The knock at the door echoed through the empty street. Moments later, a small flap in the door opened, revealing a small part of bristly beard, soon replaced by a suspicious eye.
"Yes, who is the—You! It's you again!"
Amy grinned up at the charming man behind the door. "Pleased ta see me, are ye? Dat warms my little heart."
"Avaunt, impure female!"
"A very nice evenin' to ye, too, Karim."
The flap moved to slam shut. However, this was not Amy's first encounter with the charming, bulky bodyguard behind the door. Quickly reaching up, she stuck her parasol through the opening.
"Take that out at once!"
"Funny." Amy grinned. "Normally, I'm da one to say that to men, not da other way around."
Sputtering came from beyond the door. Amy enjoyed listening to it for a bit, then decided it was time to get to the reason she had come.
"So," she asked, interrupting the outraged grumbling from beyond the door, "is Lilly at home?"
"The Sahiba should not associate with a lowly creature such as yourself."
"Which makes it really funny dat dis lowly creature regularly comes for afternoon tea, doesn't it? Now, just tell me already. Is she at home?"
A low curse in some foreign language issued from behind the door.
"I already told you yesterday. Both she and Ambrose Sahib are still on their second honeymoon in the United States."
"Second honeymoon my sweetly smelling arse! That's just an excuse for draggin' her along on another business trip, like da first one. Where did dat cheap son of a bachelor haul her dis time? A sheep farm? A copper mine?"
"Most certainly not!"
"Well? Where den?"
"Ehem. Well...a coal mine, actually."
"How incredibly romantic. I can already see it...a romantic walk through corridors filled with coal dust, pools of muddy water glitterin' in da torchlight..."
"Do you have anything worthy to listen to? If not, remove that thing stuck in the flap and depart from this place!"
"Of course I do! I want to know when she will be coming back."
"Hm." The eye beyond the door gave Amy an appraising look, probably calculating the chances of shoving the parasol out and slamming the flap shut.
"Don't even think about it," Amy advised. "How long?"
"Hm. Hm. Four months."
"Four months?"
"Maybe five."
"Five? Ye can't be serious!"
"I am always serious. Now depart, or I shall have you forcibly removed."
"Oh..." Amy wiggled her eyebrows. "That sounds fun. Will ye take care of it personally?"
Once again, the sound of sputtering came from behind the door. Before the poor man choked, Amy waved goodbye, removed the parasol from the door and gave Karim a wink. "Call me any time ye wanna 'ave a bit of fun, big boy."
"Naraka dē duśaṭa dūta dī bēṭī!"
"Bless ye. Well...till next time. I'll drop by again the day after tomorrow, shall I?"
"Tuhāḍē pairāṁ nū magaramachāṁ du'ārā khādhā jā sakadā hai!"
"All right, since ye can't wait to see me again, let's make it tomorrow."
And, with a last wave, she skipped away down Leadenhall Street. "Baiting the Bodyguard" had become one of her favourite games, recently. Still...
Her mood changed all too soon when she remembered why it had become her favourite game, when she remembered why the person that currently served as her best friend and confidante was a grumpy mountain of a bodyguard who only spoke to her through a bolted door.
Her steps slowed, and her shoulders slumped.
They were all gone.
All gone, blast them!
Every single one of her "friends" had ridden off into a sunset in a pretty carriage with "just married" written on the back.
Cora? Happily married.
Jenny? Happily married. To a pastor, no less!
Lilly? Blissfully married to the bloody hottest son of a bachelor of the century who also happened to be one of the most stinking rich people in the entire British Empire. Argh!
Not that she was jealous or anything! Jealous? Ha! A woman like her didn't even know what that word meant. She wouldn't become jealous of those horrible, traitorous, far-too-disgustingly-happy so-called friends!
Definitely not.
Besides...it wasn't even as if she wanted to get married. She was a hardened lady of the night, with no delusions or silly dreams. And she was most definitely not hiding a stack of romance novels under her bed at home.
And even if, theoretically, she had one or two—or a few dozen—that still would be a pale substitute for her best friend.
What she missed most about her friendship with Lilly was that Lilly didn't try to interfere. Other people always tried to interfere once they heard what she did for a living. They tried to meddle in her life and "lead her on the right path" or "make an honest woman out of her". But Lilly...Lilly was just always there. Fierce, dependable, and fun.
And now she'd had the audacity to marry!
