to match. And, I thought with dawning hope, if he'd had a man watching me as usual, that man might have noted Gabriella and where she had gone.

I could not fathom what price Denis would ask of me for this favor. He wanted me to be under his obligation, so that I would not be a threat, and he had more than once hinted that he wanted to employ me outright. If Gabriella had truly disappeared, would enslaving myself to Denis be worth her return?

It would be.

Grenville arrived not long after I'd finished my list. Bartholomew and Matthias came upstairs with him, as did Major Auberge. By the grim looks on faces all around, none of them had found Gabriella.

Nancy and Felicity arrived soon after, with two of Pomeroy's patrollers in tow. "First time I ever told Bow Street to come with me," Nancy cackled as they ran up the stairs and into my sitting room.

Fortunately, my rooms, while sparsely furnished, were large, the architects of the house over a century ago having a liking for grand salons. My makeshift army fitted comfortably, though we would have been hard pressed had more joined us.

Grenville unrolled a map sheet of Covent Garden and surrounding areas on my writing table. He had not bothered to send home for one; he'd simply walked into a shop on the Strand and purchased it. That particular shop had just closed for the evening, but the proprietor had opened it again for Grenville.

I leaned on the table, looking at the streets I had walked not an hour ago, laid out in neat lines and squares. London looked so clean from this bird's-eye view, but the map could show nothing of the tall buildings, each with its own characteristic, streets that could narrow into crooked medieval lanes in three steps, the smell of unwashed people and dogs, the startling snorts of horses or pigs tucked into unseen yards, the noises of cart and carriage wheels, the clopping of hooves on cobblestones, shouting men, laughter and anger, joy and heartache.

With a sketching pencil Grenville had also provided, I squared off a part of the map, from Lincoln's Inn Fields in the east to St. Martin's Lane in the west, High Holborn in the north to the river in the south. It was a large slice of the city, but easy enough for a healthy young woman to walk.

"I am dividing up this area," I said. "In pairs, we will each take a part of the grid, where we will walk every street and check every alley and ask everyone we see if Gabriella has been seen. I plan to recruit more patrollers and Pomeroy and send word to Thompson. If you find Gabriella, you will latch on to her, bring her back here immediately, and stay with her. We will check back here every hour to see if any of the others have made progress. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Captain," Matthias said, touching his forelock.

"Bartholomew and Matthias, I want one of you with Nancy, the other with Felicity. They know people, and they know the streets. Listen to them if they think of a place to look. Grenville, you take a foot patroller, for the same reason."

"Jackson, my coachman, is willing to help," Grenville put in. "He can speak to other coachmen who might report something."

"Excellent. Have him pair up with this fellow," I said, pointing to the other patroller. I folded the expensive map and tore the sheet into pieces around my gridlines, handing one to each pair. "Leave no stone unturned. I want to find Gabriella before some unscrupulous person does. Bartholomew and Felicity, since you will be taking the southwestern part of the grid, check the boardinghouse in King Street every once in a while to see whether she has returned."

"Understood, sir," Bartholomew said.

I stood up, my stance unconsciously becoming like the one I'd taken when readying my men for an upcoming battle. "Go to it, then."

They dispersed and departed, very much like my soldiers when I dismissed them. They squared shoulders and stood straight as though determined to obey orders to the best of their abilities.

Major Auberge did not follow them. "You did not give me a map," he said.

"Because you should go back to the boardinghouse and wait. Gabriella might return there, and I am certain Carlotta will be at her wits' end."

In truth, I was as angry as I could be at Carlotta and did not care much about her anxiousness. She should have watched Gabriella and not let her out alone. But I used her worry as an excuse to send Auberge away, because I wanted nothing to do with him. Also, if Carlotta had upset Gabriella enough for her to dash off, there was nothing to say that she would not do so a second time.

Auberge gave me a stubborn look. "She is my daughter. And I suspect, like you, that harm has befallen her. I cannot sit like an old woman and wait for her to be found. You have no second person. I will go with you."

I opened my mouth to tell him to go away, then I stopped. His eyes mirrored my own anguish. He had known Gabriella all her life, had raised her from babyhood, had held her hand when she walked. I was furious with jealousy because of it, but I had to concede that his fear was as sharp as my own.

"Very well. But do not talk to the people we meet. The Londoners around here are suspicious of foreigners, especially Frenchmen. I do not want to waste time extricating you from a brawl."

He nodded once, his face set. "I understand."

