by Jo Goodman
It was on his fourth visit that he was told Polly was not available. When he said he would wait for her he was finally told she was ill. Demanding to see her caused more of an uproar than he expected and he was nearly ejected from the brothel by the madam’s two footmen. In the end he had his way by holding a primed pistol to Mrs. Miller’s head.
Polly was lying on her bed, her face vacant of its usual rosy glow and her features so sunken that her cheekbones stood out sharply. The sheet that covered her was as white as her neck and shoulders except where it covered her thighs. There it was blood red. It only took Rhys a moment to assess the situation which was confirmed by the madam at once. One of Mrs. Miller’s physician clients had performed an abortion on Polly and she was hemorrhaging.
Rhys did not waste any time. He covered Polly in several blankets and carried her out of the brothel to his waiting carriage. He had to draw his pistol again when the physician he summoned did not want to care for Miss Rose. In the end he was also persuaded.
Polly recovered under the care of Rhys and his staff and he found he was possessed of some skill with listening also. Polly’s entry into prostitution was nothing less than a horror story. She was sold into the profession when she was eighteen, much older than most other girls when they got started, she assured him. It was only because she appeared to be so young that she had been overlooked on a number of occasions by the pimp who frequented the street where she lived. When she was drugged and taken to Mrs. Miller’s everyone assumed she was not more than fourteen.
Polly impressed upon Rhys that if she hadn’t been sold to an establishment she would have died in the back alleys as the property of some pimp who procured girls for diseased gents. Mrs. Miller specialized in clean and comely girls and her clientele was of a better quality than most houses. Polly was numb in the beginning, too drugged to make an escape from the house, and unresistant as men paraded through her room. But as the numbness passed she assessed her situation and decided she could be worse off. Rhys was not so easily convinced. When Polly was well he offered to set her up in a shop of some kind but she refused, saying she had no skill for any business save one. Rhys argued with her for weeks and it wasn’t until she threatened to leave and return to Mrs. Miller’s that he understood how serious she was about what she wanted to do with her life. He told her to unpack her things and they would work something out.
Rather than have her go back to Mrs. Miller and her butchers, Rhys agreed to help Polly invest her savings and establish her own house. It would have caused a roaring scandal if they had been less than discreet. As it was, the opening of Polly’s house was a quiet success and the Canning name was never connected to the enterprise.
Rhys’s interest in Polly extended beyond helping a friend. She could seek his advice on business ventures as long as she agreed that none of the women who worked for her were there through force. Furthermore, when the opportunity presented itself for her to purchase young girls she was to do so, then keep them safe until Rhys found more respectable and safer employment for them.
During the eighteen months that Polly’s loving arms had been open she and Rhys had pulled twenty girls from the streets who would have otherwise been working them. Fifteen of the girls were given positions in the country homes of Rhys’s friends, three returned to their own homes, and two asked to remain with Polly, one as her personal maid, the other as a cook’s helper. Polly once complained that her good works were going to cause her financial ruin but when Rhys offered to pay the amount she had spent on the last three girls, she refused, more than a little hurt that he believed her.
She laughed at herself then, saying she was a lady of the evening possessed of the proverbial heart of gold. Rhys had not laughed, finding the description more accurate than Polly was wont to believe.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” said Miss Rose. She leaned to one side and gave Rhys a kiss on his smooth cheek.
“Little enough,” Rhys said. “I can name twenty young women who think of you as their guardian angel.” And several pimps now serving in his Majesty’s service who would be less complimentary if they knew how a period was put to their operation.
Polly glanced at the dimpled little cherubs smiling sweetly from her headboard. She groaned dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “You wound me, sirrah. The resemblance does not bear close examination.”
Rhys laughed and swung his feet off the bed. “I must be going, Polly. If you need anything you can send a message in the usual way to my townhouse. I’ve left orders that anything carrying the little rose is to be sent on to me at Dunnelly.”
