Free Damsel in Distress by Joan Smith

in his life before, except as spectator sports. “Who is she? It must be a lady who has driven you to this extremity.”
    No effort was too great when Newt was on the scent of a new love. He had once studied the piano for six months to woo a musically inclined lady. Another time he had turned Methodist, and given up dancing and music entirely. The object of his affection on that occasion had abandoned her strict religion and run off with a caper merchant.
    “Ain’t a lady. It’s a gentleman,” he said.
    “Ah, and whom are you emulating this time? Lord Byron, is it? I hear he takes lessons of Gentleman Jackson.”
    “I don’t think it’s Byron. He don’t drag his foot, the fellow I am talking about. Sets a lively pace.”
    “Don’t you know his name?”
    “No, nor his face. I just know he is always there, a few paces behind me, dogging my footsteps like a dashed shadow. If he turns rusty, I must be ready to defend myself.”
    Eliciting hard facts from Newt was never easy. “Tell me all about him,” she urged.
    “I first spotted him last night. Did you happen to notice the carriage following us?”
    “No, I didn’t. When did it start?”
    “I figure he must have followed us from the Pantheon. I first caught a sight of him lurking at the corner when I came out of your place after bringing you home. Hadn’t noticed him before that, but he must have followed me there. He ran to his rig and followed me to the Albany. Then when I went out this morning, there he was, tailing me again. Drives a plain black carriage. I noticed him as I rounded the bend to your street. Daresay he was behind me all the while, only the traffic was so thick, I could not spot him. Followed me here.”
    “Who can he be?” Caroline dashed to the window.
    “Wasting your time,” Newt informed her. “He waits around the corner. Take a peek when I leave. You’ll see he’s not a block behind me. Pair of bays, one with white stockings on her forelegs. ”
    “That is very odd. What do you think hewants with you?”
    “No idea. I ain’t in dun territory. Haven’t insulted anyone that I know of. I figure it must be to do with Lady Helen. Mean to say, it all started at the Pantheon.”
    “Let us go out, tout de suite, and see if he follows us.”
    “That is just what I have been saying to you. The touter the better. Get your wrapper and let us go.”
    Of course, he had not said anything of the sort, but no doubt he had been trying to say it. Caroline got her bonnet and pelisse and they went out to Newton’s waiting carriage. Before they turned the first corner, the plain black carriage, pulled by a pair of bays, rounded the bend and followed them. For an hour they led it a merry chase, first north to Oxford Street, where the traffic was not too heavy, then to High Holborn, south along Drury Lane to the Strand and on to the Mall. At St. James’s Park they alit and walked, to allow them a look at the man in the carriage.
    He was as anonymous as his vehicle: a man of middle size and middle years, neither old nor young, wearing a blue jacket and tan trousers. He was a gentleman, or at least dressed like one. Caroline was all for accosting him and demanding why he was following them.
    Newton said, “He’ll not tell us anything. Best to play dumb, let on we don’t know he is there. Sooner or later I ’ ll find the opportunity to get away from him. I plan to follow him and see where he goes. Might be a clue.”
    “I suppose you are right. How can we lose him?”
    “I shall go back to Manton’s, ask Joe to let me slip out the back door, and have a hired hansom waiting. I ’ ll let you know what I find out this evening. Are we still on for Covent Garden?”
    “Yes, it is all arranged. Georgie wants to use my carriage to pick up her friends, so I shall go in yours, if that’s all right?”
    “Right. I ’ ll take you home now.”
    She watched from her saloon window when Newton left but did not see the carriage follow him.
    Caro