In Milady's Chamber by Sheri Cobb South

Author:Sheri Cobb South [South, Sheri Cobb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781483915739
Publisher: Five Star
Published: 2006-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

In Which John Pickett Suffers for a Worthy Cause

“You want me to do what?” Lucy demanded some time later, when she was apprised of her newest rôle in Pickett’s investigation.

It was now late afternoon in Covent Garden’s bustling piazza, where the morning’s fruit and vegetable sellers had yielded pride of place to the orange girls, flower-sellers, and prostitutes who would offer their various wares to theatergoers later in the evening. Lucy’s incredulity was of sufficient volume to cause several of these young women to look her way; a few offering bawdy speculations as to what her companion desired, and generously volunteering to furnish any services which Lucy might be unable or unwilling to render.

“I want you to go to Seven Dials and search the rag shops,” Pickett echoed, resolutely ignoring these suggestions, although his ears turned pink. “Ask the barker if he’s had a pair of stained white pantaloons from a valet in the Albany.”

“Stained with what, pray?”

“Blood, if I’m lucky. Champagne, if I’m not.”

Lucy planted one hand on her ample hip. “And what am I to do with these pantaloons, if I find them?”

Pickett pressed half a crown into her free hand. “Buy them and bring them to me.”

Lucy, however, was unconvinced. “And why should I be buying clothes for you, John Pickett?” she demanded. “Lud, it’s just like I was your wife, only without any of the good parts!”

A second coin joined its brother in Lucy’s palm. “And while you’re about it, buy something for yourself for your trouble.”

Lucy looked down at the riches in her hand and wavered. “Do you have any idea how many bow-wow shops there are in Seven Dials?”

“No, but I’ll wager you do.”

“I know of six in Monmouth Street alone! And what about you? What are you going to be doing, while I’m out brangling with rag-merchants?”

Pickett could not resist. “What do you think?” he retorted. “Like any good husband, I’ll be hoisting a pint at the Coach and Four.”

Grinning, he turned and walked away, leaving an indignant Lucy to endure the bawdy hoots of her peers as she stood open-mouthed in the middle of the piazza.

* * * *

The Coach and Four, as its name implied, had originally catered to the grooms and stable lads employed by the aristocracy, who spent most of their working hours in the various mews tucked away behind the stylish town houses of Mayfair. But as this establishment’s reputation had grown, its custom had expanded to include house servants as well. On any given afternoon, one might find stately butlers enjoying their half-day, or roguish footmen courting flirtatious housemaids, in addition to the more traditional clientele.

John Pickett, entering the tap room at half-past nine o’clock, looked like none of these, and so the proprietor greeted him somewhat curtly with a grudging, “What’ll ye have?”

It had been Pickett’s experience that publicans were disinclined to view Bow Street operatives with favor; indeed, most of them regarded policing of any kind as a threat to the rights of law-abiding citizens, rather than a form of protection against the lawless.

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