"Let us be off, then." I snatched up my corner of the map and ushered him out the door.

By the time we reached Russel Street, a hard lump had formed in the pit of my stomach, which would increase to full-blown panic if I let it. But damn it all, Gabriella was not a fool. She should come to her senses and return home. She must know that London was not safe for her, and she'd heard Bartholomew talk about the missing girls. If she found herself lost, she'd seek out a trustworthy person and ask the way to King Street.

Even this logical thought could not comfort me. She was lost, and London was large and dangerous, and we had to find her.

I had chosen the northwest corner of the map, where Broad Street cut through the warren of St. Giles to High Holborn. I had chosen it because it was close to Pomeroy's lodgings, and I still wanted to lay my hands on him. Also, the area was a bit dangerous, and I hadn't wanted to send my friends into the rookeries where they would be ripe for plucking. I had little to pluck, and Auberge, like me, had been a soldier. We could hold our own.

We rode in a hackney to where Broad Street met High Street, and we began the search there. We walked through crooked alleys on dirty cobbles, passing closed shops and houses that had stood in the narrow lanes for hundreds of years. Walls had been shored up and repaired as necessary, and the different colors of bricks and plaster gave them a piebald look. In one lane, the upper stories of the houses leaned to each other over the street, closing out the sky.

Nowhere did we find a sign of a girl in a sensible cotton frock, lost and trying to find her way home.

We walked slowly but purposefully, looking into every passage and every darkened doorway. In one lane, a young woman with a soiled apron held a boy of about five in her arms. He was naked but for a shirt that exposed his backside and spindly legs. She held her hand out for coin, and Major Auberge stopped and dropped some to her palm. She thanked him in a weak voice.

Auberge and I had spoken little since leaving Grimpen Lane, except for me to tell him where we'd begin. Now, we walked in silence, saving our energy for our search.

We angled south from Broad Street to another King Street, my idea being that perhaps Gabriella had confused this King Street with the one that led off Covent Garden. Auberge followed my lead without argument. As I had instructed, he said nothing to the people I questioned, only listened to my conversation, observing without offering comment.

As we continued toward Little Earl Street and Seven Dials, he said to me quietly, "Gabriella likes so much to explore. When she was a little girl, she would go to the stream below our farm and follow its course as far she could. She said she wanted to learn where it came from. I explained that it started in mountains far away, but she was certain that around the next bend she would find a fountain that spilled the entire stream into the valley. One day she had walked five miles, and a farm hand had to carry her home. She was asleep in his arms, as you say, soundly."

I imagined my golden-haired daughter trudging sturdily along the bank of the stream, determined to find its source. "She showed the propensity even at two years old," I said. "She always wanted to come with me when I talked to my men, to see what her papa did as a soldier. One day, she crawled under the canvas of the tent to follow me to where I was meeting with one of the generals. I explained to the general when she popped up that she was eager to learn to be an exploring officer. Fortunately, she amused him, and he simply ordered his batman to carry her home. Carlotta, on the other hand, was not amused. She was quite hysterical about the incident, certain the general would throw me out of the army in disgrace."

"Yes, Carlotta becomes very worried."

I closed my mouth on my reply, not wanting to grow too comfortable with the fact that I shared a wife and child with this man. Perhaps that was why divorce had been made so difficult to obtain, so we'd be spared these sorts of strange conversations.

We continued the search, slowly moving in a circle through the streets, heading south. When we turned to Long Acre, I stopped at the house in a lane opening from it where Pomeroy had rooms.

This time, I caught Pomeroy readying himself to go to Bow Street.

"Well then, Captain," he said cheerfully. "My landlady said you had come to call. Couldn't think why, unless it was to do with the game girls."

Auberge looked slightly confused, not understanding the expression game girls. "No, no, we are looking for my daughter. She is seventeen, and lost."

Pomeroy looked at Auberge in sympathy but resignation. "Not a good thing to hear, a respectable girl gone missing. Any number of procuresses wander up and down the streets, looking for such an innocent. It's a sad fact, but virgins fetch a nice price in the bawdy houses."

Auberge's face went white as Pomeroy's flat words made the awful possibility that much more real.

"I want to borrow your patrollers," I said. "Put every man you've got to searching the streets."

He gave me a dubious look. "Can't spare that many, that's a fact, Captain. There are more crimes all over London than one missing girl."

I stepped close to him, the fruitless search having raised all my fears. "The girl's name is Gabriella Lacey."

