Twisting herself free, Jeanette curled her hand into a fist and rammed it between her assailant’s thighs. With an airless gasp, he doubled up and collapsed onto the floor, clutching his groin. Seizing her chance, Jeanette sprinted out the front door and into the street. Her lungs ached as she drew in air, and a metallic taste rasped in her throat, but she maintained her pace as the footsteps behind her drew closer.
A man appeared to her right, blocking her route to Mrs. Taylor’s. With luck, Edward had managed to reach there, but Jeanette had no wish to lead them to him, so she continued along the street.
A carriage stood at the end of the street. The window lowered and a familiar voice called out.
“Jeanette!”
“Charlotte?”
The door opened and Charlotte ushered her in.
“You look terrible!”
“Charlotte, someone’s after me. I must get away.”
“You poor dear!” Charlotte rapped her hand against the side of the carriage, and it set off with a lurch.
“Jeanette, what’s happened?”
“Murder,” Jeanette choked. “Oh, Charlotte! I believe Henry’s involved.”
“How dreadful! You’re sure?”
Jeanette nodded, “I heard him speak of it, and I saw him at the whorehouse.”
“Damn him!” Charlotte’s face twisted in anger before pity and compassion glossed over her eyes. “Let’s take you home.”
“There’s no time,” Jeanette panted. “I must tell the authorities. I have a list of names and have to hand it to them.”
“We need to take care of you first, Jeanette.” Charlotte lifted her hand to interrupt Jeanette’s protest. “You know yourself what little heed the men who rule this world pay to the account of a woman.” Her eyes hardened for a moment before she blinked and the cold expression disappeared. “Once you’re cleaned up, and with Daniel and I by your side, they cannot fail to listen to you.”
“We must find Edward first,” Jeanette said. “He’s alone and in danger.”
“Let’s get you safe, Jeanette,” Charlotte said, “then I’ll send someone for him. Where is he?”
“We’ve been staying at a boarding house, Mrs. Taylor’s on Vine Street.”
When the carriage drew to a halt, Charlotte ushered Jeanette into a townhouse. Ignoring Jeanette’s protests, she summoned her housekeeper and instructed her to bathe her friend. The woman nodded, wrinkling her nose at the stench of dirt and sweat on Jeanette’s clothes. Charlotte was right. If servants treated Jeanette with disdain, what prejudices would the authorities have in a world where appearance mattered over substance?
Daylight was fading when Jeanette finally joined Charlotte in her parlor, dressed in one of Charlotte’s old gowns, which was a little tight around the waist.
The room had been decorated in feminine pastel shades. The soft furnishings shimmered in the light, the fruits of Sir Daniel’s exploits in the silk trade. A delicate floral aroma lingered in the air, melting into the warmth from the fire which crackled in the hearth.
“You look much better!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Sit by the fire.”
“Where’s Edward?”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “He’s with the authorities.”
“Shouldn’t we go?”
“There’s plenty of time, and I’m expecting Daniel any moment. Why don’t you tell me everything, then we can agree how best to present it to the authorities. You’ve nothing to lose by taking some tea first. You must be thirsty.”
She poured a cup and handed it to Jeanette. “This will make everything better.”
Jeanette took a sip, wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste.
“How silly of me!” Charlotte exclaimed. “You’ll need sugar for the shock.”
Before Jeanette could respond, Charlotte snatched her cup and dropped three sugar lumps into the liquid, swirling the cup before handing it back.
“Now, tell me what’s happened.”
Sipping her tea, Jeanette related the events at the brothel. Betty’s murder, together with Henry’s declaration. The very act of relating his words cemented the truth in her mind. At best, Henry was a man who loathed her, at worst, a murderer and slave trader.
“You think Henry capable of murder?”
“I saw him!”
“Well, you’re safe now,” Charlotte said. “Daniel and I will deal with it. Neither of us condone slavery.”
Had Jeanette mentioned slavery? Her mind receded, trying to recall what she’d told her friend. Patterns of thought spiraled into ever tighter circles. They burst into shards, pulsing with the heat of the fire, then dissolved into blackness.
Her throat began to burn. “Thirsty…”
“Drink your tea.”
Charlotte’s voice seemed distant as if muffled by a blanket. She moved closer, filling Jeanette’s vision with a wall of blue silk which pulsed to a slow, languid heartbeat. The furnishings vibrated in unison with the heartbeat, and the room pitched sideways. The pain in Jeanette’s ankle dissolved. Her legs crumpled and the floor collided with her body. A splintering crash exploded to one side and droplets of tea splattered her face.
A silk slipper appeared before her eyes.
Jeanette’s tongue thickened in her throat. “What…”
“That’ll be the laudanum, my dear,” Charlotte said. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you had greater perception than the others.”
“I- I don’t…” Jeanette croaked.
“Why should you assume that a man was behind it all?”
The colors faded to black, the last vision in her mind that of two blue pinpoints, the eyes of the child she had grown to love, who she’d unwittingly betrayed, as she herself had been betrayed by her friend.
