So somewhere without people who might know him—an empty place—with little chance of encountering a policeman. Aside from the worst of the backstreets and slums—where he would stand out in his fine clothing, if he was wearing the same garb as Solomon had described last night—where could one avoid the police?
As a child, and a much younger woman, Constance had been quite adept at dodging local constables, a stolen apple or loaf of bread hidden about her person. One had to be inconspicuous and quick and know the terrain. And thinking quickly helped.
Unbidden, one such occasion flashed into her mind. She had still regarded the theft and evasion as a game of hide-and-seek in those days, but this time, the constable concerned had been young and spry and unafraid to follow her into the more dangerous alleys and closes. He had even enlisted the help of one of his fellows.
How had she shaken them off in the end? For they were annoyingly persistent. She had been about to hide her loot when the idea came to her. She had abandoned one of the apples in an alley, as if she had dropped it by accident, and then doubled back by circuitous routes to the scene of her original crime. There,she had walked openly among the costermongers’ barrows and kiosks, mixed with the buyers who hadn’t even noticed her theft the first time. The policemen had never imagined she would return there and hadn’t come near her.
Slowly, she sat up straight. The police had been swarming all over Veronique’s shop and the rooms above all morning. They had found all the evidence they could, from her books to the concealed bottle of laudanum. They had no reason to go back because they knew Kenny had gone into hiding, andhehad no reason to go back.
Except that he would have keys.
Constance finished her tea, then changed into more respectable garb, told Hat where she was going, and sallied forth to Veronique’s shop near New Bond Street.
It was worth a look, at least until she had a better idea.
Madame Veronique’s still looked every inch the tasteful, fashionable modiste establishment. People milled up and down both sides of the street, some gazing at window displays, others entering or leaving shops. No one appeared to be skulking or paying undue attention to Veronique’s.
Constance crossed the road. The window display had changed to a gorgeous dark-red gown and a pair of long ivory evening gloves. She paused in front of it, but there was no way to see into the shop beyond. She moved to the door, which was locked, as she expected. A sign proclaimed,Closed.
She moved back to the window, as though longing for the gown on display.
Two fashionable ladies stopped by the door, and one pushed it to get in. “Oh, drat the woman!” she exclaimed. “It’s closed! And I have a fitting at four.”
Her companion consulted her watch. “It’s already ten minutes past. Perhaps she thought you weren’t coming.”
The first lady addressed Constance. “Your pardon, ma’am, but do you also have an appointment with Veronique?”
“No, but I had hoped to add to my order,” Constance said. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone there.”
The lady knocked peremptorily on the glass door and shielded her eyes to peer inside. “Not even the girl!” she said disgustedly. “If one can’t trust Veronique, whom can one trust? Come, Marcia.”
Constance waited until they were out of sight and then began looking for the way to the back of the shop, from where deliveries must have been received and sent out. She also wondered about an outside entrance to the flat above.
The outside entrance was from an alley at the back leading onto a tiny backyard and a solid wood back door. No outside stairs. The upper windows were as blank as the ones at the front of the building. The lower ones gave nothing away either.
As though she had every right to be there, Constance marched into the yard. Immediately, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Someone is here…
She flicked a careless gaze to right and left and saw no one. Only when she’d reached the door and knocked smartly did she whirl around, hefting her heavy bag like the weapon she had turned it into. Her heart thudded hard and seemed to stop.
The still, dark figure of a man stood against the yard wall, gazing at her with interest. He was badly dressed in clothes that might once have been fine. He wasn’t young, though he still had a fine head of black curls and lively, hard, dark eyes. There was strength and unspoken menace in his very poise.
Worse, she recognized him.
“Good afternoon, Constance,” drawled Jason Madly. “You always could surprise me.”
When she could trust herself to speak, she said, “Mr. Madly. You do seem to keep turning up like the proverbial bad penny. Do you live here? Or are you just visiting?”
“Poking around, my dear,” Madly said, coming closer. “Like you.”
Madly had never offered her violence. But it had always been in him. She stood her ground, ready for him. “Visiting whom?”
“I always admired your superior grasp of grammar. So refreshing amongst the ignorance and the filth.”
“I hope that doesn’t also refer to me.”
“My dear Constance, hardly.” He looked her up and down, not quite insolently. “You are looking particularly well.”
