"But where is he now? Where is my daughter?" Marianne's voice rose in desperation.
"Kent gave me the name of a contact—we'll have a list of Coyner's properties by the end of the day. Do not fret, we'll find him."
"I cannot just sit on my thumbs andwait."
"As a matter of fact, we're not going to wait. We're going to Coyner's townhouse," the marquess said. "I've arranged for Sir Richard Birnie to meet us there."
Sir Birnie, the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street and an influential figure in law and politics, had a reputation for being impartial to the point of ruthlessness when it came to upholding the law. Last year, he'd been instrumental in foiling the so-called Cato Street Conspiracy. Birnie's investigation had resulted in death sentences for some of the anarchists and transfer to penal colonies for the others.
Birnie detested those he viewed as anti-establishment. Recalling Coyner's ploy to label her as an anarchist, Marianne experienced a stab of worry. Her reputation was not the most sterling to begin with; garnering Birnie's support would be no easy task.
"Are you certain he's willing to hunt down one of his own?" she said.
"Birnie will not allow Bow Street's reputation to be tarnished. If he believes Coyner to be guilty, he will help us," Harteford said.
When they arrived at Coyner's snug Kensington residence, the butler informed them that Sir Birnie had already arrived. They were led to the parlor, where the Chief Magistrate sat at an oval dining table, questioning a young maid who stood before him. At their entry, Sir Birnie rose. Though short and stocky, he wore a mantle of importance. His dark hair was pomaded into precise waves, his ensemble as somber as, well, a judge's. Marianne put him in his mid-thirties, yet his grave manner made him appear older.
"Good morning, Lord Harteford. Lady Draven." Birnie bowed, a gesture more impatient than refined.
"'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Sir Birnie. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to assist in this matter," Marianne replied.
"When a matter involves Bow Street's reputation, I make time."
Birnie's assessing glance spoke volumes. He was willing to do what it took to clear his agency's name of wrong-doing, yet he remained suspicious of her. Or perhaps he held her responsible for causing her own misfortune. Marianne steeled herself; it didn't matter what Birnie thought of her, as long as he helped in the search for Primrose.
"As I arrived early, I have begun the interrogations. This is Lucinda, Sir Coyner's housemaid." Birnie sent the girl a disgruntled look from beneath his straight brows. "She can't seem to recall anything of use whatsoever."
Given that the girl was trembling like a willow, Marianne wasn't surprised. "Lord Harteford, wasn't there something you wished to discuss with Sir Birnie? Perhaps while you gentlemen talk, Lucinda and I might have a word to ourselves."
The Chief Magistrate frowned, but Harteford caught on and gestured toward the doorway. "I'd hoped to review a few details. After you, Sir Birnie?"
Left with the maid, Marianne pulled a chair out from the table. "Perhaps you'd care to have a seat, Lucinda?"
"Yes, m'lady," the girl mumbled.
Marianne took the seat next to her and reached for the tea pot. "Tea?"
The maid gave a hesitant nod.
Pouring out two cups, Marianne passed one to Lucinda, who looked scarcely older than sixteen. She waited until the girl had taken several gulps of tea, then she pushed over the plate of biscuits as well. After a moment's pause, the maid took one and polished it off.
"Have you been working for Sir Coyner long, Lucinda?" Marianne asked.
The girl's ginger curls wobbled beneath her cap as she shook her head. "No, m'lady. I wouldn't say so. Less than a year, it's been."
"Do you like your job, Lucinda?"
"I'm glad to 'ave a position, m'lady."
Glad but not particularly thrilled, Marianne guessed. It would help that the maid didn't harbor undying devotion to Coyner. "When did you last see your employer?"
"Two days ago. But I didn't see 'im,"—the maid's forehead scrunched—"only 'eard from the butler that the master was back. Before I could bring up the tea, 'e was off again and without a word as to when 'e'd be back."
Marianne's hands clenched in her lap. By the sound of things, Coyner had been in a rush—picking up a few things for the flit, no doubt. She had to learn more about him: his patterns, where he might go.
"During your time here, what have you noticed about your master's comings and goings?"
Eyeing the biscuits, Lucinda shrugged. "He's like any other gent, I s'ppose. Comes and goes as he pleases."