And not just that—that bloody wedding had also robbed Amy of her other two best friends, Cora and Jenny! The darn traitors had actually had the gall to fall in love with two of the wedding guests, and had settled down to become respectable women!
Ha! Was nobody upholding any standards anymore, these days? Shame on you! What about upholding the pride of the world's oldest profession?
At least she herself had been strong enough to resist! And for good reason. Her career didn't provide many educational opportunities. But if there was one thing it had taught her, it was that a roasted dove riding a carriage was more likely to happen to her than love and marriage! As if she ever even wanted such things! Ha! Double Ha!
With her chin high and her back straight, Amy marched on, back towards the brothel, towards the place where she belonged and—
And her shoulders slumped.
Damn, being alone sucked!
Well, there's always one way to get some company, right? But...somehow, I really don't feel like going back to work right now.
So, what should she do instead? Go home and wait until her remaining friends and co-workers got off work, and off their customers?
Aye. That would be just spiffin'. I just love to spend my time in a tiny 'ovel and stare at blank walls all day.
Just then, Amy reached the eastern corner of Stepney Workhouse, and her face suddenly brightened. That's right! She still had friends who hadn't forsaken her! Friends who hadn't run off to get married!
Which might be 'cause they still aren't ten years old, a little voice at the back of her mind pointed out.
Details, Shmetails! Loyal friends who resisted the lascivious lure of matrimony should be treasured! Even if they hadn't grown all their permanent teeth yet.
Determined, Amy strode around the corner.
"Hello, Flo," she called out as soon as the street came in sight. "Hello Jo! How are ye doin—"
Her voice abruptly cut off, and she blinked. Faced with an empty street.
What was going on?
Flo and Jo weren't there.
But...Flo was always here. Always. The figure of the little ten-year-old girl with the tray of matchboxes in one hand and her tiny sister attached to the other had practically become a local landmark. A rather bedraggled landmark with a haircut like a frizzy badger's tail, but still, a landmark.
What the hell! What is going on?
Her face didn't show a trace of emotion, but inside, Amy felt a sudden pang of anxiety. Had anyone found out? They couldn't have! She'd kept her connection to those two under lock and key for years! It was the only way. On the streets, emotions were a weakness, and there plenty of predators waiting in the wings. If the rats on the streets found out...
Instantly, Amy shoved that thought aside.
Now isn't the time. Find her! Bloody find her, now!
Was she overreacting?
Amy snorted!
Normal people with normal lives might think so. There were plenty of reasons not to be on this draughty street. After all, why would two lonely girls be out in the cold all day? But this wasn't a "normal" girl. Jo had her little sister to take care of, and she also had a tenacity most other match girls couldn't match, pun very much intended. The little girl's deceptively innocent smile and horrendous haggling could convince a snowman that it needed to light a nice, warm fire to keep its feet warm. Amy, unable to resist the duo's machinations, already had a stash of roughly two-hundred and seventy packages of matches stashed under her bed. She had already considered becoming a pyromaniac, just to have something to do with them. There were quite a few buildings in the East End that would look better as smouldering ruins.
The tenacious little girl was always here. And yet, today, she was nowhere in sight.
So what? Whispered a tiny voice inside her. A ruthless voice. A voice that had kept her alive numerous times. This isn't any of your business! They're not your children!
But that was the problem, wasn't it? They were nobody's children. Or just nobodies. In the eyes of the happy, warm and well-fed world, they didn't exist. Not since the death of—
Instantly, she cut off that thought before it could materialize.
She would not think about that! Not ever!
All she needed to know was that they were alone.
Just like me.
Uttering a curse, Amy turned around and headed back towards the corner of the workhouse.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! All this just because of a stupid promise you made years ago? Why can't you keep your nose out of other people's business, Amy?
Muttering another curse, Amy marched ahead.
There was a man standing at the door of the workhouse, as he usually was. After all this time, Amy still hadn't quite figured out whether he was a porter, a guard, or just a vagrant who had laid claim to a nice comfy spot on the workhouse porch.
"Oy! Clem!"
No response. Well, except for a drunken snore, that is.
Amy, with her usual tact and politeness, kicked the man in the shins.
"Wgwfff...what do ye...?"
Clem stumbled, landing on his butt with a thump. Owlishly, he blinked up at Amy. "What did ye do dat for?"
"To wake ye up, I need to ask ye somethin'. Where are Flo and Jo? Have ye seen dem?"
