time the fingers of Kilby’s right hand—the one near the pistol—started drumming. ‘Jig, men abandon women all the time. What makes you—?’
‘Reckon this is different, guv.’ Jig cleared his throat. ‘Seems the wench is ’is daughter.’
Kilby’s fingers stilled. ‘A daughter? He’s kept that very quiet.’
Jig relaxed a little. ‘Yeah. An’ it ain’t hard to see why, neither.’ Remembering the tasty-looking little redhead, he licked his lips.
‘Ah. Pretty, is she?’
‘Ripe as a plum ready for pluckin’,’ Jig assured him. He’d been tempted to do a bit of plucking himself, but he knew better than that. More than his life was worth if the wench turned out to be of interest to Kilby.
‘Hmm.’ Kilby leaned back, frowning. ‘The question will be, has someone plucked the plum already?’
Jig said nothing. For himself he didn’t much care if a wench were already broke to saddle. But an unbroken ride was worth a mint in some quarters.
‘Well, never mind.’ Kilby said. ‘Since Hensleigh has a saleable asset I’ll get back the money he bilked me of with the Moresby boy’s vowels. You can go now, Jig.’
Jig hesitated. The rest of his information might not be so welcome, but information was information. Kilby liked to know everything. ‘Got a bit more, guv.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a gent sniffin’ around.’
Kilby sat up slowly. ‘Sniffing where? Not here?’
‘Nah.’ Jig shook his head. ‘Heard him askin’ around about Hensleigh. That’s how I tracked Hensleigh.’
‘After the girl?’
Jig scowled. ‘Could be. But he found out Hensleigh mighta gone to Bath.’
Kilby raised his brows and Jig expanded. ‘The gent asked some lads. Got told Hensleigh’d been down the Bolt. So I follered ’im and sure enough ’e goes down there an’ starts askin’ round. Seems Hensleigh or a bloke like ’im took a ticket for Bath.’
Kilby let out a breath. ‘The odds are high Hensleigh owes him money, too.’ He considered. ‘Or he might just be after the girl.’
‘Might be both,’ offered Jig.
Kilby nodded. ‘Yes. He might have come looking for his money and now be wondering if he should just take his winnings out of the girl’s hide.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Check at the Cockpit who Hensleigh lost to recently. And watch his lodgings. If the same gentleman shows up again, find out where he lives, or get a name.’
‘Aye, guv.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Asked about you, he did.’
Kilby’s hands clenched to fists. ‘Did he now?’ His voice was very soft and Jig tensed. ‘Did he get an answer?’
Jig shook his head. ‘Nah. No one said nothin’.’
Kilby nodded. ‘Very wise. Anything else?’
Jig hesitated. This went against the grain, so it did, but he valued his life and folks that held out on Kilby tended to find that their lives ended unexpectedly. ‘The boy—Fitch.’
‘What about Fitch?’
Jig shuffled. ‘Seemin’ly ’e’s hangin’ around the wench, too. Heard one of they lads say as how ’e gives ’er money.’
Kilby’s fist clenched. ‘Is he now? Isn’t that interesting? It might be an idea to keep an eye on him, as well. His earnings have been down recently. Find out why.’
‘Aye, guv.’
‘You’ve done quite well, Jig,’ Kilby said. ‘I’m impressed.’
* * *
It was probably a waste of time to call at Hensleigh’s lodgings again. James told himself that as he strolled along the north side of the Strand the next day. His visit to the Bolt-in-Tun had netted the information that Hensleigh had bought a ticket for Bath. James had discarded the notion of driving down himself. Tracking Hensleigh would take time and might alert him. The last thing he wanted was for the fellow to run altogether.
The man had to return sooner or later to his daughter. But he wouldn’t wager a farthing against Hensleigh finding another bolt hole, so keeping a close eye on said daughter made complete sense.
Lucy.
He lengthened his stride. Her name was no concern of his. Nor was she, or her soft coppery curls, any concern of his. Except that she was damnably inconvenient. She might not be any concern of his, but he couldn’t quite put aside the niggling question of her fate if he brought her father to utter ruin.
Fitch’s real friendly with Lu. Gives ’er money sometimes, ’e does.
He gritted his teeth. It was highly likely that Lucy Hensleigh had already guarded against being tangled in her father’s fate in the form of the friendly Fitch. Not hard to imagine what a man would give her money for.
You could do better for her than the sort of protector she’ll have picked up around here...
He pushed the thought aside. It would be tantamount to blackmail. ‘I’m going to ruin your father. Bed with me and you won’t go down with him.’ Charming, and he was damned if he wanted an unwilling mistress. He doubted Miss Lucy Hensleigh liked him above half, anyway. There was no reason why she should like him and she would like him even less if she uncovered his deception. He didn’t much like himself for having done that.
She’d like you well enough if you were getting her out of the gutter...
As it was...the merry, dancing sweep of a violin scattered his thoughts. He slowed, glanced around and spotted the fiddler on the other side of the narrow street near a corner. And frowned. It was a lad. But the sound of that particular fiddle, and the dancing, jigging tune seemed familiar. He looked more closely at the lad.
A mere stripling, barely breeched from the look of him, he wore an ill-fitting shabby coat and a cap hid his hair. A pale cheek was tucked lovingly against the mellow timber of the instrument as he stroked magic from it. Another cap lay at his feet. As James watched several people tossed in coins. Another, smaller boy hovered nearby.
Dodging between the traffic, James crossed to the south side of the street. He felt in his pocket and found a coin. Not seeming so much as to glance at the fiddler and his companion, James dropped the coin in the cap as he passed.
* * *
Lucy watched Mr Remington go as she continued to play. Her stomach had tied itself in knots. Why, she had no idea. It was no bread and butter of his if she kept herself from starving by playing in the street. Although, since he already owed Papa money, she supposed he might be annoyed if he’d realised whose cap he’d
