“Tom’s good with horses.” The boy had also saved Sebastian’s life, but he saw no reason to add that.
“I didn’t think ye was gonna come,” said Tasmin Poole as Hero walked up to her. Since the last time Sebastian had seen the Cyprian, someone had obviously worked her over with his fists, leaving her with a discolored cheek and a split lip. She threw a narrowed glance at Sebastian. “What’s he doin’ here?”
“He is also interested in what happened to Rose.”
The Cyprian sniffed and held out her hand, palm up, fingers crooked. “You said you’d give me five pounds, just for showing up here.”
“With the promise of more,” said Miss Jarvis, passing the woman a small cloth purse, “if you can provide me with the information I seek.”
The purse disappeared quickly amidst the woman’s clothes. Most whores cleared little or nothing from the long lines of customers they labored every night to service. These were earnings the girl wouldn’t need to share with her keepers. Precious indeed.
Miss Jarvis said, “Have you learned anything more about Hannah Green?”
“People are lookin’ at us queer,” said Tasmin, turning toward the fish market. “We need t’ keep moving.”
Miss Jarvis plunged after her into a malodorous crowd of men in shiny corduroy jackets and greasy caps. A woman with the limp tails of codfish dangling from her apron brushed past with a sibilant hiss, her elbows clearing a path as she went. A porter bent nearly double beneath a huge dripping hamper that had soaked the shoulders and back of his canvas coat barked, “Move on, there! Move on.”
Miss Jarvis whisked her skirts out of the way and kept going. “Have you learned more about Hannah Green?”
Tasmin Poole said, “I got one or two ideas about where she might be, but I ain’t had time t’go there yet.”
“Where?” asked Sebastian.
The woman glanced over at him. “If I tell you and you find her, then she”—here Tasmin jerked her head toward Miss Jarvis—“won’t give me my money.”
Miss Jarvis said, “You’ll be paid for any information that enables us to find Hannah Green. I’ve told you that.”
Tasmin Poole stared out at the tangled rigging of the oyster boats moored along the wharf, each with its own black signboard and milling crowd of men and women massed around a white-aproned salesman. She bit her lip, obviously weighing the odds of being given a chance to track down the missing Hannah Green herself against the risk of divulging her information here and now. At last she said, “Hannah used t’work the Haymarket before she come to the Academy. She might have bolted back there.”
Sebastian said, “I’ve been told Rose was in love with Ian Kane. Is that true?”
Tasmin Poole’s laugh was a melodious peal of merriment that brought to mind palm trees swaying in a soft tropical breeze. “That’s rich, all right.”
Miss Jarvis cast Sebastian a sharp look. He knew it was only with effort that she kept from demanding, And who is Ian Kane?
To Tasmin, Sebastian said, “I take it Rose wasn’t particularly fond of Mr. Kane?”
“She despised him,” said Tasmin Poole. She’d caught the eye of a red-capped fisherman in a striped jersey sitting on the side of his boat and smoking a clay pipe. The fisherman smiled, and Tasmin smiled back.
Sebastian said, “For any particular reason?”
Tasmin brought her gaze back to Sebastian’s face. “You mean, apart from the fact Kane’s a mean son of a bitch? Yeah. He’s hard on all his girls, but he was hardest of all on Rose. It was like he was tryin’ t’break her. Never did, though.”
“She was afraid of him?” said Miss Jarvis.
Tasmin threw her a scornful look. “We’re all afraid of him. But Rose—” She broke off.
“Yes?” prompted Miss Jarvis.
“Rose was afraid of someone else. She come to the Academy afraid.”
“Any idea who she was afraid of?” asked Sebastian.
The Jamaican twitched one thin shoulder. “She never was one to talk t’the rest of us.” She tipped her head to one side, her gaze thoughtful as she glanced from Miss Jarvis to Sebastian, then back. “You keep talking about Rose and Hannah, but you never ask nothin’ about Hessy.”
Sebastian sidestepped a barrel piled high with black oyster sacks. “Who?”
“Hessy Abrahams. She was another girl at the house. She left the same night as the other two.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her before?” said Miss Jarvis, sounding ever so slightly aggrieved.
Again that faint twitch of the shoulder. “I didn’t think you was interested. You only asked about Rose and Hannah.”
“You’re certain this Hessy Abrahams left with the other two women?” asked Sebastian.
“Well, she sure ain’t been seen since.”
For one startled moment, Sebastian’s gaze met Miss Jarvis’s. The air filled with the cries of the fish salesmen shouting, “Ha-a-ndsome cod! All alive! Alive! Alive, oh!” and “Here! This way for a splendid skate.”
Tasmin Poole’s fingers crept up to touch her split lip. Then she must have realized what she was doing, because her hand fluttered away and she stared off across the shed with its piles of reddish brown shrimp and white-bellied turbots gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the gloom.
“Looks like someone worked you over pretty good,” said Sebastian.
The Cyprian’s palm cupped her bruised cheek, her lip curling. “Bloody magistrate.”
“Sir William?” said Sebastian.
She lifted her brown gaze to his. “That’s right.” She spit the words out contemptuously. “He likes it rough. Sometimes he gets carried away. This is nothin’. You should’ve seen what he did t’ Sarah once. Broke two of her ribs. She couldn’t work for near a month.”
“Did he come to the house last week?” Sebastian asked suddenly.
“Maybe. I don’t know,” said the Jamaican warily.
“Which night?”
“I tell you, I don’t know.” Suddenly frightened, she gripped the folds of her cloak more tightly around her. “I need t’be gettin’ back.” She threw an avaricious glance at Miss Jarvis. “You find Hannah Green in Haymarket, I get my money.” It wasn’t a question.
Miss Jarvis said, “Just tell me where to meet you, and when.”
“I’ll contact you.”
“You don’t know who I am.”
The Cyprian laughed. “I know who you are,” she said, and slipped away through the crowd gathered around an oak-sided Dutch eel boat.
Sebastian stared down at the pierced, coffin-shaped barges floating at the eel boat’s stern. He’d never liked eels, ever since he’d watched as a boy when the half-eaten body of a drowned wherryman was pulled from the river, a dozen long black eels sliding sinuously away from it.
Miss Jarvis said, “You’ve heard of this Sir William before. Who is he?”
Sebastian swung his head to look at her. “Sir William Hadley.”