“Yes,” Regina said, warming up and becoming more excited as they picked up their pace. “I remember that street lamp there, too, because of the doll at the bottom. I thought how strange it was to see a doll on the side of the street.”
As they neared the lamp, she glanced down at the broken, discarded doll at its base. It had reminded her of the dolls she’d abandoned as a child. “This way,” Regina said, lifting her skirts and stepping even more quickly.
The two men followed her.
“How far had you walked by the time you saw the doll?” Mark asked.
“Not far,” Regina replied. “It was only perhaps half a dozen houses from where I’d been kept.”
She continued to nearly run until she came to the set of houses where she was certain she’d been held. She dropped her skirts and put her hands on her hips, contemplating them. They looked exactly alike. “It’s hard to tell. There was a great deal of snow that night.”
The snow had mostly melted. She couldn’t trace her way back by picking out which hedge she’d fallen into… or could she?
“My stays!” she exclaimed.
“Pardon?” Daffin gave her a look that said he thought hemusthave heard her incorrectly.
“My stays and stockings. I didn’t bother putting them back on. Instead, I stuffed them into the hedge of the house next to the one where I was kept.”
“Are you quite serious?” Mark asked.
“I’m entirely serious. I stuffed them in the hedge on the side facing the house.”
The two men spread out to examine every hedge. All the houses had similar hedges so that didn’t narrow the search.
Regina searched, too. She was bending around the side of the hedge of the third house in the row when Daffin called out, “I found them!” He held the stockings and stays aloft, a wide smile on his face.
Regina was too happy they’d found the house to be embarrassed over the fact that her undergarments were being waved in the air.
“That’s it!” she called, racing to join Daffin, with Mark on her heels.
“If they were in that hedge,” she said, “then I came out ofthatwindow.” She turned to the house next door and pointed up. The glass in the window she indicated was gone. A dirty blanket had been stuffed into the empty frame, ostensibly to keep out the cold air.
“That’s it,” she said, swallowing hard. “That’s the room.”
The two men tried to convince Regina to return to the coach, but she refused. Partly because she didn’t want to miss a minute of this, and partly because she felt safer at Daffin’s side. The three of them made their way to the front door of the house in which Regina had been kept.
Daffin rapped on the door. Once. Twice.
Several minutes passed before it swung open.
A frail-looking old woman with a shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders stood in the doorway, blinking at them.
“Who owns this house?” Daffin demanded.
“My son does, sir.” The woman wrapped the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “And who might ye be?”
“Oakleaf. Daffin Oakleaf. I work for Bow Street.”
The old woman’s eyes widened with respect and admiration. “Oh, I read about ye in the paper.”
“What is your son’s name?” Daffin asked, ignoring her remark.
The old woman shifted on her feet. “Michael Mitchell.”
“Does anyone else live here? Or stay here?” Daffin demanded.
“Michael’s got the odd friend who stops by from time to time.” The old woman shrugged. “I’ve been gone until yesterday for the Christmastide holiday. Spent time with my sister in Devon.”
