“Please, sit.” In a swish of red velvet, Miss Cherrywood sat in an armchair and poured tea for two.
“Thank you.” Pearl did as told.
The soft cushion of the armchair reminded her of the plush sitting room in her parents’ mansion where ladies and gentlemen used to be received for the afternoon tea or the Sunday’s breakfast.
Miss Cherrywood flashed a smile. “You can relax. I mean to help you, and if you don’t mind my candour, I’d like to say I know a little about your situation.”
“How do you know?” The first sip of tea almost made Pearl moan in appreciation. Real tea, rich and strong.
“I have ears and eyes everywhere, and your family’s quick bankruptcy has been portrayed in the newspapers for a while.”
Oh, yes. Journalists had tried to interview her for weeks, pushing her to answer their questions. They could be as persistent as the police. As if she could explain what had happened to her father’s finances. All she knew was that one day, Father sent her a letter from Delhi to tell her they lost everything. Something to do with a bad investment in India. After that, he’d vanished. The only person who likely knew what had happened to Father was a man called Cowasj Singh, an Indian Prince. As if she could take a ship to India and demand a prince to tell her where Father was and what the heck happened to him. Cowasj had been named a few times in the last letter Father had sent her, and that summed up what she knew about the whole affair.
If she hadn’t fled when she’d seen the police banging on her front door and shouting to come out because she was under arrest, she’d be in Fleet Prison right now.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Miss Cherrywood touched Pearl’s hand. “I just wanted to spare you the pain to explain why you need help. But I must ask you a question.”
Everyone wanted to ask questions to Pearl these days.
“Are you involved in your father’s bankruptcy?”
“No.” Pearl was growing tired of saying it.
There was a moment of silence, during which Miss Cherrywood studied her. Whatever she saw on Pearl’s face must’ve satisfied her because she gave a nod.
“Good. I believe you.”
The tea turned sour in Pearl’s mouth. “Thank you.”
A warm laugh came from Miss Cherrywood. “Please, forgive me. I’m not laughing at you, but ‘thank you’ is all you’ve said so far.” She cut a generous slice of cake and put it on a plate. “We need to talk freely if you want me to help you.”
A frisson of annoyance wormed its way through Pearl. She put the cup down on the low table. “With due respect, but I don’t know anything about you and your agency.”
“Oh, that.” Miss Cherrywood patted her curls. “It’s more a secret society than an agency. A sort of freemasons for ladies, if you will. We have to help each other, don’t you think?”
“Help each other how?”
“If a woman comes here in need of a house where to stay because her husband hits her, I can provide shelter, money, and the means to disappear.” She whispered the last word.
Good Lord. Pearl swallowed a sickening lump in her throat. “What do you mean by disappear?”
“My net includes many powerful ladies. All of them are sworn to secrecy, and if I required forged papers for a woman, they don’t ask any questions.” A menacing glint flashed in Miss Cherrywood’s eyes.
“How did you start all this?” Pearl waved a hand to encompass the house.
“Fate hasn’t been kind with me as it wasn’t with you. So I had two choices. I could whore myself or I could forge my own path. I chose the second. I don’t have a husband. I don’t need one. I live with a decent allowance that pays for this house, a maid, and a footman. And there isn’t anything I want more than help other women who aren’t lucky. We live among wolves. At the first sign of weakness, they’ll jump to your throat. People you consider friends one day become your enemy the next. But again”—she leaned closer—“if we women don’t help each other, who will?”
A shiver crawled up Pearl’s back, like a running mouse. She didn’t know if she should be impressed or scared by Miss Cherrywood. Right now, she was halfway between the two. Surely, Miss Cherrywood wasn’t a woman Pearl wanted to cross. Besides, what Miss Cherrywood had said was true. Pearl’s friends had shunned her. She was alone, and if another woman didn’t understand what she was going through, no one would.
“I agree,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong to her own ears.
Miss Cherrywood’s ruby lips stretched in a smile. “Who told you to contact me?”
“The landlady of the pension where I rented a room. She took pity on me, I guess, although I didn’t tell her who I am.”
A waft of French perfume came from Miss Cherrywood when she nodded. “Given your situation, my guess is that you need a job.”
“Yes.” Pearl straightened, confidence flaring up in her chest. “I speak French fluently. I play the piano and have learn to cross-stitch when—”