Pomeroy's eyes widened. He remembered Gabriella and Carlotta. "'Struth, sir. Your little Gabriella?"

"Yes," I said tightly. "She is not so little now. She's about the same age as your Black Bess, I would guess."

I thought I detected a flicker of uneasiness in his eyes, but with Pomeroy, it was difficult to tell. "You think the disappearances are connected?"

"I do not know what to think. And I want to have a discussion with you about this Black Bess, including the fact that you did not tell me that you knew her, nor that she was paying you in kind to look the other way."

He bristled visibly this time. "Now, as to that, sir, I'd say it was my business."

"I'd say it might have had something to do with her disappearance, and if you want me to find her, you will be frank with me. But first, go to Bow Street and send out your patrollers. I have people working already, but the more the better."

"Have to check with the magistrate first," he began.

"Send them, Sergeant. I do not want to call in James Denis, but I will if necessary. I'd rather use Bow Street, but I might not have a choice."

"Are you threatening me, sir?"

"I am happy to threaten anyone who does not assist us in finding Gabriella. You said yourself she hadn't much chance. Instead of bleating about a dismal future, do something to ensure it is not dismal."

He stared at me a long moment. On the Peninsula, Pomeroy had argued with me when he thought my orders daft, and a few times, he'd been right. The times I'd known I was right, however, I'd stared him down until he wilted and did what I wanted. He seemed to remember those days, because his bravado deflated. He saluted. "As you say, Captain. I'll get on it." He let his hand drop and gave me a serious look, the usual bonhomie gone from his eyes. "I won't let you down, sir."

He trotted off toward Long Acre and turned in the direction of Bow Street.

"Will he do it?" Auberge asked me.

"He will," I answered, my mouth set. "Shall we resume?"

After another hour of walking, we had uncovered nothing. If Gabriella had come this way, no one had seen her. We took another hackney back to Grimpen Lane, Auberge generously counting out shillings for the fare. I met Grenville and the foot patroller in my lodgings. Both shook their heads unhappily. They had found nothing.

The others that straggled in as the four of us left again had nothing to report. Black Nancy touched my arm. "I'm that sorry, Captain. None of the girls I passed the time with had seen her, or the other missing girls either. But we'll keep trying. I swear to you."

They were giving up. I heard it in their voices when they promised to continue. They were beginning to fear the worst.

Outside, in darkening Russel Street, I sent a street sweep running off to the boardinghouse with news we had not found her. Auberge and I returned to the streets north of Long Acre and tediously trudged down every lane again.

"I am a stranger in London," Auberge said. "Tell me what can have happened." He stopped me near the wall of a shabby house. "Tell me in plain words."

I did not want to tell him, because telling him might make it real, but I drew a breath. "She might have fetched up in the river. Either fallen in or thrown in after she was robbed. As Pomeroy said, a procuress could have taken her to a bawdy house. Or a gentleman could have coerced her into his coach and be far away by now." I stopped, and Auberge nodded, trying, as I was, to make himself face these possibilities. "I was involved in a case a little over a year ago," I went on. "A gentleman had asked for young, respectable girls to be brought to him. He had an expensive house in Hanover Square."

Auberge looked grim. "Should we go to Hanover Square?"

"The man involved was killed. I could not be terribly sorry about his death." I did not explain what had become of the particular young woman I had sought, and I did not like thinking on her fate.

"We must keep looking, then," Auberge said.

"Yes," I agreed.

We fell into step, resuming the search.

At eleven o'clock, we returned to Grimpen Lane to news. Bartholomew, Matthias, Nancy and Felicity were waiting, the latter eating strawberries she'd bought cheap from a strawberry girl who'd wanted to rid herself of her last wares for the day.

"We found something, Captain," Bartholomew said, his blue eyes subdued. "Not your daughter. By the new bridge, near to Somerset House. A young woman, dead."

"Not Gabriella?" I asked, my voice strained. "You are certain?"

"I saw her clear, sir. Wasn't the same girl. She had golden hair, but not natural."

"I think," Felicity said, "from what you and Nancy said, it could be Mary Chester."

I sent Matthias bolting off to fetch Pomeroy. Bartholomew told me that they'd left Grenville's coachman and his patroller to guard the spot. When Grenville came in, we took lanterns he had filched from his coach and made our way down to the Strand.

