See paragraph 1. "But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "Her husband!" echoed Jonathan scornfully. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. "I'll gibbet the rascal. His heir is dead, yes, and his name and title available to me. He divided London into districts; appointed a gang to each district; and a leader to each gang, whom he held responsible to himself. . Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. Knew something was up. “Did you see who that was?” he asked in a low tone. He's the only native I trust in these parts.
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