She took a sip, then another, and drew a steadying breath before turning back to me, her expression hardening.
“Women attend these…things.”
I frowned slightly. “Yes. I am aware.”
“I do not mean the young women who have been taken or coerced,” she said sharply. “I mean ladies of our own class. Women of society. One of them is Claire’s friend.” She hesitated, then took another sip. “They perform—” She stopped herself and glanced at me. “Have you heard of the Marquis de Sade?”
Finch coughed violently. I merely raised a brow.
“Of course you have,” she said, her tone edged with accusation, as she glanced between Finch and me. “You both have. You aremen.” It was not intended as a compliment.
She began to pace the length of the study, her skirts whispering with restrained fury. “Men know of these things while women are kept carefully ignorant.”
“It is not a subject for polite company, Rosalynd,” I said evenly.
“But it is one for private discussion,” she shot back, then halted and drew a breath. “Forgive me. I should not accuse.”
“You need not apologize,” I said. “Tell us about this friend of Claire’s.”
“She attends these gatherings. They are held once a month. At the last, she learned that young women are not there of their own free will. Once she understood that, she left. She does not intend to return.” Her gaze moved between Finch and me, steady now. “Her role is not passive. She is there to exert control over the men—to direct them, to punish them when they displease her. You understand?”
“I do.” To pretend otherwise would have been foolish.
She studied me for a moment, her gaze narrowing as something new took shape in her eyes. “Not from personal experience, I hope.”
“Certainly not,” I said at once. “I have never sought such?—”
“Pleasures?” she supplied coolly.
“There is nothing pleasurable,” I said firmly, “in inflicting pain—or in suffering it.”
Her posture softened at once. “No. Of course not. I apologize for even suggesting it.”
“So,” I said, “this lady will not be attending tomorrow’s gathering.”
“No. She departs for the Continent in the morning and will be gone for several months. But before doing so, she shared with Claire what she knew. The meeting point is somewhere along the Thames. It changes each time, so she could not provide the exact location.”
“That accords with what I have learned,” I said.
Her head snapped toward me. “And what is that?”
I told her of Nicky’s involvement, of the friend who had been invited to attend the gathering, and of my brother’s intention to call upon him tomorrow evening to learn the meeting place. Once he had that information, he would join us at The Black Horse, a public house near his friend’s residence, where Finch, his associates, and I would be waiting. From there, we would board a hired vessel, sail down the Thames to the barge serving as the meeting point, and follow it once it put off downriver.
Rosalynd listened without interruption, her expression intent. “That is a solid plan,” she said when I finished.
I gestured toward Finch. “We think so.”
“One difference, though. There will be two barges,” she said after a moment. “One for the men, another for the women.”
Finch inclined his head. “They will be headed in the same direction. Easy enough to follow.”
“The men require invitations, do they not?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“The women do not,” she said. “Because they are providing some of the entertainment.”
I felt the shift immediately—the subtle tightening in my chest, the instinctive certainty that the conversation was just about to take an unwelcome turn.