The old man harrumphed. "Why would I tell ye?"
With the ease and swiftness of an expert, Amy plucked the half-full liquor bottle out of his hands and hid it behind her back. She raised an eyebrow. "Well? 'ave ye seen them?"
"Yestheywerehereearlier! Now can I have my bottle back?"
"Soon. Why aren't they here now? What happened?"
"How should I know? I ain't their bloody father! I ain't—"
"Miss Amy!"
At the sound of that voice, Amy whirled around, and saw a familiar tiny figure dashing towards her. A moment later, something small and scruffy rammed into her, nearly knocking her over. Reflexively, Amy reached up to grab the little girl who had buried herself in her dress. Old Clem took this chance to grab back his bottle and skedaddle.
"Jo! Jo, what's happened to you? Where's Flo?"
Amy tried to raise up the tiny girl to eye-level, but the girl grabbed hold of her skirt and buried her face in its folds, as if hiding from the world.
"Jo?" Amy said, much more gently than before. "Where's Flo?"
"The...the lady!" Jo's voice, intermingled with sobs, came from somewhere in the depths of her skirt. "The lady took 'er?"
Amy tensed. "What lady?"
"A...a nice lady came, and said Flo won't 'ave to work out in the cold no more! She said Flo could get better work as a servant. As a real maid, ye know? In a respectable 'ouse!"
Amy's blood ran cold. This was much worse than what she had thought. There were many well-dressed older women scouting the East End for young talent. But Amy knew all too well that the jobs they offered were neither as maids nor other servants, and they were most certainly not respectable,
No! Not Flo! Please not Flo!
"What happened then?" Amy urged the sobbing girl on, trying her best to keep her voice calm, instead of screaming and stomping like she wanted to do.
Please don't let this be what I think it is! If it is...if it truly is...
She would tear that old hag to pieces with her bare hands!
Jo's words abruptly tugged her out of her violent daydreams. "The...the lady said she'd bring us to 'er 'ouse. So we went with 'er, but Flo said for me to stay ten steps back."
Yes! Smart girl, Flo! Smart girl!
"So we went with the lady, but I staid be'ind a bit, just like Flo said. We went along, but soon we saw where we were gonna go, and it ain't no decent place, but some dirty back alley."
Amy took a look around at the grubby street, filled with dilapidated buildings. This was the kind of place Flo and Jo lived in. How would a street have to look for Jo to call it dirty?
"We got to a back door and the lady said dis was 'er 'ouse, and...and..." Jo's voice was cut off by a sudden sob. Amy looked down helplessly at the little girl. What the heck did one do to comfort children? The only thing Amy knew about children was how to make sure to not get any. She doubted very much that would be of help in this situation.
"Err...there, there," she said, patting the girl's back.
Promptly, Jo started to cry harder.
Bloody hell, how do you stop them from crying? Holding them upside down and pounding on their backs? No, that's for hiccups, dammit!
Amy hesitated—then, cautiously, she put her arms around the tiny girl.
"Please, Jo, tell me. What happened next?"
"The lady opened the door and...Flo got one look inside, and...and...she shouted for me to run, and then some people rushed out and grabbed her, and—"
The rest of the sentence disintegrated into pitiful snivelling.
All right. That's it!
Without a moment's thought, Amy picked up the little girl and ran. There wasn't a minute to lose! If they even wanted to have the tiniest chance of saving Flo—
Saving her? Are you crazy? You know the kind of people who got their hands on her!
Amy shivered. Oh yes, she did know—from personal experience. That's why she had to try. Even if there was just a one-in-a-million chance...!
Please, let this be the one time in a million. She's just ten years old! Ten years!
"M-Miss Amy?" Jo blinked up at her, eyes sparkling with tears. "Will Flo be all right?"
"Yes!" Amy lied, squeezing the little girl tightly to her. "Yes, definitely!"
She ran faster.
***
The Pussycat Palace was one of the better brothels of the east end: the sheets were washed at least once a year, and drunk patrons were usually removed from the beds before the next customer came in. Right now, though, there didn't seem to be much business.
All the better. Then I won't have to kick a customer in the bollocks!
"Get your arses down 'ere, everyone!" Amy shouted as soon as she was in the door. "We've got work to do!"
"Really?" Curiously, Tammy peeked over the balustrade, from up on the first floor. "Where are the gents?"
