At the mention of the popular Covent Garden pub, he cocked his head. “What are we doing there?”
“Hunting,” she said succinctly.
Four
“Guv wants you to know the cove ain’t budged for the last ’alf hour,” the street urchin known as Billie whispered. “’E’s swilling ale and palavering with ’is cronies. Guv wants to know if you’ve instructions for ’im.”
The “guv” Billie was referring to was Devlin, who was presently inside the Boar’s Head monitoring Gilbert Quinton. Charlie was outside, surveilling the back of the pub. Disguised as an old mort selling flowers leftover from the morning market, she sat on the foggy street corner, a rusty lantern illuminating her bucket of wilted blooms. She’d hidden her hair beneath a scraggly wig, blackened some teeth, and used paint to make her complexion sallow and wrinkled. She had proof of her disguise’s success: when she called out to toffs to examine her goods, they averted their eyes and hastened along.
For the night’s mission, Charlie had enlisted the help of Billie and her sister Lindy. Lindy was watching over the pub’s front entrance while Billie acted as the go-between. The girls’ mama had, for some inexplicable reason, named them both “Belinda”; to circumvent confusion, they went by their nicknames. Billie was fourteen and the taller of the two. Lindy was a year older, shorter, and wider, with a shock of red hair and freckles. Both preferred male garb, which gave them protection in the streets and allowed them to make quicker getaways.
The girls had crossed Charlie’s path a year ago when they attempted to pick her pocket. She didn’t know what had surprised the pair more: the fact that they’d found themselves at the end of her pistol, or that, instead of handing them over to the authorities, she’d offered them honest work for honest pay.
She’d given the girls various assignments, and they’d proved so talented and discreet that she now hired them on a regular basis. They drew the line, however, at becoming her salaried employees. The notion of permanent lodgings and meals made them turn up their pert noses. Apparently, they’d once been recruited to a charity school, and the experience had so scarred them that they refused to obey any authority but their own.
Charlie had learned to respect this even as she plotted to win them over. She’d had a few small victories. A fortnight ago, she’d convinced the girls to have a bath, and they’d departed her home squeaky clean, wearing new jackets and trousers and lugging a large hamper of food between them.
Unfortunately, the layer of grime on Billie’s narrow face suggested that she hadn’t bathed since then. Lindy hadn’t looked, or smelled, any better.
One step at a time.
“Well, missus?” Billie scratched her ear, her brown eyes expectant. “Anyfin’ you want me to pass on to Lindy or the guv?”
“Tell them both to stay put,” Charlie replied in a low voice. “My intuition tells me the target will make a move soon, and we must follow him when he does.”
Billie tapped the brim of her battered cap. “I’ll give ’em the message.”
“Be careful?—”
She’d already loped off, her thin figure melting into the drifting fog.
Charlie continued her watch. Moonlight fell through the mist and shattered in luminous shards upon the cobblestone. From her position on the corner, she could see down the length of the street. Connected to the thoroughfare was a maze of smaller passages between the buildings.
The back door of the Boar’s Head opened, and her gaze sharpened, taking in the figure that stepped out. Too skinny to be Quinton—just an employee of the pub out to relieve himself. He disappeared into one of the dark offshoots, returning moments later, buttoning his fall as he reentered the premises.
Investigative work, Charlie reflected, required stamina and patience. Most of it was quite tedious. At the start of her journey, she had spent countless hours sifting through Sebastian’s belongings. Trying to find any clue that might be related to his death, she had gone through every journal, every map he’d drawn, every item of his personal effects.
Finding nothing of note, she’d tried to learn more about his background. A private sort, he’d rarely spoken about his past and had a subtle yet masterful way of deflecting her curiosity. He was so good at it that she hadn’t even realized how little she knew about the man she’d been married to for a year. Even his few friends—Georgios and members of the cartography society—had rather superficial knowledge of him. While he was admired and well-liked, no one seemed toknowanything significant about him.
She had resorted to hiring investigators. They’d charged her an arm and a leg to tell her what Sebastian had already shared. Because he had been a frail child, his mama had kept him at home. He had grown up on their remote Devonshire estate and didn’t attend boarding school like most males of his class. Eventually, his weak constitution improved, and he traveled the world, exploring his passion for cartography. Then he met Charlie.
The facts were simple and shed no light on who Sebastian was. On why he would marry Charlie, why he would have an affair, why he would end up burned beyond recognition in his mistress’s bed. Some of the investigators had preyed upon Charlie’s desperate need to know the truth. They’d made up facts to tantalize her, bilk her of her money. One had even tried to “comfort” her with his advances.
Life had taught her repeatedly that she had to count on herself to get things done. There was no reason she couldn’t do what these investigators did…and do it better. She had a natural talent for observation, organization, and planning. As for the rest, she sought out experts to train her. She’d learned combat skills from a talented female fighter named Pearl Peabody, and tracking, lockpicking, and other handy techniques from a man named Hawker. Mrs. Peabody and Hawker had served as her housekeeper and butler for years until they fell in love, married, and moved to Yorkshire. Whilst she missed her friends dearly, Charlie couldn’t be happier for them.
Yet at times like these, she realized how alone she was. Everyone around her had found love. And here she was, still haunted by her dead husband.
Even now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was not alone. That someone was watching her. She twisted her head, scanning the clusters of people passing by. A trio of toffs wove by arm-in-arm, belting a drunken ditty. Two whores posed beneath a lamppost, their sateen dresses yellowed by the gaslight. A hawker sold pocket watches of dubious origins displayed on the inside of his jacket.
It was business as usual in Covent Garden, and no one was paying any attention to Charlie, let alone monitoring her. Her imagination was simply running wild. Perhaps Amara was right, and Charlie did need a distraction. After tonight, she would indulge herself—not with a man; that was hardly worth the trouble. She would take matters into her own hands and do it better.
The back door of the Boar’s Head opened again, and Charlie’s focus shifted to the familiar brawny figure stepping into the alleyway.
There you are, Gilbert. What do you have planned this eve?
He cast a furtive glance around, and Charlie kept her head down, pretending to arrange the drooping flowers in her bucket. When she looked up again, he was heading down the street. She waited a heartbeat before going after him. The swirling fog gave her cover, but she stayed back as far as she could whilst keeping him in sight. When he suddenly twisted around, she ducked into an alley to avoid being seen.
Reaching into her skirt pocket, she took out a piece of chalk, drawing a quickXon the brick. When Billie found her gone, she would alert the others; Charlie’s trail would help the team find her. Hearing Quinton’s footsteps start up again, she peered around the wall and saw him head left, down a narrow offshoot between two buildings. She followed, taking a parallel alley to avoid being spotted. She dashed through the fetid darkness, rats scurrying across her path. Reaching the next street, she looked to her right; heartbeats later, Quinton emerged. He glanced at the alley behind him but not in her direction. Then he crossed the street and headed down another alley.
