“She was still doing that only a few months ago,” Eliza pointed out.
“And that is why I can sympathize with Felicia,” Agatha said before she raised her eyes to the cloudy sky and smiled. “I can only thank the good Lord above for blessing me with a talent for the written word. That talent has allowed me to escape the normal expectations placed on ladies, namely being paraded about town with the hopes of obtaining a husband.” She dropped her gaze. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe Felicia has any interest in pursuing a profession. She seems rather shy, and I fear she will simply accept the path her mother chooses for her.”
“I disagree,” Eliza said. “I’ve spent numerous hours with Felicia as she’s helped me with the new orphanage, and I think, underneath her unfortunate gowns, she is a lady who possesses a strong will. I also believe that Felicia has already set her sights on a specific gentleman, but for some reason she has yet to share his name.”
“Her mother will be sorely disappointed that she won’t get Theodore as a son-in-law,” Arabella said even as she felt a grin tease her lips, which she quickly hid behind a gloved hand when Agatha sent her a telling look.
“Psst, Miss Watson, over here.”
Arabella turned along with Agatha and peered through the blanket of snow now falling steadily from the sky. She squinted and could just make out the form of a lady standing in a small alleyway.
Agatha took a hesitant step forward. “Who’s there?”
The woman slipped out of the alley and hurried toward them. She was dressed in a garish blue gown with a coat of shabby red velvet thrown over it. Her cheeks were caked with rouge, her eyes wary. “It’s me, Violet, remember? We shared a jail cell a few months back.”
Agatha took another step toward the woman. “Violet, of course, how have you been?”
“Oh, you know, trying to make a living.”
Agatha let out a sigh. “Forgive me, but I seem to recall, as we languished behind bars, a conversation we shared regarding you and the rest of your friends seeking out a different line of work. Given your choice of attire, may I assume that didn’t come to fruition?”
“We tried to take your suggestion, Miss Watson, really we did, but quite frankly, no one wanted to hire old harlots,” Violet said. “But that has nothing to do with why I sought you out. I have a pressing matter of grave importance to discuss with you, yet due to the madness that is sweeping through the city, I’m afraid to discuss it with you out here in the open.”
“We were just on our way to B. Altman’s,” Agatha said. “Would you care to join us for a cup of tea in their tearoom?”
“B. Altman’s doesn’t allow ladies like me to enter their fine establishment,” Violet said with a smile, the action revealing missing teeth. “I was hoping you’d agree to come back to my house.”
Eliza bit her lip. “We promised Zayne we would go directly to B. Altman’s and nowhere else.”
It had not escaped Arabella’s notice that her brother had found reasons to be constantly in her presence the past two weeks. She had the sneaking suspicion Theodore had told him to keep an eye on her, but since absolutely nothing of a disturbing nature had occurred, Zayne’s dogging of her every step had become a little ridiculous. She’d finally gotten terse with him that morning, resulting in Zayne going off to work and leaving her to her own devices after he’d lectured her about keeping to well-traveled places and not getting into mischief.
She’d never particularly cared for anyone telling her what to do, and she’d never given Zayne her promise.
“I say we go to Violet’s house and listen to what the lady has to say,” she heard come out of her mouth.
Agatha sent her a grin before she moved with Violet into the alley, leaving Arabella standing with Eliza.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Eliza muttered as she grabbed onto Arabella’s hand and they hurried after Agatha.
As they traveled farther down the alley, Arabella began to suspect that Eliza was right. Gone were the polished facades of buildings and swept-clean sidewalks. They were replaced with crumbling brick walls, rubbish-strewn walkways, and rats that scurried around in plain sight. There was an unsettling sense of danger about the place. She shivered, sent up a prayer to ask God to watch over them, and then stumbled a few minutes later when she ran smack into Agatha, who’d come to an abrupt stop.
“We’re here,” Violet said, gesturing to a sagging flight of steps that led to a battered door. “Watch yourself when you get to the top; there’s a hole.”
Arabella tightened her grip on Eliza’s hand and followed Violet into the house, soon finding herself in a dimly lit parlor where three women, obviously of the same occupation as Violet, stood watching them.
“I met with success,” Violet exclaimed as she took their coats. Arabella passed hers over rather reluctantly, shivering when the cold of the room seeped through her gown.
It was almost colder in here than it was outside, and her heart suddenly ached when she realized this hovel was actually these ladies’ home.
“Miss Watson, Mrs. Beckett, and Miss Beckett kindly agreed to listen to us,” Violet said as she took the coats and spread them over a chair that was near a barely lit fire.
“Excuse me,” Arabella said, stepping forward, “but how do you know all of our names?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Violet said. She motioned for them to join her by the feeble fire, even as she picked up one of the few logs that rested by it, gave it a look of regret, and then tossed it onto the grate. “We met Mrs. Beckett and Miss Watson in jail, and every lady knows who you are, Miss Beckett, even us harlots.”
“We’ve been watching you,” one of the other ladies with greasy black hair said.