"Not that kind of work!"
"Oh! A lady then? Yay! Variety is the spice of life!"
"W-what kind of variety?" Jo asked, blinking up at the gathering ladies.
Quickly reaching up, Amy hugged the little girl closer to her and glared up at Tammy. "Shut your gob you feckless idiot! You can't go using bloody bad language in front of a kid!"
"Shit! I'm sorry."
"It's all right. Just be sure to watch your bloody mouth! Now get down here! We've got to talk!"
"Does it have to be now?" one of the ladies yawned. "I've been up since—"
"It's about Flo."
The woman shut up instantly. For the first time, the others seemed to notice the tearstains on Amy's dress, and the way Jo clung to her, as if she were the last dependable thing in this world.
"What happened?"
In quick, concise words, Amy told them about what happened. As she did, the faces of the women darkened.
"What do ye think?" Tammy asked.
Big Gelda, who had a very special reputation among the establishment's customers, cracked her walnut-sized knuckles. "I think it's time to twist some bollocks!"
"Girls! Girls!" Just then, the madam bustled in. "What are you all doing here? A very important customer has just come in, and—"
"Excellent!" Amy patted her shoulder. "Then I'm sure he'll want an experienced lady, won't he? You take care of it yourself."
"Me?" The wrinkled madam's eyebrows shot up, one nearly falling off in the process.
"Of course. I'm sure no one can surpass your, ehem...mature charms. Aint't dat right?"
She gave Tammy a kick.
"Ouch! Mature charms, absolutely!"
"Your smile lights up the whole room! Especially those gold teeth."
"And your hair is so shiny and glossy. No one would ever guess it's a wig unless they tug too hard."
"Well, we'll be busy for a while. We'll leave you to take care of things. Bye!"
Two seconds later, the parlour was empty but for a very startled madam.
Out on the street, Amy had already pulled a piece of chalk out of her pocket and started scratching a map of the surrounding streets on the wall. The map was rough, but it by no means lacked detail. Nobody knew the back alleys of London like people who'd grown up turning tricks in their shadows. Handing Jo to another of the girls, she gestured for the young woman to cover Jo's ears.
"They can't really have taken her away yet. At this time, the streets are full of people. Even if they tie her up and gag her, it's too risky."
"Unless they drug her with some concoction," Gelda growled.
"And waste perfectly good money?" Amy gave a bitter smile. "Morphine is too expensive to waste on people like us."
The others' faces darkened.
"Besides...they can just wait until nightfall, when no sane person dares go out on the street. So, we got to 'urry!"
"I'll take the Gutrippers' territory," Tammy volunteered, naming one of London's most vicious street gangs. "Dose buggers still owe me a favour or two."
"I'll take the Penny Scratchers'," offered Lula.
"Then I'll take the Baser Fates." Gelda flexed her fingers. "You need a special attitude to deal with those little bastards!"
Amy nodded. "I'll go around and check with the abbesses I know. Maybe they've 'eard somethin'."
"Err..." Olive, the youngest of the bunch, who was still holding Jo's ears shut, started to raise her hand, then hurriedly put it over the little girl's ear again. "What should I do?"
Amy considered for a moment—then reached into her pocket once again. Pulling out a card, she handed it to the girl.
"You take Jo, and bring her to this address."
Olive took the card, and read, slowly and haltingly. "
"Con...Conway & Co, finely tuned pianos since 1789." Blinking, she glanced up at Amy. "Amy...are ye off your rocker?"
"Just do it, all right? Be sure to ask for Ella! Trust me, Jo will be as safe as 'ouses!"
"My cousin died when a 'ouse collapsed on top of 'er," Gelda said darkly.
"As safe as well well-built 'ouses, all right? Now get a move on! We'll meat back here in two hours!"
Amy didn't have any luck on her little trip roundtrip through the bawdy houses of the East End. But then—was it really surprising? Few abbesses were willing to give her the time of day, and the ones that did weren't much use. They were the decent ones. The ones who told girls what they were getting into, and prepared them, as best they could, for what was coming. The others...well, some slammed the door in her face, and some....
Some she didn't even dare to visit.
And those were the ones she was most afraid of Flo would end up with.
Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thining! It's no use! Just get back to the meeting place and find out if the others have been successful! Please! Please let them have been successful!
When Amy came around the corner, she saw her friends there, already gathered. The expressions on their faces were...
No! Oh no!
