"I wish I could," I said. "The young lady died at about half-past four this afternoon, according to the men who found her. Did you see her today?"

"No. I was to meet her later. Tonight." Barbury pressed his hand to his face. "I cannot believe this. This cannot be."

"Where were you, my lord," I asked, "at half-past four?"

He raised his head, eyes filling with rage, but I held my ground. If he’d killed the young woman, I didn’t care whether he were a baron or a boatman.

"I was at my club," he snapped. "How dare you think that I could do this, that I could harm my Peaches." His voice broke.

"I believe I saw you with her once," Grenville said. "A pretty young woman."

"Lovely and sweet as a peach," he said. "Which is why I call her.." Barbury looked up at me, brown eyes filled with tears, an anguished man unused to grappling with this sort of pain. "Who did this to her?"

"That we do not know," Grenville said. "An officer of the Thames River patrol and one of Bow Street are looking into it."

"Bow Street, bah. Trumped up watchmen who do nothing without a large reward dangling over their heads."

"You could offer the reward," Grenville suggested.

"Then they will simply scoop up anyone from the street and push through a conviction."

I didn’t completely disagree with Barbury. Pomeroy was diligent in seeking out his rewards, and he enjoyed arresting people, whether they had anything to do with the crime in question or not.

"Mr. Thompson of the Thames River patrol struck me as being intelligent," I said. "He is interested in the truth."

Lord Barbury waved away Mr. Thompson as well. "You do it, Lacey."

"Pardon?"

Barbury looked at me with a mixture of grief and rage. "I have heard that you run about finding lost girls and discovering murderers. Twitting magistrates is an admirable quality. Besides, at least you're a gentleman."