“That’s somewhat disturbing,” Agatha said before she took a seat on a three-legged chair that promptly listed to the left. “Why doesn’t someone start at the beginning, but first, I do think it might be pleasant if everyone introduced themselves. All of you seem to know our names, but we only know Violet’s.”
Violet stopped rubbing her hands in front of a now-sputtering fireplace. “I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Violet, of course, and that is Lottie in the green dress and red hair, Hannah with the black hair, and Sarah with the yellow hair and brown coat.”
“Did you convince Miss Watson to help us?” Hannah asked as she moved up beside Violet and scooted as close to the fire as she could without causing her gown to catch fire.
Violet shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance. I didn’t want anyone to see me talking to these ladies.”
“Good thinking,” Hannah said. “These are dangerous times.”
“Indeed they are,” Violet agreed. She lowered her voice, even as she glanced around the room, almost as if she was afraid someone was listening to them. “We fear there’s a madman loose in New York.”
“What kind of a madman?” Agatha asked.
“The kind that snatches ladies like us from the street,” the woman named Lottie said from her position across the room.
“We keep disappearing,” Violet added. “I mean, granted, in our line of work it does happen upon occasion, but this is different. Evil seems to be dodging our footsteps, and nobody wants to help us.”
“Could you explain how it’s different this time?” Arabella asked, sitting forward in the seat she’d chosen, not because she wanted to hear better but because something of a sharp nature kept piercing her skin through the skirt of her gown.
“We’ve had ten girls disappear in a little over a week.”
“Ten?” Agatha sputtered.
Violet nodded. “That’s why we need your help.”
A wave of horror swept over Arabella. “Have you taken this information to the police?”
Lottie made a sound like an angry cat. “They said they’d look into the matter, but we know they won’t.”
Agatha stood up, the action causing her chair to topple over and the sound to echo loudly throughout the room. Two of the ladies jumped before nerv
ous laughs rang out. “Sorry about that,” Agatha said. She righted the chair and began to pace back and forth. Then she stopped and looked to Violet. “When you said ‘disappear,’ does that mean no bodies have been discovered?”
“Not a one,” Violet said. “We’ve searched down by the docks during the day. That’s where we think everyone has gone missing, but there’s nothing to find. We’re scared to work, but if we don’t, well, we don’t have much now as it is.”
Arabella’s gaze traveled over the room, taking in the peeling paint, the mismatched and broken furniture, the meager supply of wood, and the condition of the ladies.
All of them were thin, painfully so, and it suddenly struck her how much she took for granted in her life. She was always warm, usually safe, and never hungry. She truly needed to be more appreciative of the life God had given her, and . . . she needed to find a way she could help these ladies who were living such dismal existences.
Eliza cleared her throat. “Why did you seek us out?”
Violet began wringing her hands. “We’re hoping Miss Watson will agree to write an article about what’s been happening on the streets. Maybe someone would come forward and offer us some help. It could be a story that might garner you attention as a journalist, Miss Watson.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes. “How do you know I work for the newspaper?”
“I told you, we’ve been keeping an eye on you,” Violet said. “Me and the girls thought it was the least we could do after you got us released from jail a few months back.” She smiled. “We’ve never seen society ladies get into so much mischief.”
Lottie flicked her red, straggly hair out of her face and walked across the room, stopping in front of Eliza. She looked down at her as a cheeky grin flashed across her face. “I like watching you the best, especially when that delicious husband of yours is about.” She gave a throaty laugh. “It’s even better when his brother comes around. I must say, that Zayne Beckett is a mouth-watering feast for any woman’s eyes.”
Dead silence settled over the room at that proclamation. Arabella swallowed a laugh and decided it would probably be best to get the conversation back on track. “So, if I understand correctly, ladies of the night are disappearing at an alarming rate?”
“At the rate we’re going, New York will soon be without women walking the streets,” Hannah said.
“And you think you will get the assistance you need if Agatha writes a story concerning your plight?” Arabella pressed.
“It’s all we’ve been able to come up with,” Violet admitted. “Women like us don’t have many options, Miss Beckett, as you know for yourself. Why, I have to admit that out of all the ladies here, you’re in just as much danger as ladies of my kind.”
Arabella frowned. “I’m not in any danger. Granted, I do occasionally run into a few disgruntled gentlemen who don’t like what I speak about, but they’re hardly dangerous.”
“It’s not the gentlemen you should be concerned about, it’s the men,” Hannah said with a snort. “The men we’ve heard talking about you don’t possess fancy manners, and they have no trouble turning their fists on ladies.”
“Men talk about me?”
“I’m afraid they do,” Violet said.
Arabella settled back in her chair, but then yelped when another sharp something stabbed her behind. She got to her feet. “I must admit that it’s disturbing to discover I’m a source of gossip among men, but I suppose it comes with the territory.” She walked over to the fireplace, held out her hands to enjoy the warmth for a minute, and then turned. “But enough about me. We’ve more pressing matters to discuss. What would you have Agatha write in her article?”
“She needs to write that we’re going missing,” Lottie said.
“True, but she needs to make the article riveting,” Arabella said. “It would add interest if the story pointed out the injustices of your life. I’ve recently found myself wondering why women in your chosen profession end up in jail on such a frequent basis, while the men who solicit your services seem to get away free and clear.”