“Edward…”
Charlotte’s laugh sliced through Jeanette’s senses. “You’ve really fallen for the little bastard, haven’t you? He’ll fetch an excellent price. Some of my clients pay handsomely for sweet, young flesh. Take a good look around you, Jeanette. After you’re sold, you’ll never see English soil again.
The slipper shifted sideways before a blow to the head sent Jeanette into oblivion.
*
“For fuck’s sake, Sanderson, she can’t have disappeared into thin air!”
“London’s a big place, sir, and it’s a bleedin’ maze round the docks. There’s only so many houses we can search, even with the help of the Runners.”
“Where the devil is she!” Henry banged his fist on the desk.
“Smashing your knuckles won’t help.” Oakville pushed a brandy glass toward him. “Try this instead.”
“I don’t want a drink. I want my wife!”
“We must narrow down the possibilities,” Sanderson said. “We’ll not be able to search every house in time.”
“In time for what?”
“The auction. The spring tide is a little before midnight tomorrow, so the auction must be happening shortly before then. The buyers won’t want to hang around with their purchases before sailing. They’ll want to scatter as soon as possible.”
Fingers of dread gripped Henry’s heart. Jeanette was about to be auctioned off like cattle and transported into slavery to goodness knew where, subject to the whims and lusts of creatures whose tastes were too depraved even for whores to endure. Africa, America, anywhere in the world.
If he didn’t find her by midnight tomorrow, he might never see her again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jeanette opened her eyes. Watery stains spread across the ceiling above her. Light strained through a window, obscured by smears on the glass. Hard floorboards dug into her back. She pushed herself to a sitting position and winced as a splinter sliced into her palm.
Sounds of activity came from outside, shrill cries of men and women, drunken laughter, and the screech of seagulls. The air reeked of stale sweat. A flood of nausea overcame her and she leaned forward, retching. Pain shot through her scalp as a hand grasped her hair and yanked her head back.<
br />
“Stupid whore!”
A hand slapped her cheek.
“Don’t expect me to clean up after you.”
“That’s enough!” another voice spoke. “Leave her face alone.”
“The bitch caused a mess.”
“We don’t damage the merchandise.”
“Women are easily replaced.”
“Not that one. She’s worth more than the rest put together.”
“She needs a lesson,” the first man said.
“Maybe the boss’ll let you bed her before the auction.”
The first man growled with lust. Hot, sour breath slithered across her neck.
His companion stood in front of her, arms folded, head to one side as if sizing up her monetary value. Beyond, an open door led into a corridor. He glanced behind before smiling coldly.
“There’s no point crying for help. Nobody will hear you.”
Heavy footsteps approached, and a third man filled the doorway, holding the body of a woman. He dropped her onto the floor as if discarding rubbish.
“Stop dawdling, you two, we’ve work to do.”
The men grunted in response. Footsteps receded, and the door slammed shut, followed by the metallic scrape of bolts sliding into place.
Jeanette crawled toward the woman. Gaudy paint covered her face, cheeks smothered in rouge to attract the attention and the coin of men wanting cheap gratification. She was young, barely out of childhood. The unadulterated skin at the edge of her face still possessed a youthful glow, missing the telltale sags of the older women.
Her eyes creaked open, dulled with pain. Soft amber irises widened, her pupils shrinking to pinpoints. A groan bubbled from her throat.
Jeanette cradled her arm round the woman’s shoulders. “Let me help.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rosaline.”
“Do you know who those men are?”
“The traders. They’ve been rounding us up for months. Sometimes weeks go by when nobody is taken, sometimes many are taken in a single night. Betty said to be careful. Which house do you belong to?”
“I’m not a whore.”
The girl’s lips lifted in a hard smile. “You must be new if you’ve yet to accept what you are. But it matters not.” She sighed. “I suspect they’ll take us abroad after we’re sold.”
Resignation bled through her voice. “I hope my new owner will be kind.”
She turned her eyes to Jeanette, “I hope yours will be, too.”
Had she already accepted her fate?
“We can’t let that happen!” Jeanette cried. “We can escape.”
“Don’t you think others tried to escape?” Rosaline said. “Those who did were murdered, strangled. They said they’d cut my face and break my fingers if I didn’t do what they said. And who will bid for me then? I’m as good as dead if I don’t attract a buyer.”
“There are some fates worse than death,” Jeanette said. “Why do you think men are willing to risk arrest at a slave auction when they could spend their money on a courtesan instead? I assure you, it’s not from the kindness of their hearts.”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course! If nobody knows your whereabouts, you become invisible, disposable. Your owner can treat you how he likes, with no fear of retribution.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I was raised on a farm,” Jeanette said. “I saw how some farmers treated their livestock, creatures who cannot speak for themselves or fight back. What makes you think your fate will be any different?”
“A man willing to pay to own me will want to take care of me if I’m good to him.”
“But will he be good to you, Rosaline?”
“I’ll give him what he wants.”
“What about your wishes?”
“Nobody cares about my wishes,” Rosaline said, her voice dull. “Nobody gives a damn about us.”
Jeanette shook her head. “There’s the authorities…”
“You think they care about a few whores?” Rosaline laughed. “I’d thought he could be trusted, but Betty told me to trust no one, especially not Lord Ravenwell.”