The new bridge rose near Somerset House, arched and lighted with flickering lamps. Bartholomew led us through the darkness to a passage near stairs that led down to the water. Pomeroy had joined us, his tow-colored hair bright in the moonlight. The stink of the river was strong here-fish, mud, and human waste.

The ground was hard-packed dirt; the cobbles did not extend here. Grenville's coachman, Jackson, a tall, muscular man with hard eyes, waited near a pile of debris, holding a lantern that was a bright pinpoint of light in the gloom. The patroller stood by him, somewhat more nervously.

Bartholomew bent down and moved a wet and grime-covered board. Beneath was the torso of a young woman, her hips and legs still covered by rubbish.

Grenville lifted his lantern high, shining the light on her. She was dead without doubt. Her face was blue-white, and was wound loosely about her neck. Her hair, now dirt-streaked, had been golden-blond, but Bartholomew had been right about it not being natural. The roots of the hair that swept back from her forehead and temples was mostly dark brown, her own color starting to grow again.

I crouched next to her, looking at another life too soon snuffed out. "We need Thompson," I said. "I want him to see her."

"And a coroner," Pomeroy put in.

I switched my glance to the foot patrollers. They looked to Pomeroy, and at his nod, they loped off.

I remained on one knee next to the woman, bracing myself on my walking stick. Gingerly, I hooked one finger around the sash and eased it an inch downward. Her neck was covered with bruises.

Nancy hissed through her teeth. "That how she died? Strangled with her own sash?"

I looked at the girl's face, which was straight and serene, and shook my head. "She didn't struggle." I studied the bruises, which were in the exact pattern of human fingers. My own fingers fitted over them easily. "A man did this. One with large hands. But I'm not sure that's what killed her."

"Then why the sash?" Grenville asked.

I eased the cloth back over her neck. "Perhaps she was in a struggle with a man and got away, and wore the sash around her neck to cover the bruises until they healed."

"In that case, how did she die?"

"Coroner will tell us," Pomeroy said confidently. "They're amazing at that sort of thing." He sighed and scratched his head. "Will have to be an inquest, her dead back here, injuries like that."

I got stiffly to my feet. Felicity was standing at my elbow, looking down at the corpse with an odd expression on her face. "Are you all right?" I asked her.

She looked up at me quickly, as though surprised at the question. "Wasn't expecting to find her dead, is all."

A shiver ran through me. I prayed with all my strength that Gabriella wasn't lying under another pile of rotting boards, cold and blue and dead. God, please let her be all right. Let her be waiting in a tavern for someone to find her, with a kindly landlord's wife feeding her thick soup and coffee.

"Looks like I should be asking whether you're all right, Captain," Felicity said softly. She touched my hand, again with the unspoken offer of bodily comfort should I need it. The gesture did not disgust me; she meant it from kindness, like Mrs. Beltan might offer me a cup of tea. I gave her a faint smile and shook my head.

"Jackson," Grenville addressed his coachman. "Take the lads and the two young ladies and find yourselves a steadying pot of ale. You've earned it."

"So have you," I told him.

Grenville shook his head. "I'll wait for the coroner and Thompson with you. I'm curious what he has to say." He withdrew his watch and looked at it in the light of his lantern. "Eleven thirty. Ah, well, I was not looking forward to Lady Featherstone's ball in the slightest. I will be the talk of Mayfair for not appearing." He sounded rather pleased with the prospect.

Auberge, who had been watching from the back of the alley, said, "I will resume the hunt for my daughter."

"I'd rather you didn't," I said. "Not alone. Or we'll be hunting for you, as well."

He smiled faintly. "Perhaps you would not be so troubled to have me go missing, eh?" He met my gaze, his hazel eyes flickering in the light of Grenville's lantern.

"Not so," I said. "I want your help. I know that you are the only other man who will be as adamant as I am about finding Gabriella."

Auberge hesitated a moment, then he nodded. "As you say, I have no knowledge of these streets. I will wait."

Grenville sensed that the exchange had been personal. As though ignoring us, he tucked his watch away and straightened his frock coat, which he'd been wearing since early evening.

It was unusual for Grenville not to change his clothes at least twice in the course of an evening, sometimes three times. He seemed more interested, however, at the prospect of investigating a murder. He made to lean against the wall behind him, then looked at the smears of mud on it and thought better of it.

I turned to Pomeroy, who was gazing down at the girl. "While we are waiting," I said to him. "Tell me why the last time Felicity saw Black Bess, you were with Bess in a passage like this one, kissing her."