“Pardon me for asking, Miss Beckett, but why would you be wondering something like that?” Violet asked.
“I recently had reason to believe I was heading for a life much like yours, but was fortunately able to extract myself from that situation. I regret to admit I’d never actually considered the plight of women forced into procuring a living by walking the streets, but now, well, my eyes have certainly been opened.”
“Arabella, you never mentioned anything about that,” Agatha said.
“It must have slipped my mind. Now, getting back to your article, what else should be added?”
Agatha plopped down in an empty chair, yanked up the skirt of her dress, and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. She looked expectantly at Violet. “Tell me in explicit detail what you know about these disappearances.”
Violet winced. “We don’t know anything more than what we’ve already told you.”
Agatha’s hand paused over the paper. “No one has seen anyone suspicious?”
“Everyone who walks the streets late at night is suspicious,” Lottie said.
Eliza got to her feet and shook out her skirt. “It’s clear to me what must be done at this point. Even if Agatha does get an article printed, it won’t be for at least a few days. More of you could go missing in the meantime, so we’ll have to get you off the streets.”
Arabella watched as Violet’s rouged cheeks darkened and her eyes narrowed. “We’re barely surviving as it is, Mrs. Beckett. If we don’t get back on the streets, we won’t have food or any firewood. If you haven’t noticed, the weather has turned foul.”
“True,” Eliza agreed. “I’m more than happy to give you money to see you through until the culprit behind the disappearances is apprehended.”
Lottie stepped beside Violet, her eyes blazing. “We don’t take charity.”
Eliza lifted her chin. “It’s not charity. It’s a means to keep you safe, but instead of splitting hairs over this, you may think of it as a loan and pay me back at your earliest convenience.”
Four sets of eyes glared at her.
Agatha strode to the fireplace and turned. “Ladies, it’s your decision whether or not to return to the streets, and we’ll respect whatever you decide.” She sent a look of warning to Eliza, who’d taken to sputtering. “However, in order for me to help you, I need more information or else my publisher will not approve the article.”
“But we don’t have any more information,” Violet said slowly. “And I don’t know how to get you more.”
Agatha smiled and waved a hand in the air. “Not to worry. I’ve just come up with the perfect plan. We’re going to go undercover.”
10
The following afternoon, Arabella glanced at herself in the dressing room mirror, wincing at the unusual reflection staring back at her. An intricate white wig sat high on her head, the paste gems woven throughout the hair sparkling in the room’s bright lights. Her eyes looked rather mysterious with their coating of blue paint on the eyelids, and the kohl she’d used to outline them gave her a slightly naughty appearance. Not that she’d purposefully tried to obtain that particular look. She was less than proficient applying paint to her face, and even though she’d been aiming for simply disguising her features, she’d ended up with an enticing look. She plucked up an old-fashioned beauty patch and brought it to her face, pausing when the silk curtain to her right rustled and Agatha flounced out.
She laughed. “Well, well, don’t you look . . . lovely?”
Agatha spun around, the motion causing the huge swath of fabric that made up the skirt of her garish green gown to puff up around her. She teetered to a stop on ridiculously high heels, even as she twirled a strand of her brash red wig around her fingers. “Do you think the color of my hair goes well with my pale complexion?”
“Ah . . . well, no, but by the time we reach our destination, it’ll be dark.”
Agatha tottered over to
the mirror and peered into it. “Good heavens, I look sallow.” She straightened, turned, and narrowed her eyes. “Your wig makes you look luminescent.”
“I’d be more than happy to exchange wigs with you, but again, it’ll be dark.”
Agatha went to where Eliza was sitting on a chaise of purple velvet and plopped down beside her, only to spring back up a second later. “Maybe I just need more rouge.”
Arabella was fairly certain that if Agatha applied another layer of color, the makeup would begin to crack, but one look at Eliza, who was shaking her head, had her swallowing her words. She turned back to the mirror, deftly stuck the beauty patch right beside her upper lip, and then got to her feet, shaking out the folds of her gown before she moved to join Eliza. She sat down ever so gingerly on the chaise, pushed her billowing skirts down with a slap of her hand, and grinned. “This dress is beyond ridiculous.”
Eliza returned the grin. “I still cannot believe how fortunate it was that you were able to procure costumes on such short notice. Mrs. Davis must owe you a huge favor.”
Arabella looked toward the back of the large dressing room where Mrs. Davis was puttering around, apparently organizing outfits for the performance later that night. “If you must know, Mrs. Davis found herself in a very precarious situation a few years back. I was able to direct her to a reputable attorney she found to her satisfaction.”
“Should I assume his name is Mr. Davis?”
“Funny enough, it is indeed.”
Eliza laughed and then sobered. “I wish I could go with you.”
“We’ve been over this, more than once. It would hardly do to become fodder for the gossips at this stage in your life. Besides, you said Hamilton is working late this evening, and you told Piper and Ben you would be home to have dinner with them. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”
“Of course not, but I have to admit I feel as if I’m the girl left on the edge of the dance floor while everyone else is dancing.”
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