“Two coats and breeches,” Nicole corrected as she cast Oliver a sidelong glance. “Don’t think for a moment I’m waiting in the carriage.”
The hackney jerked to a stop in Swan Walk, outside the tall gates leading to the Chelsea Physic Garden. Rose climbed down to the pavement and paid the driver who wasted no time in flicking the ribbons and charging off in search of his next fare.
She tugged on the cravat, tied so tightly she had empathy for those poor souls in Newgate waiting to swing from the gallows. Old stockings padded the hessian boots to account for them being too big, and the thin length of rope tied around her waist worked to keep her breeches up.
There were few houses in this part of town, and although the quiet street was untouched by the hustle and bustle of city life, the stench of the river hung in the air as a constant reminder.
“Ere, sir.” A boy pushed away from the stone wall and came sauntering over, his faded top hat balanced precariously on his head. “Would you be the gent looking for a cure to end all sickness?” He waved his walking cane at the iron gate like the men who stand outside tents at the fair and lure you in with a promise of a mystical sight from the Orient.
Rose cast him a curious glance. “And what would a boy of your age know about it?” Oh, heavens, her voice sounded croaky rather than manly.
“I know if you’ve had the pox for a month likely it won’t kill you. I know not to eat stew from a man with black fingernails.”
Despite the grave nature of her situation, Rose couldn’t help but smile. “I’m assured the garden is a treasure-trove for an apothecary eager to learn more about medicinal plants.”
“It is if you’ve got the key.” The boy winked.
Rose peered through the iron bars at the empty gravel path. “Is the garden closed today?” Having not the slightest interest in medicine, and being entirely the wrong sex, she’d had no cause to venture to the garden before.
“The apothecaries and their apprentices have been and done their daily scribbling.” The boy pushed the rim of his shabby hat up with the tip of his cane. “Sometimes a gent pays to study alone if he’s got the funds and the curator’s got gambling debts to pay.”
“I see.” A sense of trepidation washed over her.
The boy stepped forward and unlocked the gate. “I’m to see the book before I let you inside. Master’s orders.”
Rose reached into the pocket of her coat and removed the blue ledger. The boy flicked his finger, a sign to say he wanted to look inside. She showed him the pages of names, and he nodded as if it were an entrance ticket to a one-time show.
“Do you always do what your master tells you?” Loyalty was often decided by whoever offered the biggest bribe.
“I do if I want to eat.” He gestured to the gate. “You’re to wait under the cedar tree near Sir Sloane.”
“Sir Sloane?” Was that the name the villain used to disguise his identity?
“The statue. Follow the path to the middle. Look for the ugly gent with a wig.”
“Are you referring to the statue or your master?”
The boy shrugged. “You’ll see.”
Rose opened the gate and stepped inside. The boy closed and locked it before pushing the key back into the fob pocket of his fancy waistcoat. The green garment with brass buttons caught her attention, not because a boy of his ilk couldn’t possibly afford such a piece, but because both the top and bottom buttons were missing. However, before she could ask him anything he moved away from the gate, out of view.
Rose stared through the black metal bars. Locked inside the garden, she contemplated how Christian would gain entrance. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. She’d broken free from her previous prison, but would she escape this one?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Just like the night she’d stumbled upon Everleigh, the gravel crunched beneath her feet as she hurried along the path, past the beds of herbs and plants. Standing five feet wide and twenty high, one could not miss the white figure on the stone plinth. Two cedar trees flanked the walkway, and Rose stood and waited for Taylor or Wilmslow to arrive.
She did not have to wait long.
A figure appeared from behind the tree: a gentleman only a few inches taller than the boy. Rose scanned the line of his jaw and the breadth of his chest as he approached. A frisson of fear shuddered through her upon witnessing the stranger. When one knew their quarry, it made negotiation easier.
“Lady Rose, it was good of you to come.” The woman’s voice pierced the tense air. “But then I suppose you had little choice in the matter. Few women understand what it is to love a man, few would be willing to do anything to keep him safe.”
Rose stared at the face beneath the top hat, wracking her mind to think where she’d seen this woman before. With porcelain skin and ebony hair tied back in a queue, she had a childlike quality somewhat similar to Alice. Her eyes were the darkest brown though they appeared as cold, black pools devoid of life.
“I’ve seen you once before but cannot think where.” It wasn’t at The Talbot Inn or Morton Manor. So where?
“Then I am at an advantage.” She gestured to the path leading south towards the river. “Let us take a little walk.”