He could imagine the thrill Prudence felt at putting the sparkle back in those eyes, of bringing a smile to the hard, pinched mouth, of bringing warmth to a heart that had been deadened by a cold, uncaring world.
Prudence had sworn to help these girls. But now, he needed their help to protect her.
He neared their group, and noticed their conversation suddenly come to a halt. Two of them turned toward him, pasting on smiles that didn’t come close to reaching their eyes. The other one remained expressionless, staring at the ground.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Mornin’, Guvna,” the tallest one said. Her friend nodded and echoed the same. The third one remained silent, though the tall one poked her arm. “Say hallo to the nice gentleman, Minnie.”
Still, the girl remained silent, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around her.
The tall one snorted in disgust. “Don’t mind ’er, milord. She don’t say much.”
“Not at all, ladies,” Alfred said, inclining his head. Here he was, trying to pour on the charm for a trio of streetwalkers. The absurdity of it made him want to chuckle, if not for the grave purpose behind his mission. “I wonder if I may engage you ladies, for a few moments of your time.”
The tall one smiled, like a cat spotting its prey. “’Course, sir,” she replied. “Would ye like all three of us at once, then? Or one after the other? Though Minnie ’ere don’t look like much now, she can warm yer bed as well as any ’ore in London. Can’t ye, Minnie?” She gave the girl a shake, but there was no response.
Alfred cleared his throat. “I had something entirely different in mind.”
The tall woman looked skeptical, but clearly didn’t want to lose a customer. “’Ow different?”
“Actually, I would simply like to talk with you,” he explained.
“Talk? Oh, ye want some dirty stories, ye mean?”
“Sadly, no,” he replied. “I simply have a few questions I should like to ask you. And I would be quite willing to pay your usual rates for a few moments of your precious time, Miss…?”
“Jones—Hildie Jones.”
“And I’m Bess Flannery, Guv,” the other one said.
“What kind o’ questions did ye ’ave in mind?” Hildie asked. “’Cuz ye know, we charge extra fer talkin’. Don’t we, girls?”
“Yeah—we charge extra!” Bess said enthusiastically.
Alfred nodded. “Of course. An extra charge would be expected for something of this sort. Quite understandable. I would be happy to pay your fee, Miss Jones. What is it?” He reached inside his breast pocket for his for his bill-fold.
Miss Jones looked slightly unprepared to give an exact number. “Uh, well with the three of us, it would be…twenty pounds.” She seemed pleased with herself for coming up with such an astronomical sum.
“Twenty pounds it is.” Alfred took the notes from his wallet and handed them to her.
“Uh…. plus five pounds,” she added hastily, as if this would really put it over the top.
“Twenty-five pounds altogether then. Agreed?” He retrieved a five-pound note and handed that to her as well. She stared at the money as if it were a thousand pounds, and to these girls, it probably was.
“Agreed.” She stuffed the notes into the low bodice of her threadbare dress.
It had started to drizzle. He motioned for his waiting carriage to come alongside, and ushered the women inside. Along with keeping them dry, it would also keep the girls safe from prying eyes. They might be more inclined to talk within the safety of a coach. And it was probably quite common for their normal services to be engaged thus and carried out along the side of the road.
Alfred closed the door. “I thought we might have more privacy in here, ladies, as well as keeping us out of the rain.”
“Very kind of ye,” Hildie said. “Now, what d’ye want to talk about, Guv?”
“I wonder if you might be acquainted with a friend of mine. Miss Prudence Atwater?”
At Prudence’s name, Hildie and Bess exchanged glances, but said nothing.
Alfred continued. “Miss Atwater runs a school for young ladies, and sometimes comes down here in an effort to recruit new students. She often dresses in the same style as you, to more easily blend in.”
“I know who ye mean. We ’aven’t seen ’er,” Hildie said firmly.
“I know, you probably haven’t seen her lately,” Alfred replied. “Unfortunately, her school recently burnt to the ground, and she and her students have been staying at my residence in Mayfair until we can find a new home for the school.”
