Page 41 of The Marriage Method

Miles and Nell both turned to look. A dark-haired woman in a blue straw bonnet adorned with a bunch of wilted violets sat by herself at a small table, an empty glass mug in front of her. Her eyelids were drooping, and her head resting in her hand.

Finding her, Nell’s eyes took on a glint of resolve. “Another gin, if you please,” she said to the barkeep. “For my friend, Verity.”

The barman poured out a second glass. He pushed them both across the counter to Nell. “That’ll be six pence, luv.”

Miles thumped the money down on the bar, a fraction harder than was called for. He gave the barkeep a distinct glare of warning.

The barman chuckled again, his smile gone sheepish. “No harm in looking, sir.”

Nell collected both glasses in one hand. She moved a few steps away, out of the barman’s hearing. Miles followed, remaining close at her side. She sank her voice, her words barely audible over the din of laughter and conversation. “I think it better if I approach her alone.”

Miles stood over her, frowning. It went against his every instinct to permit her to ask questions without him being present. She may be clever, but this wasn’t a game. Nor was it a classroom at her confounded charity school. A man had been murdered, for God’s sake. A young girl very likely taken. There was no room for missteps or amateurish mistakes.

Yet, Nell had acquitted herself admirably at Mrs. Pritchard’s. And she wasn’t wrong in supposing that she’d have a greater chance of success if she approached the working girl on her own.

Miles resigned himself to the logic of it. “What do you need from me?”

“Money,” she said. “And the notebook with the sketch of Mr. Cowgill.”

Miles nodded curtly. Her hands were full, so he took the liberty of discreetly slipping the notebook into her reticule, along with five guineas. “I’ll be at the bar,” he told her. “At the first sign of trouble, I’m taking you out of here.”

• • • • •

Nell crossed the crowded floor, conscious of the rough-looking men staring at her as she passed them. As ever, their gazes seemed to flit from her face to her cane and back again. She lifted her chin, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. She couldn’t afford for one of them to take it as encouragement. Not when she had so little time in which to cultivate an acquaintance with the dark-haired prostitute in the drooping violet bonnet.

Nell approached the woman’s table with single-minded intent.

Miles thought she was enjoying this. She’d seen it in his face. But it wasn’t enjoyment she was feeling. It was a frenzied sort of compulsion, driving her to pursue this to the end, even if it should take all day.

Or all night.

For when that night finally came, when she was at last taken back to Miles’s house, Nell would finally have to confront the pitiless facts of her new life. Miss Corvus was gone. Nell’s students were gone. So was the safety of her little room, and the security of her daily routine. She was cut adrift in a strange sea, and the moment her mission was no longer at the forefront of her mind, the fear and sadness of it would overwhelm her like so many crashing waves threatening to drag her under.

She couldn’t face it. And so long as she was here, focusing on what had happened to poor Miss Brent and Mr. Cowgill, she didn’t have to.

“Verity? I thought that was you.” Nell brazenly took a seat at the woman’s table. “I hope you don’t mind? I’ve bought you a glass of gin.”

Verity flicked a bleary look between Nell and the glass before taking the gin and downing a swallow. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I should very much like to ask you a few questions.” Nell touched her reticule, feeling the shape of the coins Miles had given her. “I’m prepared to make it worth your while.”

Verity took another drink. “You’re gonna pay me to sit here and drink your gin? And all I have to do is answer a question?” She burst out laughing. “Never heard that before.”

“I shall be quick about it, too,” Nell promised.

She had little alternative. At any moment, Mrs. Pritchard, her henchman, or some other villain might appear to call Nell and Miles to account. Nell couldn’t risk a second altercation. She wasn’t confident they could make their escape twice in the same day. Not when she no longer had the element of surprise on her side.

“I understand you work for Mrs. Pritchard?” she said.

The glass stilled halfway to Verity’s mouth. She gave another laugh, more cynical this time, before bringing it the rest of the way to her lips. “Aye, I do. What’s it to you?”

“I’m looking for a girl,” Nell said. “She’s fourteen, all of five feet tall, with a slim build, and dark hair and eyes. Just a child, really, but an exceedingly comely one. She’d have arrived at the brothel, possibly on Monday.”

“What about her?”

“Did you see such a girl?”

“I might’ve done. I see all sorts at Mrs. Pritchard’s.”