Page 58 of Who Will Remember (Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery #20)
“Y ou need to tell me where I can find Angélique,” said Sebastian, leaning over the crude table where Father Ambrose sat with his hands folded together before him, the features of his face composed in a calm, untroubled expression. “Now.”
They were in a cold, dank room deep in the bowels of Newgate Prison, with a single torch flickering on the wall and a turnkey with his arms crossed at his brawny chest waiting outside. The past twenty-four hours had taken a toll on the aged French priest. His clothes were torn, his lip split, his swollen left eye a deep purple. But his dignity and strength of purpose remained undiminished, and for a moment Sebastian didn’t think the old man was going to answer him.
Then Father Ambrose sucked in a deep, ragged breath and said, “You truly believe she is in danger?”
“She is. But even if she weren’t, do you seriously think I would betray her?”
The priest swiped a hand down over his tangled beard but remained silent.
“She’s Sister Anne Marie, isn’t she?”
Father Ambrose stared at him. “How did you know?”
“That doesn’t matter now. What I don’t understand is how she fits into all of this.”
“Lord Preston hated her.”
“Why? How did he even know about her?”
“He didn’t, exactly. He hated Sister Anne Marie because of the work she does here now, helping poor women and children, but he didn’t realize she’s Angélique. That night—the night he was killed—she had Bridget with her. Bridget and Jamie, both. They were walking down Glasshouse Street when Farnsworth passed on his way to his rooms in Saville Street, and he saw them.”
“He recognized Bridget?”
“He did, yes. He shouted at his hackney driver to pull up, then got out and came after them. He told Sister Anne Marie she was the devil’s handmaiden, and then he grabbed Bridget’s arm and started to drag her back toward his carriage. That’s why Jamie kicked him. Bridget managed to pull away and run, so Farnsworth turned on Jamie.”
“And chased the boy up Swallow Street?”
“Yes.”
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t. The secrets were not mine to reveal.”
Sebastian blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Tell me where I can find her. Now. Don’t you understand? It could already be too late.”
The priest drew a deep breath, then said, “She has a room in the house just to the north of the Catholic chapel.”
“You mean the one behind Golden Square?”
“Yes.”
The Catholic Bishop of London occupied two adjoining houses on Golden Square and had, at some point in recent years, built a small chapel in the houses’ backyard so that it faced onto Warwick Street. There had been a time not so long ago when the British monarchy had subjected Catholic priests and nuns to hideous tortures and executions. But with the coming of the French Revolution, the British government found itself allied with the Catholics of France against the dangerous forces of republicanism and modernity. A Roman Catholic Relief Act was passed in 1791, repealing the penal laws that prohibited the saying of Mass and relaxing some of the strictures against Catholic priests and nuns, many of whom found refuge from the Revolution in the houses around Golden Square.
Rapping at the door of the rooming house to the north of the chapel, Sebastian waited impatiently. Then he pounded harder. And harder. He’d about decided no one was going to answer when the door opened and a woman’s head appeared around the panels. “Bonsoir, monsieur. Puis-je vous aider?”
“Bonsoir,” said Sebastian with a bow. “I’m looking for Sister Anne Marie.”
The woman smiled and opened the door wider. Average in height, she was what the French call d’un certain age , her hair just beginning to be touched by gray and her waist to thicken. “ Je suis désolée, monsieur , but she is not here. She left a short while ago.”
“Do you have any idea where she went?”
“Oh, oui, monsieur. A woman came, you see, asking for her help. It seems some tiny orphan has taken to hiding in the ruins of an old palace on the other side of the river. A girl, not much more than five or six, who speaks only French. The woman was hoping Sister could coax the child to come out so that they can help her.”
“Thank you,” said Sebastian. He was turning away when he felt a sudden frisson of alarm and stopped. “This woman—what did she look like?”
“She was about my age, monsieur, but tall and thin. Quite tall, with blond hair and—”
But Sebastian was already running for his curricle.