“Yeah? What’s that got to do with us?” Hildie demanded. “We don’t know nothin’ about no fire.”
“I’m not insinuating that you do, dear lady,” he said. “Not at all. But I am gravely concerned for Miss Atwater’s welfare. I have reason to believe the fire was deliberately set, and that her life, and the lives of her students could be in jeopardy. Miss Atwater has committed herself to this cause, of offering an education to girls like yourselves, who may not have the opportunities that other young women do. Because of her dedication to helping others, her life is in danger.”
He leaned forward, saying, “I’m asking for your help with some information. That is all. It will be strictly confidential, I assure you. I would not want to put any of you in danger for having talked to me, certainly not. And all of you would be welcome to come back with me and join the school directly, if you so choose.”
Hildie and Bess exchanged looks.
“I don’t know, Guvna,” Hildie said. “Could get us in some lot o’ trouble.”
“I understand,” he replied. “And I would not want you to compromise your own safety in any way. But I am simply trying to protect Miss Atwater’s safety and the safety of her students by getting to the bottom of these threats.”
The girls regarded each other uncertainly.
Alfred continued, “I think that whoever is trying to harm Miss Atwater may be connected to this business in some way. She would do anything for you girls, anything at all to help you. I only ask that you might do the same for her.”
Hildie and Bess looked even more uncomfortable.
“The man did pay us, Hildie,” Bess said. “And it ain’t askin’ much, really.”
Hildie gave her a look.
Alfred pulled a piece of paper which Mr. Devlin, the Bow Street Runner, had given him. “I have a list of names, here. I’m going to read them out, and you let me know if any of them sounds familiar, alright? You don’t have to tell me anything specific, unless you want to. Just tell me if you recognize any of the names. I will take it from there.”
He went down the list. “Walters… Tanner… Vogel?”
“I know a Mr. Vogel,” Bess offered tentatively, glancing at Hildie, who seemed clearly unhappy at her friend’s willingness to talk. “’E’s one o’ me regulars. Come on, Hildie. ’E paid us, now we got to do what ’e says, just like for everyone else.”
“Can you describe Mr. Vogel, Miss Flannery?” Alfred began making notes.
She pursed her lips. “Hmm…short, balding, and with a very small—well, you know.”
“Uh—that’s not important,” Alfred said quickly. “How old is Mr. Vogel?”
“About eighty, I think. Wouldn’t ye say, Hildie?”
After a moment, Hildie gave a reluctant nod.
A man of eighty on a crusade to stop Prudence? Didn’t sound very plausible, but things weren’t always what they seemed. He would have Vogel’s affairs looked into.
“Had Mr. Vogel ever expressed any anger or prejudices against ladies in your line of work?” Alfred asked.
Bess laughed. “Oh, no! In fact ’e keeps asking me to marry ’im! Doesn’t ’e, Hil?”
“Why don’t you accept?” he said.
“Don’t think ’is wife would approve!”
“I should say not,” he answered, chuckling. “Alright, moving on. Beaufort. Napier.”
“Uh, Na
pier…didn’t ’e just croak in Red Sal’s bed, Hil?” Bess said. “Last week, I think. Right on top of ’er, ’e did.”
Alfred crossed off the name. “Well, at least Mr. Napier died happy. Alright, only a few more here. Humphries.”
Hildie frowned. “Yeah, I know ’im. The bastard.”
Alfred raised his eyebrows. “A vile fellow?”
“No, a rich fella. Used to be a regular. But he threw me over fer Red Sal. ’E’s ’er regular now.”
“Age? Description?” he asked.
“Ye can’t miss ’im,” she said. “Six foot four with hair as orange as a carrot. And lots o’ freckles. Everywhere. And ’e laughs like a donkey.”
“Alright. Humphries—freckles everywhere, donkey laugh,” Alfred said, writing down the description. “Any reason to suspect him of threatening Miss Atwater?”
“Not really. Bit of a twit. But ’e likes to settle on one girl and stick with ’er for awhile.”
“So,” Alfred postulated, “he might be upset if one of his favorites was taken off the streets by a crusading school-marm like Miss Atwater?”