“Your staff must wonder.”
“I’m certain my staff knows and they wouldn’t breathe a word. Weren’t they everything solicitous when you recuperated at my home?”
Polly lifted one eyebrow in disbelief. “They were scandalized!”
“But they wouldn’t let any of it touch me. I trust them.”
“Very well. If I have news for you I won’t hesitate to send a message.” She helped Rhys into his tight-fitting jacket. “How long do you expect to be at Dunnelly?”
“A week, maybe two.”
“You’ll talk to Kenna again?”
“She isn’t going to be there. She’s gone to visit her sister. At least Nick told me those were her plans when I saw him at the funeral.” He looked sad for a moment, but he wasn’t thinking of his father or brother. “I rather think I’ve ruined what could have passed as a future with Kenna.” A shutter came down, over his bleak features and he smiled down into Polly’s worried face. “Don’t give it a thought, love.” He kissed her upturned nose. “Take care.”
He was out the door before Polly found her voice. “God’s speed, Rhys.”
“I don’t know if I want her, Mason,” said Mrs. Miller. Elizabeth Miller had never been married but she adopted the title to discourage people from calling her Betty. She despised the nickname as common and she tenaciously resisted anything that was not of a refined nature. She had given some thought to changing her last name some years ago, but her business had been so firmly established by that time and her reputation so firmly in place that it seemed unnecessarily confusing. She raised her quizzing glass, an affectation she thought gave her great presence, especially since it was normally used by men, and examined the woman propped between Mason’s two thugs.
“She’s a veritable Amazon,” she sighed, glancing swiftly from Kenna’s feet to the top of her head. “Still, she has some good features. Her skin is not bad and her bosom and legs are adequate.”
Mason laughed. “Not bad? Adequate? My dear Mrs. Miller, by no stretch of the imagination can this girl be considered merely adequate. She’s outside the common mode and well you know it.”
Mrs. Miller refused to be swayed so easily. “She’s hardly a girl in her first bloom, Mason. The other side of eighteen I would think. You know it is more difficult to break the older ones.”
“But think of the challenge,” he needled. “And the rewards. She’ll earn a nice sum for you.”
“Perhaps.”
“If it is breaking her that is keeping you from leaping at the purchase then you should know I will be most willing to supply the drugs you need. At a very reasonable cost, I hasten to add.” He extracted the small bottle of liquid he had force-fed Kenna and showed it to Mrs. Miller. “There is more where this came from. Keep her on it for thirty days and by the end of that time she’ll do anything you want in order to have more.”
Mrs. Miller set her quizzing glass aside and looked at Mason shrewdly. “In effect you’re telling me she is no good to me without the drug, that she can’t be bent without it. I don’t know if I like that. It is my experience that the drugged ones do not last long. A few years, perhaps. Never more. Then they die or I have to dismiss them because they can’t work.”
“So?”
“So? You’re asking a great deal of the ready for a girl who can only work a few years at most. Who is she anyway? Where did you fin
d her?”
“It is unimportant.” He shrugged off her answer impatiently. “Are you interested or not?”
Mrs. Miller smiled slowly, refusing to be pushed. “I want the drug at no cost for the first thirty days. Afterward you can charge whatever you like. She will be paying then.”
“Done.”
“I will pay half what you ask for her now, the other half when she is broken.”
“Non. It is all now or I will look elsewhere. Amelia’s place perhaps. Or the Flower House, the one run by Miss Rose.”
The mention of Miss Rose’s name did not sit well with Mrs. Miller. If she hadn’t thought Rhys Canning would ruin her business she would have done something about Polly Dawn and her erstwhile knight a long time ago.
“Don’t threaten me, Mason,” she said tersely. “Two-thirds now and the rest after thirty days. It is better than you deserve. Just look at her! I suppose she’ll clean up well enough but her hair is outrageous. It will take the full month for me to make something stylish of it. She’s been sheared like a sheep.”
