All around me I could hear the sound of London at night. The bustle of the daytime had quietened, become muffled as people made their way indoors and out of the dark. An owl screeched somewhere not far away, water dripped rhythmically onto the cobbles beneath me, a woman shouted in the house next door and down the street the local tavern was starting up. I sat perched on a window ledge of an old abandoned house on the Southbank watching as the last few stragglers hurried home and the night-dwellers stirred. Everywhere around me people looked sketchy, a young boy glared at everyone he saw and pocketed coins, a stocky man swaggered down the street swinging a club at his side, a woman adjusted her skirt to show more leg and thrust her hip out at any potential customer.
Up in my post I studied each one and then discarded them. He should be here, I thought, somewhere. Was that him? No, too tall. That? No, too thin. That? Too old.
I sighed and adjusted my position. A sleeping pigeon ruffled it's feathers next to me. I was almost jealous. After living a couple of weeks at Montagu House I was disgracefully used to the luxuries of court life now. I relished my comfy feather bed and velvet-soft blankets. I loved the pre-warmed slippers the maid left in the morning, and the cosy evenings by the fire with Sarah and my smallsword. Out here, in the damp slums on the Southbank at the turn of autumn I was, for the first time in years, resentful of a stakeout.
And yet....there, just turning that corner onto the street. The man I had been waiting for. He walked towards me with shoulders hunched and a woollen cap jammed onto his head, but with a gait I would have known anywhere.
Slipping down off the ledge I landed in a crouch in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
'Jesus Mary and Joseph!'
'Hello old friend,' I smiled.
'Lord save me, what do you want?' The thief from the Princess's room snapped at me, already taking a step back and shielding his arm.
I held up my hands, 'just a small favour, nothing else.'
'A small favour my arse, the last small favour you took was my hand, you godforsaken harpy.'
'Oh calm down Lennox.'
He stopped skitting from foot to foot and scowled at me, 'how d'you know my name?'
'The guards at Montagu House. And from what I've seen of your acts on the Southbank these days you're hardly struggling after your loss. It seems an acrobat with only one hand is even more impressive than one with two, so you can stop the dramatics. I don't need much, just need an introduction.'
'What?'
I smiled, 'doesn't sound too hard does it? I'll even buy you a drink while we're there.'
Lennox went back to scowling, 'last time I met you I ended up with a sword in my hand, so 'scuse me if I'd rather not.' He stepped away and down towards an alley.
'Wait!' I jumped in front of him again, 'I can pay you. Not much, I'll warrant you, but something. Enough for you to point me in the right direction.'
He stopped, still shifting and rubbing his arm.
'Lennox, I need knowledge. I don't know London, I don't know the gossip, the streets, the people. And I need to find those two men who hired you. All I have to go on is their names and vague descriptions, but that gets me nowhere. I need access to the people who see everything, and you're my key into that.'
'So you think just because I'm a street performer I'm also a criminal?'
I raised an eyebrow, 'I found you breaking into the future Queen of England's bedroom. You are a criminal.'
Offended, he pulled his coat closer and tried to push past. I held him back and spoke clearer, 'and while I know its not your real job, it does lead me to believe that, even if you're not involved in the criminal network you might know people who are, and specifically the type of people who know everything there is to know about London.' Slipping my hand into my pocket, I brought out a small purse and pressed it into his hand, 'I need the watchers, Lennox. I need the lamplighters, or the inn-keepers, or the rat-catchers. I need the eyes of London.'
Reluctantly, he looked down at the purse and weighed it in his hand.
'There's enough there to feed your family for a while,' I said.
He didn't look at me, just held the purse and worked his jaw like a man standing in front of a jury. I waited; if this didn't work I was ruined. There was nowhere to go from here, he was my one and only lead, and short of knocking on every house in the city there was no way of finding Beresford and Paulette without him.
There was a jerk of the head and Lennox pocketed the purse, 'this way.'
The Broken Coin was just the sort of establishment I had in mind when hunting down these all-seeing eyes of the city. Lennox had led me through alley after alley, down slippery steps and cobbled paths and under creaky wooden platforms by the river. We wormed our way round the bend in the river away from Vauxhall and into the slums, the houses getting more and more cramped and the people more and more unsavoury. It was already midnight by the time I got there, and I hoped to dear God that Sarah and some guards were waiting up with Princess Caroline.
'After you,' Lennox gestured towards a cracked wooden door in the wall, overhung by heavy rooms above, with only one broken window to inside. I could hear grumblings and the clinking of glass and the strong smell of bad ale drifted on the wind. Ducking in, I was immediately shocked by how dark it was, with thick wooden beams supporting the ceiling, tall, gruff looking men blocking the light and only a few pig-fat candles mashed onto the bar and into sconces on the wall.