Hildie shrugged. “I suppose. But ’e’s with Red Sal, now, like I told ye. And before that, ’e was with me.”
Alfred circled the name. “I’ll look into it just the same. Just a few more names, ladies, and we’ll be done. Granville. Cage.”
At that the girls went still.
“Cage?” He asked again. “Do any of you know that name?”
“Yes.”
Everyone turned to gape at Minnie. Her eyes lifted and she met Alfred’s eyes with a clear, direct gaze. “I know that name.”
“Minnie!” Hildie grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. “Don’t say another word!”
Minnie shook her off. “I know Mr. Cage, sir. He’s a brothel-owner.”
“Shhhh!” Hildie hissed.
Minnie ignored her, saying, “That’s where I came from. A brothel called The Silver Rose. But there are other brothels. Mr. Cage owns a lot of them, and many of us out here as well.”
“That’s it!” Hildie opened the carriage door and grabbed Bess.
Alfred followed them out onto the street.
Hildie started walking away, then turned back to the carriage and stuffed some of the notes into Minnie’s hand. Minnie threw them back at her.
Hildie shook her head, then crouched down to retrieve the money that had fallen to the ground. She stood and stuffed it back into her bodice, then pointed a finger at Minnie. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ye, my girl. Come on, Bess, we’re out of ’ere!”
They walked hastily down the street.
“You’ll tell me more of Mr. Cage, Minnie?” Alfred asked, climbing back into the carriage.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s very brave of you, my dear. Would you like to tell me more on the way to my home in Mayfair? I’m sure Miss Atwater would very much like to make your acquaintance there.”
“Yes, indeed, sir.” Minnie regarded him with a heartfelt expression. “And I would very much like to make hers.”
Chapter 17
Minnie did not have a cockney accent at all, but a very cultured voice that spoke of being well-reared. Alfred was curious to hear how she had come to such dire circumstances.
On the way to Mayfair, Miss Minnie Danvers related the tragic tale of how she had come to a life on the streets of London. The daughter of merchants, she had grown up in a loving home in Surrey. But when her parents were killed in a carriage accident, she had been left in the care of distant relations, Mr. and Mrs. Macklin, of London. The Macklins were anything but pleased to have another mouth to feed, and that combined with Mr. Macklin’s propensity for gambling would lead to tragedy for Minnie.
After losing a great deal of money playing at cards with a man named Cage, Macklin found himself unable to pay his debts. So, he offered Minnie as payment. She had been fourteen at the time.
She’d been taken to a posh brothel called The Silver Rose and had spent almost a year, for all intents and purposes, enslaved there. But after another girl, one of Cage’s favorites, had accused her of thievery, Minne had been ‘demoted’ to streetwalker. She’d been on the streets for six months and was now approaching her sixteenth birthday.
It was a chilling tale. And one that Alfred knew would be all too common.
Minnie told him all she knew about Cage, which unfortunately wasn’t much. She had never actually seen him. Apparently, he kept a low profile. But there had been talk among the girls. Some of them had come from other brothels that Cage owned. Minnie remembered a few names: The Black Swan, La Violette, The Zephyr, and The Red Room.
Alfred had heard of some of these establishments—had even, he was ashamed to admit—visited a few. But some he had never heard of before. He would have Devlin find out if there were any others connected to Cage.
Minnie explained that most of the girls in these places came from good families. That was what made them so valuable to Cage. He ran exclusive establishments and charged top dollar for his girls’ services. Many of them had been suddenly orphaned and had nowhere to go, others were used as payment for gambling debts as Minnie had been. Whatever their reasons, life in a brothel had become their only means of survival.
Cage held his streetwalkers under his thumb as easily as he did the girls in the brothels. He provided cheap housing for them, and had a network of pimps, henchmen and other undesirables constantly watching them and collecting Cage’s share of their earnings. Up until today, Minnie had lived with Bess and Hildie in one room in a crumbling boarding house on Scollard Street.