“A necessary precaution,” Mason said, glancing in Kenna’s direction. Her head lolled to one side though he could see she fought to keep it upright. The bright red-gold braid was no longer in evidence and the remainder of her hair had been cropped close to her head. “A pity Sweet’s knife was not sharper, but then he hardly pretends to be a barber.” He turned back to the madam. “As you wish,” he conceded. “Two-thirds now and the remainder in one month.”
Mrs. Miller rose from behind her desk. “Have your men take her to the attic room. The chamber on the left is vacant. I’ll get your money.”
Mason directed Jeb and Sweet. “You heard what she wants. Use the back stairs.”
Jeb hefted Kenna over his shoulder while Sweet opened the door. When they were gone Mrs. Miller unlocked the middle drawer of her desk and counted out the payment to Mason. He attached the leather pouch of gold and silver coins to his trousers.
“As always, Mrs. Miller, it has been a pleasure doing business with you.” He gave her a little salute with his cane and turned to leave.
“How quickly you forget the terms of our agreement,” she chided him. “I’ll take the bottle you have now and expect more of the same in two days.”
He gave her the bottle, cautioning her about its use. “This has not been diluted. Use it judiciously and it will last you a full week. She will only require a dram now and again to keep her pliant. I will send Sweet around with more of the same strength in forty-eight hours. Toward the end of the thirty days withhold it several times to gauge her reaction. As I said, I am certain she will do anything for it.” He heard Jeb and Sweet lumbering down the stairs. “I believe we’re ready to leave. Good evening, Mrs. Miller.”
“Good evening,” she said and showed them to the door.
After they were gone she went to the main lounge and signaled two of her girls who were not entertaining clients. “Linda. Katie. We have a new arrival. She’s in Angela’s old room. Take a look at her and see if you can’t make something presentable out of her. I’d like to be able to give our gentleman callers something to anticipate until the day she is ready.”
Albert Reilly opened the door to Rhys’s library and announced his purpose with an officious air. “Lord Dunne is here to see you, sir.”
Rhys looked up from his reading. “Nicholas? I wonder why.”
“I’m certain I could not say,” Reilly responded gravely.
Rhys hid a smile at his butler’s solemnity. His staff was noticeably puffed up with their own importance since they were now serving the owner of Canning Shipping. Rhys only hoped things would settle into a less formal routine in a few weeks. He set a stack of papers aside, glad to have an excuse to put down the reports he had been given on his father’s shipping business. He had begun reading them out of duty to his new position and responsibilities and had been surprised that he felt interested and challenged. It was rather unsettling. “Well, have him come in then.” He got to his feet as Nicholas brushed past Reilly. “Nick! Good to see you! Though something of a surprise. Did you forget I was coming to Dunnelly?” He would have chided his friend for his poor memory but the greyish cast to Nick’s face stopped him. “What is it? You look terrible!”
Nicholas drew off his gloves and threw them on the spindle-legged table near the window. “It’s Kenna. She’s disappeared. I think she may be dead!”
Rhys felt the color drain from his face but he managed to ask for details with deadly calm.
Nick tossed his greatcoat aside and paced the floor as he spoke. “She left yesterday morning for Yvonne’s with her maid, two grooms, and a driver. It was all arranged that she should stay at Robinson’s for one night before going on to Cherry Hill. She arrived there safely but sometime during the night she was abducted. Mrs. Robinson became curious when Kenna did not come down for breakfast and at the request of the driver she went to investigate. Kenna’s maid was injured, bashed on the head with a brick from the looks of it, and Kenna was gone.”
“You saw the maid for yourself, then?”
Nick shook his head. “Not yet. One of the grooms came back to Dunnelly on Pyramid to report what happened. Mrs. Robinson sent for a physician for the maid and the driver and groom are remaining to transport her back to Dunnelly when the doctor approves.” He paused in his pacing long enough to accept the drink Rhys offered him, knocking it back in one swallow. “I came here on my way to the ale house. I thought you would want to be involved and I can use your help.”
