Well, she wasn’t going to give up. She marched back to the hackney and said loudly, “Bow Street police station!”
Would the attitude at Bow Street be any better? Did she really not look respectable enough? Even at this time of night?
And then she realized that no, she didn’t. She should have had a husband with her, or at least a male escort. And failing either of those, a maid or female companion. She should have taken the time to fetch Janey or one of the footmen at her establishment, for now she had lost time she could little afford. With no idea how long it would be before Drayman made his appearance at the Crown and Anchor, she wanted to drive the horses forward herself. They seemed maddeningly slow.
Arriving at Bow Street, she found something of a party on the police station steps. The entranceway was blocked by a crowd of expensive young man, all drunk as lords. They may even havebeenlords, for all Constance knew or cared. She just acknowledged with a freshly sinking heart that the harassedpolice constable trying to deal with them would not have time for her, and neither would any of his colleagues inside, who were no doubt gathering to arrest the crowd on the steps.
But she had to try.
“Wait, please,” she ordered the hackney, and sailed up the steps wishing she had an umbrella to lay about her with. Panic was beginning to set in, because the plan that had seemed so simple in Solomon’s house was falling apart because of her, and Solomon would be abandoned in danger alone.
“Excuse me!” she bellowed. And rather to her surprise, the crowd of men parted for her, although the noise did not recede much.
“Mrs. Silver!” called someone in great delight. “Have you come for the party?”
It was Lord Rawleigh, an amiable if hedonistic young peer and occasional visitor to her establishment.
“Not at a party, Rawl,” his nearest companion informed him, as they both bowed to Constance with unimpaired grace and offered her their flasks. “At Bow Street.”
Rawleigh frowned, looking about him in surprise. “What the devil are we doing at Bow Street?”
“Arrested, old fellow. Or at least Pinster was, and we objected, so the constable had to take us all.”
For a moment, they all regarded the hapless constable in the midst of this sea of good-natured but utterly castaway young gentlemen. He had a firm hold of his prisoner—presumably Mr. Pinster—by the arm, but whenever he tried to move forward, Pinster’s companions surged too and everything came to a halt. The poor policeman, red-faced in the lamplight, was clearly wishing he had never begun the procedure.
Constance, having politely declined the proffered flasks, was beginning to move past Lord Rawleigh when a somewhatoutrageous idea began to form. “Why are the other policemen not coming out to haul you all inside?” she asked.
“Expect they’re all busy,” Rawleigh said wisely. “Good thing, if you ask me.”
Busy, Constance thought, and reluctant to embroil themselves with the well-connected drunks who might damage their careers.
Rawleigh offered her his arm. “Escort you to the door, ma’am!”
Constance laid her hand on his arm and assessed her prospective army. Swigging from flasks and bottles, they sat on steps and milled around, mingling and calling to each other. A few were singing a bawdy song. Two on the steps were playing cards. Two more were climbing dangerously onto the shoulders of their companions with the apparent intention of racing, to the accompanying cheers of those nearest.
“Dashed rowdy party when there’s ladies present,” Rawleigh said with disapproval. “Lady Davenham shouldn’t allow it.”
“Goodness, you’re well oiled,” said his friend. “Best let me escort the lady.”
Rawleigh grinned. “Not at Lady Davenham’s!” he said triumphantly. “At Bow Street!” He peered at Constance. “Do you really want to be at Bow Street?”
“Actually, no,” Constance said, making her decision. “I want to be at the Crown and Anchor.”
“Doesn’t sound the sort of place for a lady.”
Constance smiled. “Not quite a lady, though, am I? All the same, I would appreciate the escort.”
Rawleigh scratched his head. His friend looked thoughtful. One of the would-be racers fell off his friend’s back, to roars of laughter. The constable made another effort to take his prisoner inside, and again found his path blocked.
“Can we go if we’re arrested, Sammy?” Rawleigh asked his friend.
“We could come back again.”
“Good idea.” Rawleigh offered his flask to Constance.
This time she took it and replaced the stopper. “I think a large escort would be safest, since a friend is in trouble. In fact, the constable should be with us, too.” For if he was, the police inside the station would surely be forced to follow.
“Of course it would!” Sammy said, and filled his lungs.
