Helen did, and she could not keep the shock from stiffening her face. Kate Holt was a bawd and kept a brothel. Dear God, was Lowry hiding the journal in a house of ill repute? How could she go into such a place?
Martha viewed an incoming wave with narrowed eyes. ‘Hold tight,’ she advised, then jumped, pulling Helen above its crest with practised ease. They landed back on the sand, one side of Helen’s gown puffing up around her.
‘Brighton’s got more whores and bawdy-houses than you can shake a stick at, what with the Army nearby,’ Martha continued. ‘And when you Quality folk come to town, even more open their doors. Kate Holt’s house does for those men who want a flogging or a bit of throat-squeezing. I’ve heard tell too that she has rooms for those who like the boys, and that the Duke of Cumberland has even visited.’ She regarded Helen with a shrewd look in her dark, triangular eyes. ‘Understand what I’m saying?’
Helen nodded. It was rumoured that the Duke of Cumberland, the Prince Regent’s younger brother, had killed his Italian servant two years ago after the man had discovered him fornicating with his valet. An inquiry had found that the Italian had committed suicide, but many believed the man had been silenced.
Helen could feel the blush heating her face and willed herself not to look away. ‘Where is this place?’
‘In the Old Town. Do you know the Quakers’ Meeting House on Ship Street?’
‘Yes, I have seen it.’
‘Kate Holt’s is down the next lane, Union Street. At front it’s a coffee-house, but the real business is done out the back.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Kate’s no saint, that’s for sure, but she ain’t the worse of them. She’s got a son with a vestige in him — almost insane now, poor child — but she stands by him and won’t put him in the madhouse.’
Helen stared at Martha. ‘Her son is an offspring?’
‘Aye. Not by her husband, Holt, mind you, but from one of her culls when she was whoring. When you London folk come down, so do the Deceivers. Kate’s brother and Benchley tried to reclaim him a year back, but it didn’t work. That’s how I know your man Lowry is really Bart MacEvoy. Benchley told Kate that her son is one of them Unreclaimables. He was going to put the boy out of his misery, but MacEvoy — or should I say Lowry — wouldn’t let him do it.’
Helen frowned. As an Unreclaimable, Kate Holt’s son came under the most troubling mandate of the Reclaimer oath: To reclaim them back to humanity when possible, and when it is not, to save them from a life of torment.
‘Are you and his lordship going to try to reclaim him again, my lady?’ Martha asked.
It was no doubt their duty, but she could not tell his lordship about the boy. It would mean telling him about Lowry’s sister, and by that leading him to the journal. And if the boy was Unreclaimable, she did not want to be faced with the task of killing him.
‘At present, all of our attention is on finding Lowry,’ she said. ‘Do you know if he has visited his sister recently?’
‘Not that I know of, but I know a girl in Kate Holt’s house, Binny — she’ll keep a lookout if I ask. She wants to get out of whoring and learn how to dip. I’ll give her the chance if she gives us the nod and keeps mum. My boys will hunt up information too.’
‘If he is found, could you send word to me immediately?’
‘Of course, my lady.’
Helen had a sudden opportunistic thought. ‘There is another man I am seeking too. His name is Philip. He used to be my footman. A tall, handsome fellow, over six foot, with red hair and freckles. Wears a grey beaver. Can your boys look out for him too?’
Martha nodded. ‘Six foot, red hair, grey beaver.’
Helen tightened her grip on the dipper’s forearm, remembering to moderate her strength; she did not want to break the old woman’s bones. ‘If you find either man, send word to me only. Any time of the day or night. It is of the utmost importance. I am at 20 German Place.’
‘Yes, my lady. You have my word.’
Helen had the feeling that Martha Gunn’s word was inviolate. ‘Thank you.’ At least she and Hammond now had a way forward: an address where the journal might be hidden. And if Philip was located, possibly a way to retrieve the Colligat.
For a few moments, she and the dipper were silent, the sea rocking them on their feet. Helen squinted into the endless horizon, the warm blue of the sky meeting the cold navy of the water in a long hazy strip of light.
‘It looks like it goes on forever,’ she said.
‘She’s a beautiful thing, the sea,’ Martha said. ‘But a right bitch too, if you be forgiving me language. Me mam always said, “Never turn yer back on the sea, and remember what’s hidden beneath her is always more deadly than what’s in plain sight.”’
Helen looked down into the dark water. ‘Like the Deceivers.’
‘Like the Deceivers,’ Martha Gunn agreed. ‘And like people too.’
Chapter Twelve
Lady Dunwick’s rout was set to start at nine o’clock, and by that time clouds had rolled over the sky, threatening the balmy evening. The original plan had been for the four of them to walk to the gathering in Marlborough Place — Lord Carlston was making his own way there — but Lady Margaret decided to bring the town coach around in case of rain. Nankeen boots were quickly untied and replaced by satin dancing slippers, the matching satin pochettes abandoned. There was no need for such protections when they were to be delivered to the Dunwicks’ front door by carriage.
On the way out of the house, Helen managed to hang back with Mr Hammond in the foyer. It was the first time she had been alone with him since she had spoken to Martha Gunn.
‘Lowry has a sister,’ she whispered, pretending to fuss with her gold silk shawl. ‘A harlot who has a bawdy-house in the Old Town Lanes.’
Mr Hammond’s brows lifted. ‘A bawdy-house?’ He considered the news. ‘A clever place to find refuge.’
Helen nodded. ‘I have told Martha Gunn to send word to me if Lowry is seen thereabouts. She knows a girl inside the house.’
‘Michael!’ Lady Margaret called from the steps outside. ‘Where are you? Where is Lady Helen? You hold us up.’
‘I shall be there directly,’ he called, turning back to Helen with a frown. ‘Do we wait for that message, or should I go in and search?’
Helen felt a moment of raw relief; he did not expect her to go into such a vile place.
‘I doubt that he would leave it there. Even if he did, we would not know where to look. I think we must wait until he makes an appearance.’
‘I agree. We do not want to tip him off too soon.’
‘For goodness’ sake, hurry up,’ Lady Margaret said, peering in the doorway. ‘The sooner we go to this awful affair, the sooner we may return.’