Lennox led me past the crowd and towards the side walls, where smaller groups huddled over benches and talked in low voices, shooting dirty looks at anyone who came near. Here, he stopped and pointed towards the booth furthest away from us, 'you want that one.'
The figure hunched over the table at the end looked like she could kill you with no amount of difficulty and very little remorse. She was small, perhaps would only come up to my shoulder, but solid. Her arms, though wrinkled and spotted with age, were strong and her hands worked at picking apart a mass of string quickly and deftly. Her face, when she looked up at us, showed thickset eyebrows and a hard jawline, a tiny mouth pinched with constant irritation.
'People call her Mother Quinn,' Lennox muttered to me. 'She's a hard one, don't expect nothing different.'
I patted his arm and walked towards her. She stared me down as I approached, her hands still flitting around the string like birds over a slice of bread. I felt the air get cooler around her, as if even the heat of the candles and the mass of other people avoided her, leaving her alone and surveying the field.
'Miss Katherine Wentworth,' her voice was sharp, like a rip on the knuckles. 'Seems I was right about you.'
How did she know my name? I scanned my memories for an image of her, had I spoken to her once? Had I given her money on the street? Was she a servant at Montagu House? Nothing, I had never met this woman before.
'Right?'
She sighed. 'When a high-ranking woman in Princess Caroline's court, who hasn't left the place for more than a day in over three years, goes missing from society for a week and comes back in a fast carriage accompanied by a slip of a girl, I get a-thinking. When this girl, tragic backstory an' all borrows a dress from a scullery maid and goes runnin' round London, I get suspicious. And when that girl turns up in the Broken Coin followed by ol' Lennox there I get proved right.'
'The servants?'
'Oh they love a good chatter, 'specially those ones up at Montagu House. Gifted, they've been, with a mistress as bat-crazy as the Princess.'
I sank into the chair opposite her, my heart in my stomach. My God, I'd let standards slip.
'What do you want, Miss Wentworth?'
I steadied myself. I couldn't falter, couldn't let this situation get the better of me. 'I need information about two men.'
'Lovers?' Mother Quinn smiled to herself, her cracked teeth glittering in the candle-light.
'Potential enemies. They orchestrated an attack on the Princess a couple of weeks ago but I lost them afterwards.'
'I see. Interesting that all the straight-laced folk find their way down here when things go awry. You spend all your time putting the likes of us behind bars then come running our way when you can't do nothin'. Funny, I suppose.' Her fingers slowed in their work and she glanced up, 'you're lacking in descriptive detail here Miss Wentworth.'
'They're perhaps late-twenties or early-thirties. One is tall, over six-foot, with thin blond hair and a square jaw. Calls himself Paulette, but doesn't sound French, has more of a country twang to his voice. Doesn't speak much. The other is the leader. Shorter, maybe five-foot ten. Dark hair. His name is Beresford, though I don't know that for sure, I'm suspecting they've either picked up code names just for this job or have been given them by someone else.'
Mother Quinn nodded and went back to her work, 'congratulations, Miss Wentworth. You've just described about half o' London.'
I clenched my fists under the table, 'Beresford spoke well, he's been educated, but doesn't seem like a noble.'
'And they orchestrated this attack how?'
'They found Lennox when he was performing on the Southbank and by St Pauls. They were looking for acrobats and people with useful skills.'
'Ah, one o' those,' her mouth twisted in disgust. 'The type that hire us lot to do their dirty work and leave us to the dogs afterwards. Don't you worry Miss Wentworth, I'll find the bastards.'
My heart started to beat faster, 'yes? I can pay you, I've got enough - '
'Oh don't talk to me about that,' the mouth twisted again. 'I don't take cash payments.'
'You don't? What... what do you take?'
Her hands finally stilled, leaving the string a pile of twisted fabric spilling over the sides. 'Well now, you see it's difficult. Usually, I strike a bargain; I scratch your back and you scratch mine. I might charge you my next laundry load, or a free spot to sell my pieces outside the coffee houses, or access to the kitchens of the best society house. But in your case, Miss Wentworth, in your partic'lar position, it's a bit more interesting.'
I frowned, 'interesting how?'
Mother Quinn looked up at me, her black eyes sparking like gunpowder about to be sparked, 'let's say, Miss Wentworth, that you owe me a favour.'
'A favour?'
They flashed at me again, 'exactly. Anytime, anywhere, no matter what it is, you owe me a favour.'
Deep down in my chest, my heart started beating faster again. I felt a thrumming in my ears, a pulsing at my throat, a voice in my head telling me to go, go.
'Now come on, Miss Wentworth. In return for finding those two men, a little favour is surely worth it.'
Those eyes just flashed at me, flashed and flashed.
'Do we have a deal?'