"The butler, Bremer, has been arrested for Mr. Horne's murder," I said.
Aimee's eyes widened. "Mr. Bremer, sir? He did not. He could not have."
"It is possible that he did. After Mr. Denis-Horne's visitor, that is-departed, Bremer could have come in and stabbed Mr. Horne, not realizing you were in the wardrobe."
"Oh, no, sir, not Mr. Bremer."
"Why not? You said you heard nothing."
She shook her head, alert now. Josette looked up from her stitching.
"Mr. Bremer is a foolish and weak old man," Aimee said. "He was terrified of him. He never could have done such a thing."
"You do not think that even an elderly man, cowed and frightened, could have killed him in a fit of terror?"
Her lips whitened. "I do not know."
"What about the other staff? Could any of them have killed him?"
"I never saw the others. Except Grace."
"What about Grace?"
Aimee's brow puckered. "I think-I don't remember. I never saw her that day, I do not think." Her eyes lost their glitter, and she touched her hand to her throat. "I am sorry, sir. I'm very tired."
Josette put aside her stitching and rose. "Aimee should rest now, sir."
Disappointment touched me, but I got to my feet. I'd hoped Aimee would tell me everything I needed to know, but I could not expect a tormented and ill woman to have all my answers for me.
I wanted to give Aimee words of comfort, to help her with pretty phrases, but I had nothing to give. She had been broken, body and soul, and it would take a long time for her to heal. Perhaps she never would, completely.
Josette accompanied me to the front room, her gait rigid with disapproval.
"Forgive me," I said. "I did not mean to upset her."
Josette looked up at me in sympathy. She truly did have beautiful eyes. "It is not your fault, sir. You had to know."
"I will look for Jane. I will find her."
"Yes, sir. I know you will. Thank you for being good to Aimee."
I took Josette's hand in farewell. Something sparked in her eyes, something behind the gratitude, and the anger, and the sorrow, something I did not understand. She looked back at me, bemused, and I released her hand and took my leave.
That evening, I began looking in the brothels for Jane Thornton. I began with those known near Hanover Square and fanned out my search from there.
The witty called such houses nunneries or schools of Venus, and coined the madams who ran them, abbesses. But they were nothing more than bawdy houses in which a gentleman could purchase the company of a lady for an hour or a night. Many houses nearer Mayfair housed fine ladies, who might have begun their lives as gentlemen's daughters. The fashionable thronged to these high-flyers for clever conversation as well as for baser pleasures.
The farther east I traveled, the coarser the houses became and the less clean the girls. In each I asked about a young woman called Jane or Lily.
What I got for my trouble were threats, being shoved from doorsteps, and nearly being pummeled by the bullies who guarded the doors. After the abbesses discovered I had no money, they considered me a nuisance and wanted to be rid of me. I had to show the length of steel in my swordstick a time or two before their bullies would let me go. They must have sent word 'round to each other, because some were ready for me before I even arrived.
I visited the nunneries near my rooms later, after dark, just to be thorough. None were any more pleased to see me than those in Mayfair had been.
As I tramped down Long Acre, Black Nancy sidled up to me and slipped her hand through the crook of my arm.
"If you want a game girl so bad, Captain, yer can just come to me."
I glanced sharply down at her, not really in the mood for her banter. "I am looking for a girl who shouldn't be in the nunneries. Not one who should."
"You're that baffling, Captain. What are you on about?"
"A young lady's family is looking for her. I want to find her and send her home."
Nancy made a face. "Well, what if she don't want ter go? Reformers try to send me home all the time. Stupid sods. Me dad's worse than any flat I ever had."
Nancy had once told me that her father beat her, and I'd seen the bruises on her face that she tried to hide with paint and powder. "I think I do not much like your father," I said.
She chuckled. "Suits me. I don't like him either."
I strolled back toward Covent Garden, and she stuck to me like a dog following its master. "What's this girl's name? Maybe I know her."
"I'm not certain what she's calling herself. Maybe Jane. Or Lily."
She pursed her lips. "I know lots of Janes. No Lilies."
I looked down at her. "Are there any new girls on the streets of late? One who doesn't seem to fit in?"
"There's new girls all the time. They don't last. Would she work Covent Garden?"
I shook my head, depressed. "You don't know anyone called Charlotte, do you?" I hazarded.
"How many ladies do you want, Captain? No, I don't know no Charlottes. Why don't you want a Nancy?"
I studied the white-painted face beside me. "I have one more than I can endure now."
She grinned, her scarlet mouth wide. "Ain't you lucky I like you? 'Cause I'll tell ya something, Captain. I found your coachman."
Chapter Thirteen
I stopped short and looked down at her in astonishment. A squat man stumbled into me, then pushed past me with a curse.
"Why didn't you say so?" I demanded.
"You never asked. You were pleased to go on about your Janes and Lilies and Charlottes."
"Where is he?"
"Keep your trousers on, Captain. Or rather, no. I bet you're handsome in your skin."
"If you are going to babble nonsense, I'll go home and keep my shillings."
Nancy clung to my arm. "Wait a minute. I'm only teasing yer. I did it just like yer said. I hung about watching the nobs come to the theatre. I asked and asked about people called Carstairs until I found their coach. But the coachman was new. Only been coachin' for the Carstairs for a couple weeks. Last coachman gave notice, you see, and went off."
"Damn."
She laughed and squeezed my arm. "Don't fret, Captain. I kept plaguing him until he told me where the last coachman had gone. He drives for some cove called Barnstable or some such name. But I found him. This Barnstable goes to the opera, too. We're fine pals now, Jemmy and me."
"Jemmy is the coachman?"
"Well, it ain't Mr. Barnstable, is it?" She snorted a laugh. "So I found him for ya. Where's my two shillings?"
"I wanted him to pay a call on me."
"Well, Jemmy don't want to. Why would the likes of him be going to a gentleman's rooms? No, I got him tucked away in a public 'ouse. Said I'd come and fetch you."
"All right, then. I'll give you your money when I've spoken to him."
"You're a mean one. Come on, then. It ain't far."
She led me back toward Covent Garden market, closed now, through the square and to another narrow street. A pub with the sign of a rearing stallion stood halfway down the curved and aged lane, and Nancy took me inside.
The pub was crowded, with a stream of people coming and going. Burly lads in household livery were obviously footmen who'd stepped in for a pint while their masters and mistresses sat in the theatre watching plays or operas. They risked their places doing so-the master or mistress might want them at a moment's notice-but they seemed content to take the chance.
Men and women of the working and servant classes lingered contentedly, talking loudly with friends, laughing at anecdotes. In the snug, a barmaid led a rousing song. Nance took me to a highbacked settle with a table drawn up to it. She smiled at the man sitting there before snuggling in beside him and plopping a kiss on his cheek.