“I’ll have a fresh horse made ready for you,” Rhys said. “As soon as I change my clothes we can be off.”
Nick nodded and his shoulders visibly straightened as he thought he would not have to face the ordeal alone. He put his hands in his jacket pockets to hide their trembling. His fingers touched something and he pulled it out. “Here, this is for you. I’ve been carrying it around since before the funeral. Forgot to give it to you.”
Rhys took the paper, his brows lifted in question. “What is it?”
“That guest list you wanted from the night of the masque. Victorine drew it up. I haven’t had time to look at it.”
Rhys merely glanced at it then tossed it aside. “The significance of it is as nothing if we cannot find Kenna.”
Nick did not like hearing the words but he knew the possibility must be faced. He gathered his coat and gloves and followed Rhys out of the library.
Their horses were lathered by the time they reached the ale house some thirty miles north of London. Mrs. Robinson ushered them in and took them to Janet’s room.
“My husband’s beside himself with worry,” she said as she opened the door. “Took to his bed right after we discovered that the young lady was gone. His heart’s not good; don’t know what’s to become of him. Nothing like this has ever happened in our inn before.”
“Ease yourself, Mrs. Robinson,” Rhys said to her as Nick crossed the room to Janet’s side. “His lordship doesn’t hold you to blame.”
Nick examined the livid mark on Janet’s temple and spoke her name softly. When there was no reply he stepped away, shaking his head. “It’s no use. She can’t tell us anything now, perhaps not even when she’s recovered.” He turned to Mrs. Robinson. “Do you keep a ledger of sorts? Something that will tell us who stayed here last night?”
“I have it downstairs. There was a stage on its way to London. Six passengers in all. I put them three to a room.” She continued on about the other guests as Rhys and Nick followed her downstairs. She gave the ledger to Nick then went behind the bar and drew them both a pint of ale.
Rhys asked for paper and pen to copy the names and she told him to tear out the page. He pointed to the first six names on the list. “These are from the stage?”
Mrs. Robinson tilted her head to see the writing. “No. The first three are that family I was telling you about. The widower and his two lads. They were gone at first light, headin’ for Scotland.”
“You saw them leave?�
�
“I did. They had but two horses between them. The boys rode together. Her ladyship was definitely not there.”
“What of the next three names?” asked Nick.
“Well, Jeb Thompson and Jake Sweet came in together. But after they drank away their funds they didn’t have the ready to get a room. Slept out in the stables, the pair of them. I can tell you I was glad of that. I didn’t want them muddying up my linens. Neither had taken a bath in a sennight as near as I could tell.”
Rhys listened patiently. “Did they have breakfast before they left?”
“No. I think your grooms mentioned they were gone at sunup.” She pointed a work-hardened finger at the name directly below Sweet’s. “Now this gentleman came a while later. About an hour before the stage and her ladyship arrived. He was quiet, well-mannered, not like some of the quality we get in here, lookin’ down their nose at everyone and fixin’ to raise a little hell.” She blushed to the roots of her dark hair as she remembered who she was speaking to. “Forgive my bluntness. Present company excluded, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Nick said dryly. “Was this,” he looked at the name again, “Deverell person here for breakfast? Rhys, look at this. I can’t make out the first initial. Is it an em?”
“It appears to be.”
Mrs. Robinson agreed happily. “Such fine handwriting, don’t you think? Yes, he was here for breakfast. Departed right before the stage.”
“Did he have a conveyance of some sort or was he riding a mount?” asked Nick.
“He had a roan colored horse.”
“Tell us about the people on the stage.”
The proprietress did so in great detail. “I know your sister wasn’t on that stage, m’lord. My husband helped load the baggage himself and saw them off.”
Nick sighed heavily. “That pretty much narrows it to Thompson and Sweet, don’t you think, Rhys?”
