‘My lord, a person is here from Bow Street,’ Trimble said as she huddled into the corner, her skirts drawn tight around her legs.
‘Never tell me Gregor has got himself arrested?’ Quinn said. His voice had the deep, amused drawl that, she was learning, could hide quite different emotions.
‘I could not say, my lord.’
‘Show him in, then.’
‘My lord.’ The voice was middle-aged, confident, with a pronounced London accent. Lina resisted the temptation to peer through the join in the screen.
‘Have a seat.’ Quinn’s tone was affable but with an undertone that suggested that if this was a wild goose chase he would not appreciate being troubled. ‘What can I do for you—’ there was a rustle of papers ‘—Inchbold?’
‘Is there a young female residing here, my lord?’
‘Several. Six maids—house and kitchen, a brace of laundry maids—then there’s the outside staff—a poultry girl, dairy maid—’
‘I mean a female who can pass herself off as a lady,’ Inchbold said. ‘Mid-twenties, blonde hair, blue eyes. Pretty thing by all accounts—see, my lord, there’s a sketch.’
‘Why, certainly, there’s a resemblance to the young lady who resides here with me, I suppose,’ Quinn acknowledged readily, after a moment when he must have been studying the picture. Lina bit on her clenched fist to stifle her gasp of alarm. He was going to betray her. She was trapped in this tight corner… ‘But why do you ask?’
‘This female is wanted for a capital crime, my lord. The theft of the Tolhurst Sapphire from the just-dead body of Sir Humphrey himself. For all we know, she murdered him, too, although it looks like a seizure. The theft alone is a hanging matter, my lord.’
‘Good God.’ In the silence that followed Quinn’s exclamation, Lina thought the men would hear her heart thudding. She clenched her fingers around the edge of the table she was pressed against in an effort not to slump to the floor in a faint. Through the buzzing in her ears she heard Quinn say, ‘That is serious indeed. You may be assured of my total co-operation, Inchbold.’
Chapter Eleven
Quinn was going to betray her, give her up. She would not weep, she would not struggle, Lina resolved, an awful calm beginning to descend. If nothing else, she could behave with dignity and courage. If they thought her passive, there might be a ghost of a chance of escape later. But the pain of Quinn’s reaction cut like a knife.
‘This female’s name?’ Quinn asked.
‘Celina Shelley, my lord.’
‘Ah, it would seem we have a discrepancy. The young woman living here is Celina Haddon.’
‘False name, my lord,’ the Runner said confidently. ‘You’ll find they’ll do that—change one name, but keep another. Classy bit of stuff, for all that she’s a thief and a whore. Comes from one of the better houses of ill repute, place called The Blue Door near St James’s Palace.’
There was a silence before Quinn said, ‘When and where did the theft take place?’
‘In London, my lord. Sir Humphrey’s house in broad daylight, it was. March fifth of this year.’
‘Unless you can explain to me how a woman might be in two places at once, with the English Channel intervening, then you have the wrong Celina, Inchbold. I’ll agree they are both of the muslin company, but the cunning little madam in my keeping was warming my bed in Calais for most of the fourth of that month.’
‘The information we have is that the young woman here arrived at Dreycott Park alone on the stage, my lord.’
‘That’s right.’ Lina opened her eyes and found she could breathe again. Whatever Quinn was doing, he was not handing her over—at least, not yet. ‘I had urgent business in Calais, but I knew my great-uncle was not in good health, so I sent her on ahead. The little wretch spent the money I gave her for a chaise on a new bonnet, hence the stage.’
‘You sent your mistress to your great-uncle’s home, my lord?’
‘He was not well and I knew she would cheer him up,’ Quinn said laconically. ‘Unfortunately, I had no idea he was as ill as he was and in the event I did not arrive until almost seven weeks later, by which time he had died. I had to go back to Paris from Calais, which delayed me.’
‘She’s got papers to prove who she is, I suppose, my lord?’ Inchbold asked.
‘Shouldn’t think so for a moment.’ Quinn sounded as though he was shrugging. ‘Women like that don’t. No passport, that’s for sure. I put her on a fishing boat belonging to some acquaintances of mine. Why? Are you doubting my word, Inchbold? Or do you think I can’t recognise a woman I’ve been enjoying for weeks?’ The amusement had gone from his voice now to be replaced by the cool anger of a gentleman whose statement was being questioned by a menial.
‘No, no, of course not, my lord. If you say this female was with you—’
‘I said she was travelling from France that day,’ Quinn corrected sharply. ‘It might just be possible she was involved if this event took place in the small hours of the next morning.’
‘Quite, my lord.’ The man was sounding rattled now. ‘No, it was late afternoon. Can I speak to the young woman? For my superiors’ satisfaction, you understand.’