Matt gave her the coin and thanked her. I lifted my skirts and flicked off the mud clinging to the hem before climbing back into the carriage. Matt gave instructions to the coachman and joined me.
A few minutes later we walked through the arched entrance beneath the warehouses of Christy's hat factory on Bermondsey Street. It was like stepping into a noisy, bustling village. An enormous engine hissed and whirred at the end of a long avenue, its chimney adding more filth to the miasma smothering this part of the city. Workers wheeled carts laden with crates and boxes between buildings, and a man shouted orders over the rhythmic clack clack of machinery. I expected the stench of the leather and tanning factories to be overpowered by more pleasant smells but if anything, they seemed stronger here, and I asked Matt why that would be.
"The furs for the hats have to be removed from the carcasses," he said. "They must do it on the premises." He shot me a worried look. "Do you want to return to the carriage?"
"It won't help. That smell is in my clothes and hair now."
He placed a hand at my lower back. "This won't take long."
He stopped a man carrying a clipboard and asked if he knew of a supervisor named Pilcher. He did not but directed us to the clerks' office. The sounds of the machines were louder inside the office and Matt had to raise his voice to speak to the bespectacled man behind the desk.
"I'm looking for a fellow named Pilcher. I was sent here by his old neighbor who told me he was a supervisor on the factory floor. Do you know him?"
The clerk frowned a moment then his forehead cleared. "I recall the fellow. He left some years back."
My heart plunged, although I'd prepared myself for this outcome. At least leaving voluntarily was better than being dead.
"He didn't last long after he got promoted," the clerk added. "He used to work as a machinist in the silk-hat room, then as supervisor. He was an excellent employee, so we moved him to the japanned hats department, with a view to training him in all areas of the business so that he might rise through the company. But he didn't take to it, or to beaver hatting either. We tried him in other departments too—shellac, wool carding and blowing, among others—but he never did show the intuition we saw on the silk hat floor."
"Why not move him back there?" I asked.
"He resigned before we could."
"Do you know where he works now?" Matt asked.
The clerk shrugged. "I don't recall."
"What about his mother, Abigail Pilcher? She used to do piece-work for Christy's from her home."
"I don't remember all the piece-workers. They come and go."
"Apparently she was very good and got her son the job here."
"Mr. Danver is in charge of the piece-workers." The clerk called out to one of the other clerks passing by and asked him if he knew Abigail Pilcher.
"She hasn't worked for us in years," Mr. Danver said. "Pity. She was fast and did good, clean work."
We thanked the clerks and returned to our carriage. Matt gave the orders to drive us to St. Mary's church in Chelsea. He sat opposite me and tipped his head back before closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.
"We'll find them," I told him.
"Does it really matter if we don't? She may know nothing about the disappearances. Her leaving the convent at that time could be a coincidence."
"You don't believe in coincidences."
He cracked open his eyelids and smirked. "Did I say that?" He folded his arms and closed his eyes again. "This does seem rather a large coincidence and less likely."
"We will find her," I said again. "But at least we know where to find the priest."
He didn't answer me and I remained quiet for the journey back across the river so he could rest. It was not a long drive, however, and we arrived at the church in good time. It was near the convent but far enough away that we would not be seen by any nuns who happened to be peering out of windows.
Father Antonio wasn't in the church or at home in the rectory, and his housekeeper didn't know when he would return. We left a message saying we needed to speak with him, but I doubted he would go out of his way to contact us. The nuns had probably already informed him of our impertinent questions.
We didn't discuss this delay but I could tell it weighed on Matt's mind as it weighed on mine. He was not his cheerful self and went straight to his rooms to retire upon arriving home. I was glad I didn't have to order him to rest and bear the brunt of his frustrations.
I found Miss Glass and Willie in the sitting room, talking quietly and, of all things, knitting. Well, Miss Glass was knitting while Willie tried to untangle a ball of white wool.
"If she was here, she'd be warning you too," Miss Glass said.
They both looked up as I entered.
"You tell her, India," Miss Glass added. "Tell Willie that her own mother would be warning her to be careful of strange men."
"My ma wouldn't care." Willie gave me a sad smile. "We were just talking about our lovers, India, and how they don't always turn out to be what they promise."
"That's certainly a conversation I can contribute to," I said wryly. "Indeed, I'm quite the case study."
"Eddie Hardacre were just one," Willie said. "I've had more disappointments than I can count." She glanced at the door as if expecting Duke to be there, ready with a sarcastic comment.
I gave her a sympathetic look. "Has your current fellow turned out to be a disappointment?"
"I ain't never said I got me a fellow."
"We're not blind, Willie."
"You sure about that? Anyway, Letty were just about to tell me about her lover."
"I was not." Miss Glass clicked her tongue as she dropped a stitch. "You're not holding the wool properly, Willemina."
"Go on, Letty. Tell us about him." Willie leaned in and whispered, "Your secret'll be safe with us girls, eh, India? We won't tell a soul, cross our hearts." She crossed her heart, earning a scowl from Miss Glass for jerking the wool.
"Do tell us," I pressed, unable to help myself. I got the feeling a gentle nudge would get her to divulge the story.
"Go on, out with it," Willie said. "We young ladies need your guidance, Letty. Without it, gosh, we'll be prey for all manner of bad men. Look at what happened to India."
Miss Glass set down her needles in her lap and took the wool from Willie. "It's more of a tale about my former friend, Penelope, and how she…" She lowered her head, but her back remained ramrod straight. "She's the worst kind of woman. A wart on humanity."
Willie blinked at her, suddenly serious. "She hurt you, didn't she?"
"She reminds me of Lady Buckland," Miss Glass went on. Lady Buckland had been Dr. Millroy's lover and the mother of his child, Phineas. Even in old age, she seemed rather lecherous toward her young footman.
"A mistress?" I asked.
"A husband stealer."
Willie and I exchanged glances. Miss Glass had never married, but perhaps she'd come close and Penelope had lured her intended away. If he could be lured then she was better off without him.
She put her knitting in the basket at her feet. "I'm going to dress for dinner. You two should as well."