Fists clenched, Gelda opened her mouth and spoke one single word. But that word told Amy everything she dreaded to know.
"Sold!"
Amy felt her hear heart squeeze painfully. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But she didn't do either. Instead, she tightened her fists, ready to fight! Between clenched teeth, she squeezed out two words:
"To whom?"
***
"Amy...are ye sure this is a good idea?"
Eyes narrowed, Amy stared—no, glared—out at the towering, luxurious house from behind the blueberry bush that served as her and her friends' cover. The sight of a house like that was already enough to make her feel queasy. But what was far worse was the sight of the towering iron fence protruding from each side of the massive building.
"That's just the bloody gatehouse!" Tammy hissed. "And do you see the size of the garden? Dat's half a damn park out there! Dis bastard's got to own 'alf a country! And ye wanna just go over dat fence?"
Amy shrugged. "What's da big deal? I've dealt with plenty of fences in my time!"
Tammy sent her a dark look. "Aye, but ye could negotiate with dose!" She jabbed her thumb and the black iron edifice. "I highly doubt dat fence over dere wants to 'aggle over da price of a pilfered pocket watch!"
She was right. Damn, was she ever right! But...
"What else are we s'posed to do?" Amy hissed. "Go to the coppers? You wanna report to da police, do ye?"
She said 'police' like other people would say "slimy, disgusting slugs". The others pulled faces and shuddered.
"No, of course not! But going in there alone—"
"It's got to be me alone!" She gestured at the streets around them. "There are too many people around for everyone to go."
She was right about that. It had taken them hours to find the address Gelda had squeezed out of a reluctant street rat. This wasn't their part of town. Whoever the depraved tosser was who had dared to lay his hands on Flo, he sure had a lot of money! This was the West End. The westiest westside of the West End, where even the pigeons shit on the roof in a fancy way. If they didn't have golden pigeon-toilets installed on the rooftops, that is.
It was the middle of the day by now, and there were people everywhere. Ladies in long gowns. Gentlemen wearing monocles and fancy hats. It was a miracle their bedraggled little group hadn't been spotted and dragged away by the coppers already.
"Can't we wait?" Olive suggested. "Come back at midnight?"
"And what do ye think will 'appen to Flo in the meantime?" Amy asked in a quiet voice.
The others abruptly fell silent. And that pretty much settled the matter.
Reaching out, Gelda squeezed Amy's shoulder. "Go! We'll keep watch. If someone comes, I'll whistle like a nightingale."
"How the 'ell am I supposed to know what a nightingale sounds like?"
"Oh, all right then! I'll make a sound like that fellow, when he—" Leaning forward, she grabbed Amy's ear, and whispered something. Then she raised an eyebrow. "You do know what that sounds like, right?"
"As if I could ever forget." Squaring her shoulders, Amy slid out from behind the bush and slowly and casually walked along the fence, towards the back of the house. She didn't sneak. She didn't run. She just walked, leisurely swinging her parasol. She walked and walked, working hard to keep a smile on her face.
Bloody hell! What kind of ridiculous place is this? Some kind of royal palace?
She quickened her pace. The black poles of the iron fence rushed by, faster and faster, until—finally!—she turned a corner.
For the first time, the street was empty.
In a flash, Amy grabbed the top of the wrought-iron fence and pulled. Before anyone could notice her move, she was up and over the fence, sailing past the wicked iron spikes by no more than a few inches. With a thud, she landed on the soft, mossy ground beyond. Crouching behind a bush, she took a deep breath.
From behind the bush, she peeked out at the lair of the villain.
Holy...!
Amy found it hard to breathe for a moment. Thank God she'd had some past experiences with maniacs building gargantuan monuments. If she hadn't...
She swallowed.
It might not be royal—but this was a palace, without a doubt. Tall and elegant, with a bright façade and two wings spreading as wide as a sky-tall angel's wings, it rose up above the neighbouring buildings. Even from the back, where she was standing, elegant columns and spring-green vines decorated the wall. A vast lawn, looking as if it had been manicured with nail scissors, stretched between her and the house. Colourful beds of spring flowers were spaced over the grounds at regular intervals, and behind a bush of lavender...
The back door.
Amy quickly glanced from left to right. No one was in sight, except for a single solitary gardener, who was far too busy watering his all-important petunias to notice a little thing like a burglar climbing over the fence in the middle of the day. Carefully, she swept her eyes over the tall French windows at the back of the mansion. Was anyone looking out? It didn't seem so, but...
