She was so convincing that he almost forgot she was pretending. She put a hand on his thigh, close to his crotch. He told himself not to enjoy this too much: he was supposed to be playacting. He wished he had not drunk so much. He might need his wits about him.

Her brandy came and she drank it in a gulp. “Come on, big boy,” she said. “We’d better get some air before you burst out of those breeches.”

Jay realized he had a visible erection, and he blushed.

Cora stood up and headed for the door, and Jay followed.

When they were outside she put her arm around his waist and led him along the colonnaded sidewalk of the Covent Garden piazza. He draped an arm over her shoulder, then worked his hand into the bosom of her dress and played with her nipple. She giggled and turned into an alley.

They embraced and kissed, and he squeezed both her breasts. He forgot all about Lennox and the plot: Cora was warm and willing and he wanted her. Her hands were all over him, undoing his waistcoat, rubbing his chest, and diving into his breeches. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and tried to lift her skirts up at the same time. He felt cold air on his belly.

From behind him there came a childish scream. Cora gave a start and pushed Jay away. She looked over his shoulder then turned as if to run, but Chip Marlborough appeared and grabbed her before she took the first step.

Jay turned around and saw Lennox struggling to keep hold of a screaming, scratching, wriggling child. As they struggled the child dropped several objects. In the starlight Jay recognized his own wallet and pocket watch, silk handkerchief and silver seal. She had been picking his pockets while he was kissing Cora. Even though he was expecting it he had felt nothing. But he had entered very fully into the part he was playing.

The child stopped struggling and Lennox said: “We’re taking you two before a magistrate. Picking pockets is a hanging offense.”

Jay looked around, half expecting Cora’s friends to come rushing to her defense; but no one had seen the scuffle in the alley.

Chip glanced at Jay’s crotch and said: “You can put your weapon away, Captain Jamisson—the battle is over.”

Most wealthy and powerful men were magistrates and Sir George Jamisson was no exception. Although he never held open court, he had the right to try cases at home. He could order offenders to be flogged, branded or imprisoned, and he had the power to commit more serious offenders to the Old Bailey for trial.

He was expecting Jay, so he had not gone to bed, but all the same he was irritable at having been kept up so late. “I expected you around ten o’clock,” he said grumpily when they all trooped into the drawing room of the Grosvenor Square house.

Cora, dragged in by Chip Marlborough with her hands tied, said: “So you were expecting us! This was all planned—you evil pigs.”

Sir George said: “Shut your mouth or I’ll have you flogged around the square before we begin.”

Cora seemed to believe him, for she said no more.

He drew paper toward him and dipped a pen in an inkwell. “Jay Jamisson, Esquire, is the prosecutor. He complains that his pocket was picked by …”

Lennox said: “She’s called Quick Peg, sir.”

“I can’t write that down,” Sir George snapped. “What is your real name, child?”

“Peggy Knapp, sir.”

“And the woman’s name?”

“Cora Higgins,” said Cora.

“Pocket picked, by Peggy Knapp, accomplice Cora Higgins. The crime witnessed by …”

“Sidney Lennox, keeper of the Sun tavern in Wapping.”

“And Captain Marlborough?”

Chip raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’d rather not get involved, if Mr. Lennox’s evidence will suffice.”

“It surely will, Captain,” said Sir George. He was always polite to Chip because he owed Chip’s father money. “Very good of you to assist in the apprehension of these thieves. Now, have the accused anything to say?”

Cora said: “I’m not her accomplice—I’ve never seen her before in my life.” Peg gasped and stared at Cora in disbelief, but Cora carried on. “I went for a walk with a handsome young man, that’s all. I never knew she was picking his pockets.”

Lennox said: “The two are known associates, Sir George—I’ve seen them together many times.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Sir George said. “You are both committed to Newgate Prison on charges of pick-pocketing.”

Peg began to cry. Cora was white with fear. “Why are you all doing this?” she said. She pointed an accusing finger at Jay. “You were waiting for me in Archer’s.” She pointed at Lennox. “You followed us out. And you, Sir George Jamisson, stayed up late, when you should be in bed, to commit us. What’s the point of it all? What have Peg and me ever done to you?”

Sir George ignored her. “Captain Marlborough, oblige me by taking the woman outside and guarding her for a few moments.” They all waited while Chip led Cora out and closed the door. Then Sir George turned to Peg. “Now, child, what is the punishment for picking pockets—do you know?”

She was pale and trembling. “The sheriff’s collar,” she whispered.

“If you mean hanging, you’re right. But did you know that some people are not hanged, but sent to America instead?”

The child nodded.

“They are people who have influential friends to plead for them, and beg the judge to be merciful. Do you have influential friends?” She shook her head.

“Well, now, what if I tell you that I will be your influential friend and intercede for you?”

She looked up at him, and hope gleamed in her little face.

“But you have to do something for me.”

“What?” she said.

“I will save you from hanging if you tell us where Mack McAsh is living.”

The room was silent for a long moment.

“In the attic over the coal yard in Wapping High Street,” she said, and she burst into tears.

22

MACK WAS SURPRISED TO WAKE UP ALONE.

Cora had never before stayed out until daybreak. He had been living with her for only two weeks and he did not know all her habits, but all the same he was worried.

He got up and followed his usual routine. He spent the morning at St. Luke’s Coffee House, sending messages and receiving reports. He asked everyone if they had seen or heard of Cora, but no one had. He sent someone to the Sun tavern to speak to Quick Peg, but she too had been out all night and had not returned.

In the afternoon he walked to Covent Garden and went around the taverns and coffeehouses, questioning the whores and waiters. Several people had seen Cora last night. A waiter at Lord Archer’s had noticed her leaving with a rich young drunk. After that there was no trace.

He went to Dermot’s lodgings in Spitalfields, hoping for news. Dermot was feeding his children a broth made of bones for their supper. He had been asking after Cora all day and had heard nothing.

Mack walked home in the dark, hoping that when he arrived at Cora’s apartment over the coal yard she would be there, lying on the bed in her underwear, waiting for him. But the place was cold and dark and empty.

He lit a candle and sat brooding. Outside on Wapping High Street the taverns were filling up. Although the coal heavers were on strike they still found money for beer. Mack would have liked to join them, but for safety he did not show his face in the taverns at night.

He ate some bread and cheese and read a book Gordonson had loaned him, a novel called Tristram Shandy, but he could not concentrate. Late in the evening, when he was beginning to wonder if Cora was dead, there was a commotion in the street outside.

He heard men shouting and the noise of running feet and what sounded like several horses and carts. Fearing that the coal heavers might start some kind of fracas he went to the window.