“Nothing? Not a word, not a hint of what his dishonour entailed? No … names … of anyone who might have been involved?”

Again she shook her head.

“Well,” I said, attempting to hide my disappointment, “at least we know where he was the night he died. Have you thought of telling the magistrate this?”

She looked suddenly wild, and half rose as if to spring. “I’ll be clapped in gaol!” she cried. “They've no love for a whore, them judges, and they'll lock me away.”

“Calm yourself,” I said. “I did not intend to throw you into alarm.”

“I only asked for the Cap'n because Mrs. Bidgeon— she runs the Mermaid's Tail, where I work sometimes— said he was combing the quayside for news of Eustace. I told Eustace as much, thinking maybe it was Austen he'd dishonoured, and that he ought to lie low; but he just laughed. ‘It's too late,' he said. T can't help him, nor him me. I've told off the Devil, and the Devil will have my neck for it! We'll all go to the Devil together!' “

Nell dashed away her tears with one worn hand. “I'd never seen him like that — down and beaten. Like he'd been trod on by a pack o' dogs. It scared me to death, and scares me still. When I heard they found his corpus—”

“Had he left you? Left your house, I mean, before he died?”

She gaped at me as though I were simple. “But that's what I wanted to tell the Cap'n,” she said. “About the night he were murdered, and the coach.”

“The coach?” I repeated.

“The one that come for Eustace in the middle of the night. I watched him get in, and that was the last I ever saw of him, living or dead.”

I felt a cold thrill travel up my spine. “He went into a coach of his own accord? Though he was afraid for his life?”

“He looked like he thought it was the saving of him. There,' I thought. 'Eustace will be safe as houses. He's got a friend or two more powerful than mine.' ”

“What time was this?”

“Middle o' the night. I don't properly remember. Maybe four or five bells.”[20]

She had, after all, been raised by a boatswain.

“Was it a hack, or a private carriage?”

Nell looked uncomprehending.

“Do you recall noting any arms upon the doors?”

“I couldn't say. But the lady inside were very fine.”

Jenny took a sharp breath beside me. I reached for Nell Rivers's hand.

“It was a lady Chessyre went to meet?”

Nell nodded miserably. “I suppose she were the death of him, miss.”

28 February 1807, cont.

BEFORE PARTING, I ENQUIRED OF NELL RIVERS HER direction, and learned that she was staying with another woman — a confederate in her trade — who lived in one of the dense streets running from Orchard Lane, not far from her father's house. It was convenient, she said, for the Bosun's Mate to look in on the children when she could not be there — and I gathered this must be often. Nell had quitted her own lodgings in terror that the lady in the mysterious coach might return to finish her off. She would not be charged with having exposed her blameless little 'uns, she added, to harm.

I forbore from suggesting that she had already done so, for most of their young lives; and commended her to caution. I urged her to plead an indisposition with the proprietress of the Mermaid's Tail, that she might better avoid her constant brush with strangers; danger could appear in any form. But she shook her head in stubborn refusal.

“I'd lose my place, miss, and they're not easy to come by. You've no notion how many women'd fight for a chance at the Mermaid's Tail. Murder or no, I must put bread in the children's mouths.”

“You said that the lady in the coach was very fine,” I attempted. “Can you describe her?”

“I didn't see her face,” Nell answered. “She wore a black veil over all — heavy lace — and her pelisse was something dark. She was inside the carriage, and the lamps was blown out; I only caught a snatch of her cloak and a gloved hand as she opened the door.”

Either the woman had doused the spermaceti candles in her globes, or she possessed oil lamps that guttered and smoked and suffocated from want of air. It was a problem common enough; but in this case, looked too much like design. The lady had intended to go unnoticed in the environs of Orchard Lane.

“Eustace went right up to the steps and said, 'My lady,' like she were a princess or summat; and she answered in a voice that told me she were his master, all right. It was low and firm, like she were used to giving orders. 'Get in,' she says; T have not much time.' And he got in.”

“What about the nags?” my faithful Jenny demanded. “Did you not notice them? How many, and what colour?”

“Four, I think,” said Nell in doubt, “and dark. But I've never paid too much mind to a horse.”

It was hardly a hack chaise in local use; they were drawn by at most two horses, sometimes one alone. It must have been a private carriage, or one hired post at a coaching inn along the road. The entire matter was a puzzle; I could not believe that a woman had garroted Lieutenant Chessyre in her own equipage, much less cast him from the same into the Ditches behind the Walls.

“And you noticed nothing upon the carriage itself?” I pressed, without very much hope. It had obviously been pitch black in the lane in the middle of the night, and the lady had depended upon this to increase her anonymity.

“Naught but the diamond painted on the side,” said Nell as an afterthought, “with the fist in the glove.”

The fist in the glove. The bloody gauntlet accorded a baronet. I had seen one only days before, emblazoned on a coach that stood before Tom Seagrave's door. Lady Temple ton's equipage.

“MISS AUSTEN!”

The voice came from the paving-stones opposite, as I made to cross to French Street. Mr. Hill, bereft of his companion of the morning. I had searched the Quay steps for Charles and Edward Seagrave, to no avail; I was desperate to be at home, in order to consult with my brother regarding Nell Rivers's rambling account; but I could not deny the impulse to enquire after Monsieur LaForge. I bade Jenny return to East Street, and her long-neglected duties in Mrs. Davies's household, and made for Mr. Hill's spare figure.

“Good day to you, sir. How did our patient pass the night?”

“Far better than we had reason to hope. I sent you word this morning, Miss Austen, but must conclude that the messenger found you from home.” He peered at me kindly. “You hoped for a last sight of him? I am afraid I must disappoint you there. He is gone.”

“Gone?” My throat constricted. “But I thought… you said that he passed the night…”

“LaForge was taken away with the rest of them this morning, at Sir Francis's orders.” The surgeon pursed his lips in a grimace of frustration. “I cannot like the decision, but in this, I am utterly powerless. Sir Francis is the Transport Board, and before him I must bow.”

“Then LaForge is not dead! Thank Heaven! Your purgatives and emetics did some good!”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Hill thoughtfully, “and I should never have attempted them were it not for you. I suspected — I feared the matter was one of poison; but I could not believe the evidence of my eyes. As every physical scientist must, however, I credit the result of my own experiment.”

“You believe, then, that he was deliberately poisoned?”

“It was not a case of food gone bad,” he said, “nor yet of an arsenic intended for Wool House's rats, ingested in error. His food — and his food alone — was tainted by something I have yet to name. I am as certain of that, as I am that the poor man lives. And I confess it disturbs me greatly in my mind. This threat to his life can have been no accident. It came too swiftly upon the heels of his testimony in Captain Seagrave's court-martial.”