Damn! There!
Quickly, she took cover. Her heart pounding, she crouched as low to the ground as she could. Curse them! Were they keeping watch? Did they have guards set around their victim?
Hold on, Flo! I'm coming!
Slowly, Amy counted to ten. Then she once again raised her head until she could glance over the top of the bush and—yes! The figure at the window was gone. Instantly, Amy dashed out across the lawn. Ten yards! Twenty! Thirty! Holy moly, was this a lawn, or a stadium for marathon runners?
Forty! Finally, panting hard, Amy pressed herself against the house wall. Not wasting a moment, she started edging sideways, towards the back door. Reaching out, she grabbed the doorknob, turned it and...
Locked.
Oh, how terrible? How could I ever get inside now?
A wicked grin spread over Amy's face as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of twisted needles. A little present from Willy "The Wiggler" Jones, a member of the Alley Snakes and her favourite burglar and cutthroat in the city.
Look out, you sleazy dirtbag! If you want to keep me out, you'll have to do a lot better!
Amy slid the needle into the lock, twisted, and...
Click!
Yes! Thank you, Saint Scallywag, patron saint of all ne'er-do-wells and malefactors!
Slowly, the door slid open. Through the crack, Amy glanced into the house. Elegant, golden-white wallpaper and a towering ceiling, a plush carpet on the floor, and paintings of venerable people on the wall—was this the back door, or the bloody reception hall? Everything looked so beautiful. Elegant. Orderly. Respectable.
Despicable. Dissembling. Evil.
Amy's hand clenched into a fist. She couldn't wait to bury it in the face of the monster who called this his home.
Swiftly, she slipped into the corridor and snuck along the wall, her footsteps silent as one of Gelda's "special clients" after she had fastened the gag.
There was a door up ahead. After listening at the wood for a moment, she cautiously slid the door open, and—found nothing. No one was inside. It was a simple servant's bedroom, neat, sweet, and tidy. The sight enraged her! So, the bastard who lived here thought it was a good idea to treat his servants well, but thought buying an innocent child for his sick games was not a problem?
There was nothing she hated more than hypocrites!
She went on to the next room, and the next. All were empty. But it didn't look like there weren't any servants. The rooms were comfortable and looked well-lived-in. To judge by the noises from other parts of the house, they were busily at work.
No wonder. I bet that bastard tires them out, so they sleep tight and don't notice what he's up to at night...
Clenching her fists, Amy continued searching the place. Soon, she was finished with the servant's quarters, cautiously, peeked out into the main part of the house. She would have to be more careful from here on out. Cautiously, she peeked into the first room—a study. The next—a bathroom, with a maid at the window, cleaning and whistling. Quickly, Amy retreated and hurried towards the next door. It was unlike any of the others. A big, dark wood double door, with gilded doorknobs and elegant carvings. There was only one place this could possibly be.
The place she had feared the most.
The master bedroom.
Please, please let her be all right. Please, don't let him have gotten his filthy hands on her yet!
Taking a deep breath, she hefted her parasol and flung the door open.
Nothing.
He wasn't in there. And neither was she.
What was going on? If Flo wasn't here, where would she be?
Amy hurried on, searching ever more frantically. But no matter how many rooms she searched, she found no one, except the occasional maid or footman in a bright uniform that forced her to duck into an alcove and wait until they had passed. Finally, when she had almost given up, she heard murmurs from ahead.
Is it her? Please, let it be her!
Quickening her steps, she approached.
"...everything going as planned so far. The master really is a genius."
Genius? Genius?
Eyes burning with wrath, Amy approached the room from which the voices were coming and peeked through the open door. A tall old man in a butler's uniform was standing at the oven. With a teapot in his hand, and his neatly-cut white beard, he looked like a retired Father Christmas.
Sleazy old bastard!
"What about the girl?" asked a voice the owner of which Amy couldn't see.
The old man laughed. He actually dared to laugh! "She's been taken care of."
Taken care of...!
The callous words stabbed like a dagger into Amy's heart. What the hell had they done to Flo? They hadn't...surely, they hadn't...?
"When the master comes back, he'll go fetch her. I'm sure everything will work out to the master's satisfaction."
The slimy, slippery, perverted little son of a—!
Amy was sorely tempted to rush into the room and bash the dickless little weasel over the head with her parasol. However, she restrained herself.
