Page 87 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“One should never underestimate the stupidity of others,” the duchess told her. “However, I don’t expect to find him there. It’s the barkeep I plan to talk to.”

The docks were bustling at this time of the day, but the nearby street where the Double Roses stood was almost deserted. The area, which by night was undoubtedly disreputable enough, looked even more wretched by the light of day. Refuse lined the edges of the street. Cobblestones had been worn away or pried up, leaving an obstacle course for the carriage. The buildings were dirty, their signs faded, shutters missing, and over it all was a stench that came partly from its nearness to the Thames and partly from causes Thisbe thought it best not to consider.

When the carriage rattled to a stop and Thompkins scrambled down to open the door, he wore a worried frown. “Ma’am, this doesn’t look the sort of place for a lady.”

“I’m sure it’s not.” Cornelia climbed out. Thisbe paused to grab the spare umbrella from beneath the seat and followed her grandmother.

Thompkins trailed along unhappily. “I best go inside with you. I’ll get me whip.”

“Nonsense. You must stay with the horses. They are far more likely to appeal to a thief than two mere women.”

Thisbe refrained from pointing out that when one of those mere women wore diamonds on her fingers, throat and earlobes, thieves were apt to be interested. She followed her grandmother through the door of the tavern and stopped beside her, surveying the wreckage of the room. Tables and chairs lay overturned and broken among great puddles of ale that had not yet soaked into the floor, and the whole place reeked of cheap alcohol. Pieces of glass and pottery littered the room, along with the few mugs and glasses that were still intact. Even most of the metal tankards were dented.

The place was empty save for a sullen-looking boy pushing a broom. At their entrance he stopped, his jaw dropping. “Cor...”

The dowager duchess raised her eyebrows, and when he said nothing further, she said, “Mind your manners, boy. Where is the proud owner of this establishment?”

At her words, a man stood up from behind the bar, his eyes as wide and round as the boy’s. “Blimey.”

“How eloquent,” the dowager duchess said acidly.

“Um.” The barkeep bobbed a little bow. “Ma’am. I—We’re no’ open yet.”

“I am not here to partake of your wares. I am here for information. I’m looking for a man, a regular patron of yours. He is the one, I believe, who started the carnage here last night.”

“Grieves?” He goggled.

“I presume. Thisbe, describe the man.”

“Big and blond. He was with some guards from the warehouse.”

“That’d be him,” the boy interjected. “Thick as thieves, they are.”

The other man, seemingly having gathered his wits about him, frowned at the lad. “’Oi! Shut your bone-box. We’re no’ blowers here.”

“You told ’er ’is name!” the boy protested.

“Aye, well, I was surprised, wan’t I?”

“This man, Grieves, must have an address,” Thisbe said.

“Not tellin’ you where ’e kips.” The man crossed his arms defiantly.

“Then I suppose you aren’t interested in this.” The duchess extracted a gold coin from her reticule and held it up. “Pony, I believe is the vulgar term for it.” She turned toward the boy. “Perhaps you might be more willing.”

Before the lad could say anything, the barkeep said, “’E stays at Dot’s crib, next to that crimping shop.”

“I’d need something a bit more particular than that,” Cornelia said. “An address, for instance.”

This idea seemed to flummox the man, so Thisbe added helpfully, “The name of the street? The number?”

The other two looked at each other and finally the man said, “It don’t have a blinkin’ name. That little lane where the Blue Ox is.”

“Off Water Street,” the boy added helpfully and pointed to his right. “Ain’t no number.”

Thisbe suppressed a sigh. “I presume Dot is a woman, and her crib must be her house. Is that right?”

“’Course.” The boy looked at her as if she were daft.