It was a sobering tale, one that left Alfred feeling angry—perhaps exactly the way Prudence had felt the first time she’d listened to one of these girls tell their story. But instead of accepting the futility of their situation, Prudence had taken a stand. She had committed herself to helping as many girls as she could. And she had been successful, to date changing more than a dozen lives.
Like the Crusaders of old, Prudence had chosen a difficult but valiant path, at great personal cost. But would the choice between a family of her own and her continued work on the streets be too much to bear? If Prudence did indeed carry Alfred’s child, she may not have a choice. Would she resent a child that took her away from her work with the school? The thought unsettled him.
After arriving at his house in Mayfair, Alfred left Minnie in Dolly’s care.
He left again almost immediately, setting out for Bow Street. He was anxious to speak with his runner, Mr. Devlin, and share the new information he’d obtained from Hildie and Bess.
Time was of the essence, and he’d be damned if he was going to wait around for another attempt on Prudence’s life.
She could be carrying his child, and whether Prudence liked it or not, he was going to protect them both.
* * *
Later that evening, Alfred’s carriage arrived at La Violette. The exclusive brothel was located in a fashionable house on Fairbourne Lane, and was a favorite spot for influential men of the ton. The interior was decorated in a luxurious Rococo style, with plush purple velvet, gilt mirrors and Italian marble. Alfred knew the decor of the place quite well because he had been inside it before.
In fact, it was where he had lost his virginity.
It had been his fifteenth birthday, and his father had brought him here after the family dinner for a cigar and a game of billiards. And a bit more as well, Alfred had soon found out.
As a randy lad of fifteen, he had been quite tall and filled-out for his age, appearing closer to eighteen or so. Despite his inexperience, Alfred had been thrilled at the idea of visiting the brothel, and in fact thought it the best birthday gift a boy his age could receive.
But later, in the room with young, blond little Josette, he had become over-excited and embarrassed himself by spilling at her first touch. She had only smiled and cleaned him up, and when he’d sufficiently recovered, started again slowly.
Later, Alfred completed the sexual act properly,
but had felt strangely unsatisfied by the experience. Somehow, his victory at crossing into manhood had felt artificial and meaningless. He never told that to his father, of course. He had never told that to anyone at all.
He rapped the shiny brass doorknocker and soon the huge door slowly opened. A large man—they were all large in their line of work—stared down at him and seemed unimpressed.
Alfred introduced himself. “Lord Alfred Weston.”
The man looked him up and down, then stood back to admit him. Another man—not so large—but who seemed quite capable of rearranging anyone’s face, took Alfred’s hat and coat. He motioned him into the main room on the right.
Alfred walked into the salon, breathing in the familiar scent of cigars mixed with exotic perfume. Scantily-clad women laughed and giggled, draping themselves over some of the richest men in London.
The shipping magnate, Sir Titus Pickford, stood with a beautiful girl on each arm, smiling down at them like a red-faced youth. Nearby, the Marquess of Pellam lounged on a sofa, as a young nymph dressed in diaphanous robes fed him grapes. The Earl of Dibney stood next to a marble fireplace, kissing the hand of a young girl dressed as the goddess Aphrodite.
As Alfred looked about the room at the tableau before him, he was struck not by the eroticism, but by the artifice, the brittle fragility and utter emptiness of the scene.
For he knew who these girls were, now. They were not beautiful little dolls, existing solely for a man’s pleasure. They were someone’s daughters, someone’s sisters—all trapped here like birds in a cage.
“Weston!” A loud voice boomed from across the room.Alfred looked over to see a familiar face. Sir Robert Beattie disentangled himself from the girl hanging off him, and made his way over to Alfred. Chomping heartily on a thick cigar, Sir
Robert extended a hand and pumped Alfred’s own.
“Sir Robert.” Alfred shook the man’s hand. “You’re looking well.”
“Sir Robert? Such formality, what?” He slapped Alfred on the back with gusto. “You know my friends all call me Bobby! Haven’t seen you about in a dog’s age, Weston. Come over and have a drink with me and Stan.”
Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) Page 14