Think about Flo! You have to get Flo out of here! Anything else doesn't matter!
What had the old sleazebag said? The "master" would be returning soon. And when that happened, he would deal with Flo.
But not before I deal with him!
Amy's grip on the parasol tightened. Moving quickly and silently, she made her way to the entrance hall and positioned herself in an alcove behind the front door.
She took a deep breath. Her decision was made. She would wait for the man here. And if he didn't tell her what he'd done to Flo, she'd beat it out of him! The gloves were off! That lecherous bastard deserved every bit of pain he would get!
***
With long, determined strides, Lord Patrick Day stepped out of the door of the tall building towering over its neighbours and strode down the street. As he went, people on the street stepped aside for him, some bowing as he went by, others lifting their hats, as if they instinctively recognized his superiority.
Smart people.
Aristotle had once said "Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom." Personally, he disagreed. In his opinion, knowing your place was the beginning of all wisdom. And he knew that his place was at the top, while other people's was at the bottom. The world would be so much more orderly if everyone realized that little fact.
Especially considering my recent discovery. His fists clenched. In my world, this would not happen!
"How was it, My Lord?" A footman in a black cloak appeared beside him. "May I be so bold as to enquire whether your endeavour met with success?"
Dusting off his top hat, he placed it on his head, precisely centred, and quickened his pace. He had work to do! "Naturally. The old man was stubborn as ever, but it takes more than a thick skull to deny me what I desire." A grim smile played around his lips. "Especially in this case."
The footman did not ask what his endeavour actually was. He knew the mood his master had been in lately, and he knew he did not want to learn the reason.
"Where to now, My Lord?"
"Back to the carriage. And remember to take the long way."
"Certainly, My Lord."
Instantly, Lord Patrick turned off the broad, bright street, delving into a dark alley, the footman right behind him. No one else walked here. No one noticed or greeted him—which was the point. The fewer people who knew where he had been, the better.
The dark alley swallowed them whole. It only took him moments to reach its end, whereupon he delved into another alley, and another, and another, till anyone who valued his sanity would have given up pursuit. When, at long last, he emerged into the daylight again, he was wearing an expensive fur-lined cloak and capelet. In his hand, he was wielding a staff with a silver grip, and the footman behind him had shed his black cloak, revealing a livery with a noble crest of white flowers and black stars beneath a crown.
Lord Patrick turned around another corner, and finally, there it was. His coach, with the same family coat of arms emblazoned on the door.
"Good evening, Your Lordship," a voice greeted him.
"Ha! I wish it were!" One corner of his mouth twitching, Lord Patrick turned to face the man who had spoken. Everstone, wearing his usual coachman's uniform, was waiting, leaning against the façade of a house that just so happened to be one of his favourite pubs. Maybe, His Lordship privately admitted, he shouldn't have left the planning of the escape route to his coachman, after all.
"Your proposal was not received favourably, I gather, My Lord?"
"That depends, Everstone. Do shouts that rattle the ceiling indicate a favourable impression to you?"
"I would have to respond in the negative, My Lord."
"As I thought."
"They were not pleased."
"No."
"Even though you presented the evidence that was demanded."
"Yes."
Everstone scrutinized the young man in front of him. The coachman had known him for years—and he certainly knew that look in his eyes. "But you're going to go ahead with your plan anyway."
One corner of Lord Patrick's mouth went up. "What do you think?"
"I prefer not to think, My Lord. Driving is so much more relaxing."
"Then let us drive!" Grabbing the edge of the carriage, Lord Patrick swung himself inside without waiting for his servant to extend the steps. "We have work to do!"
"Gathering more evidence?" Climbing onto the box, Everstone cracked his whip, and the coach began rolling down the street. Behind them, the footman leapt onto the back of the coach.
"Just so." Inside the carriage, Lord Patrick stared at the wall, as if he could see his goal painted there. If only he could work faster! If only he weren't alone!
"Speaking of evidence..." For the first time, Everstone hesitated. He had been with his master for a long time. They'd had many tantalizing conversations about horses, whiskey, horse races, Whiskey brands, Whiskey distilleries and many of Everstone's other favourite topics. But now they were entering territory unfamiliar to him. "How, um...is the young lady?"
Lord Patrick's face darkened. "As well as can be expected. I have deposited her at my sister's home. Hopefully, Angeline will be able to calm her somewhat."