Jeanette’s body contracted and she drew in a sharp breath. “Ravenwell?”
“He’d been asking questions, came to Betty’s all the time. He seemed kind, he bought me for a whole night once. Betty said a whore always has to feign her pleasure. But with him, my pleasure was real.”
Jeanette swallowed the bile threatening to coat her mouth. “Some men are skilled at making you fall in love with them and convincing you they can be trusted.”
“Betty said the same. She’d been making her own inquiries about the abductions when Lord Ravenwell started questioning her. She thought he might be testing whether she knew too much. I tried to tell her he’s not the type. But she called me a naïve little fool, a lovesick girl whose vision of a man, a monster, was clouded by romantic sensibilities.”
Salty moisture stung Jeanette’s eyes. A naïve little fool. Rosaline had just unwittingly described Jeanette herself.
“I won’t go back,” Rosaline whispered. “I’ve nothing to go back for.”
But Jeanette had Edward, and her unborn child.
“I can’t stay here, I have my son. And someone has to stop these men.”
“The door’s locked.”
“Then I’ll try the window.”
The window was unlocked. Jeanette pushed it open and looked out, her stomach heaving at the stench of stagnant water and waste matter. A narrow street of grimy buildings stretched ahead. Beyond the rooftops, masts poked toward the sky, moving up and down to a gentle rhythm. Which one of those ships would transport her to her fate?
None. She would not let them take her.
“Come with me, Rosaline.”
The girl shook her head. “They’ll catch you, they always do. And even if they don’t, I’ll suffer for it. Stay here, I beg you.”
Jeanette opened the window more fully and squeezed through. The drop below must be about fifteen feet. As a child, she’d learned how to jump from trees, to bend her legs at the moment of impact. She gripped the edge and lowered herself until her body hung in midair, arms locked, bearing her full weight, then she let go.
A brief moment of weightlessness, then the impact shuddered through her bones as the ground met her feet and a hot flame ignited in her ankle. She curled her body into a ball to absorb the impact and rolled sideways, cradling her belly.
Jeanette struggled to her feet, biting her tongue as she bore her weight on her right foot, and limped along the street. The darkness would be her salvation, shadows to hide among.
A bulky shape appeared before her and she collided into a solid wall of muscle.
“Devil be damned,” a familiar voice said. “It’s you!”
Hair hung over his brow in unruly wisps, framing a face taut with anger. Dark eyes glittered with rage.
“Sanderson!”
“Foolish woman! Why can’t you do what you’re told?”
“Women are being taken, murdered, sold…”
“You think we don’t know that? You’re going to ruin everything we’ve been doing!”
He shook her until her teeth rattled. “You’ve been nothing but a bloody nuisance. If it were up to me, I’d throw you in the river myself, but you’re worth too much to the master.”
Henry… Good lord, did he plan to sell her in a flesh market?
“It’s time you were properly restrained.”
A man emerged from the shadows. “That won’t be necessary, Sanderson.”
Henry.
He moved his right hand. Something smooth and round glittered in the moonlight. The muzzle of a pistol, pointed directly at her.
*
Relief flooded through Henry at the sight of his wife’s face, her eyes round with terror. He tucked his pistol into his belt, then gestured to Sanderson.
“Get her out of my sight before she ruins everything.”
“Where’s Edward?”
Brave as she was, now was not the time. Henry held out his hand. “Troublesome woman! Give me the pistol.”
“Get away, both of you!” she cried. “Or I’ll shoot!”
Sanderson cursed and drew his own pistol. Henry battled with memories of the duel, of his wife’s broken body on the ground.
“Jeanette,” he said, fear tightening his voice. “Stop this. Now. You of all people should know the damage a loaded pistol can do.”
“Then I’d advise you to do as I say, Henry.”
“For the love of God, woman!” Henry roared, giving in to his frustration. “Why couldn’t I have married someone who’d do as they were bloody told!”
Sanderson advanced on her. “Women are cowards, sir. She’ll never shoot.”
An explosion tore through the night. A blue cloud burst into the air and the astringent odor of gunpowder pricked at Henry’s eyes. Sanderson dropped his weapon and fell to his knees.
“Shit!” Henry leaped toward his servant. “You fool, Jeanette!” he cried, “you stupid little fool!”
He picked up Sanderson’s pistol and aimed it at her. If she wouldn’t respond to words, he’d have to resort to force. “You’re coming with me, Jeanette. It’d be far better for you without a bullet in your foot, but right now, I’m beyond caring.”
She turned her back and fled, but a figure appeared and blocked her path.
Charlotte.
She raised an arm, and Henry heard the distinct click of a pistol being cocked.
“Put the gun down, Lady Winters.”
A laugh burst from Charlotte’s lips. “Why so formal, Henry? I remember how you used to cry my name when you climaxed.”
“Charlotte, be quiet.”
“Why?” Charlotte said. “You think this creature you married out of pity doesn’t know your reputation for bedding every woman in town?”
“I said put the gun down!”
Charlotte laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of her? Henry, darling, have your standards sunk so low?”
Dear God, had he betrayed his feelings for his wife? After denying them to society, to her, to Betty, and even to himself?
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