continually plying between the ship and the Quay. It was so busy, in fact, that I considered the coming interview with satisfaction. We might shout the particulars of murder and dissipation at Nell Rivers with impunity. No one should overlisten our conversation.
I turned and studied Wool House, a stone's throw opposite. So few hours ago I had watched Etienne LaForge enter that dispiriting place; and now he might be dead. Had I time to enquire of Mr. Hill, before Nell Rivers should approach? It was as I debated the question that I espied a small, dark-clad figure exiting the massive oak doors—the very surgeon! And bound on his way up Bugle Street! My heart leapt—I almost made to race after his figure—but that the sight of a second. man stopped me. Tall, with chestnut hair and brows that must always suggest malevolence, his broad shoulders concealed today by a black driving cloak with many ruffled capes. Sir Francis Farnham, quitting Wool House. He was certainly accompanying Mr. Hill. Had he disposed of the French prisoners? Were they even now bound for Greenwich, and the seamen's hospital?
But as the two men rounded the corner of French Street and made to mount the High, my interest was seized by another pair of fellow-travellers: two boys with curling dark hair and purposeful looks, their figures almost overwhelmed by serviceable wool cloaks of blue. They sported diminutive cockades, and each had a small midshipman's trunk hoisted upon his shoulders. Charles and Edward Seagrave. They waited on the paving-stones while a coach-and-four rumbled past, then crossed to the Quay. Little Edward was struggling under the weight of his trunk; it teetered upon his shoulder and very nearly overset him. His brother paid him no regard, but made deliberately for the steps leading down to the water. Good God, did they intend to be rowed out to a ship?
I gathered up my skirts and was on the point of dashing after them, when Jenny said urgently in my ear, “Miss! There's the very woman! By the foot of the Quay. She is staring about like a rabbit in a snare. Shall I fetch her?”
I had so far forgot Nell Rivers as to emerge almost from a reverie. I dragged my gaze unwillingly from the Seagrave boys—young Edward was even now disappearing down the steps in his brother's wake—and turned to search for the figure Jenny would indicate. The woman had certainly espied us; and the expression of relief on her countenance was remarkable. It was as though she had been racked in a painful childbed, and we were her deliverers. I cast one last look towards the steps, hesitated an instant, then took Jenny by the arm and hastened down the Quay.
She was both shorter and smaller than myself, a slip of a thing with a sharp, pointed face. One eye was blackened and bruised from the impact of a fist. Her hair was unwashed and ill-dressed; she wore a kerchief over it, like a common fishwife, but her dress was at once grander than one of these and more horrible in its cheapness. She was arrayed in a manner designed to reveal her charms, and her occupation—even so early in the day—must be obvious to everyone. It occurred to me that such a woman must have limited funds, and could hardly spare the coin to purchase a modest gown for daily use, when her money must be invested in her trade. And she had children, the Bosun's Mate had said; three litde 'uns, without a father. Such a family must run to considerable expense.
“Are you Nell Rivers?”
“Are you the Cap'n's sister?” she asked in a low and hurried tone. “The one as asked to speak with me?”
“I am Miss Austen,” I said. “You have twice begged an interview with my brother, and found him not at home.”
“I meant no 'arm, as God's my witness,” she said, crossing herself fumblingly. “I only thought as he might be needing to hear what I know.”
“Is this a private matter?” I asked her severely.
She shook her head. The furtive, rabbity look that Jenny had described was returned in force. “Will the Cap'n hear me, now?”
“He is regrettably engaged this morning,” I replied, “in the service of a friend accused of murder.”
Nell Rivers blenched white, and staggered a bit as though she might swoon.
“Here.” I grasped her arm. “You must rest a bit before you may speak. Lean against this pier.” There were pilings along the Quay, and a low