"Poor child!" Everstone's voice filled with compassion. "Crying, is she?"
"I could not really say. Last time I saw her, I was too focused on trying to remove her jaws from around my wrist."
"Oh."
"She does appear to have healthy teeth, though."
"Ah. Admirable, My Lord."
Reaching down with a somewhat stiff expression on his face, Lord Patrick massaged his wrist. "My sister seems to be of the same opinion. She congratulated the little creature on her well-defined bitemarks and offered her a biscuit."
"I see Miss Angeline is still as kind and lovable as ever, My Lord."
"Quite."
"But if you will forgive me for saying so..." The coachman hesitated. "You do not seem overly displeased by almost having your hand bitten off."
"Is it that obvious?" Lord Patrick smiled a fierce smile. He would never let this side of him show in front of another servant. But Everstone was different. There were a few people like that, who had been with him for a long time. "Do you know what scratching and biting means, Everstone?"
"No, My Lord."
"It means she is strong! It means that no matter what she has been through, she will fight past it—especially with Angeline's help. And if things go as planned, with the girl's help, no other children will ever have to suffer like this in the future."
"Amen to that, My Lord. Amen to that."
Lord Patrick nodded and grimly stared out into the fog-flooded nocturnal streets. Although the moon stood high in the sky, it was almost pitch-black. Only occasionally, he saw a formless figure drift by in the mist, like a shade of the underworld.
His words had sounded so optimistic, so heroic. Ha! But to be honest...deep inside, he was stricken. If his suspicions were right, if he was not just on a wild goose chase, then he had uncovered a huge, evil behemoth hiding underneath the civilized veneer of London.
Too huge for one man to deal with?
Maybe for most. But he was a member of the House of Day! He would not shame his ancestors!
That poor little girl had been so terrified before he had brought her to safety. Clenching his fists, he glared out into the mist. If he could keep another child from having to go through this, he would anything—even if he had to bend the whole world to his will! Anything!
Was he crazy? To go out and actually buy a ten-year-old....! Was he insane to do something like that?
The corner of his mouth quirked up. Well, his peers and acquaintances would certainly agree.
It's necessary, he reminded himself. Keep the goal in mind. Remember what you're fighting for! All those other children...surely, saving them is worth it!
Even the little girl had agreed in the end, after he had explained. When she had finally understood what he was planning to do, the girl's tears had dried up like a well in the desert, and a fierce light had entered her eyes. She had grabbed his freshly-bitten wrist and practically ordered him to get on with his plans and not stop working for a second until he had some results to show!
Smiling drily, he glanced at his reflection in the coach window, and the dark circles under his eyes. Well, he had certainly lived up to her demand. Exactly how many days ago had he last slept? Not to mention eaten? Three? Four?
"My Lord? We have arrived."
He blinked. Everstone was right. The coach had stopped moving. How had he not noticed? He was always keenly aware of his surroundings! Always! And yet, now...
Yawning, he hoisted himself out of the seat and stepped out into the foggy street. The dark and cold made him shiver.
"My Lord?" One of the footmen stepped forward.
Lord Patrick gestured him away. "Not now."
He had to be alone with his thoughts right now. His head felt near to exploding from the responsibility that had fallen upon him out of nowhere. Stumbling towards his front door, unlocked it, and pushed it open.
Trying to save the world was no doubt a noble endeavour, but it would not do if he keeled over dead in the process. What he now needed was a good night's sleep.
Ah, a bed, a bed! My kingdom for a bed!
The gentle embrace of sleep was beckoning. With another yawn, he stepped inside. Tomorrow, he would start the most dangerous part of the operation, but for now he only wanted a good, long night's slee—
Wham!
-------------------------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Here we are, the first chapter of "Lord Day and Lady Night"! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Amy's story?
The second chapter is already up and available for your enjoyment! :)
Yours Truly (and excited for writing a brand-new story)
Sir Rob
-------------------------------------------------------------------
GLOSSARY:
Karim's lovely comments translated: Daughter of a hellish demon! May your feet be eaten by crocodiles!
Abbess: this was the usual Victorian slang term for the madam in charge of a brothel. I don't know why exactly 19th-century Englishmen compared the leader of a religious, celibate order of nuns to a senior prostitute, but it does give one a hint how highly Victorian Englishmen thought of Catholicism.
Capelet: A very short kind of over-cloak which only covers the shoulders.