Page 143 of The Siren of Sussex

A mob of children in ragged clothing trailed after them for a few yards, only to be chased off by a man emptying a pail of refuse into the street. It was another foul note added to the already-pungent symphony of night soil, rotting food, and fetid river water.

Evelyn briefly covered her nose.

“It’s worse when the sun’s out,” Ahmad said. “You get used to it.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “Are you sure Mira’s here?”

“No.” He wasn’t sure of anything. “But she said she was visiting an old friend. And these are the only friends she had.”

The stairs at the front of the house were broken in the middle. He led Evelyn up along the edge of them to the warped wooden door. A rusted knocker hung there from one loosened nail. A useless implement. He bypassed it completely, pounding on the door with his fist.

It was opened by a hulking older man wearing an ill-fitting coat and a pair of worn trousers. His broad face broke into a smile. “Malik!”

Ahmad recognized the fellow. It would be difficult not to. Joe Tweed had previously worked at the public house on the corner, removing quarrelsome drunks from the premises. He was as big as an ox. “Tweed,” Ahmad said. “You’re working here now?”

“Aye. Since you left.” Tweed directed his snaggled grin at Evelyn. “And who’s this with you? A new girl for the missus?”

Ahmad stepped in front of Evelyn. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He felt the overpowering urge to punch his old acquaintance squarely in the face. “She’s mine,” he said. “I’ll thank you to keep your eyes in your head.”

Tweed held up a hand, laughing. “Easy, lad. I don’t mean nothing. Just puzzling over why you’re back, that’s all.”

“I’m looking for my cousin. Is she inside?”

“Little Mira?” Tweed appeared genuinely surprised.

“You haven’t seen her?”

“Not since the pair of you left.”

Ahmad’s stomach tightened with apprehension.

His mind went immediately to the darkest possibility, imagining Mira out there somewhere, vulnerable and exposed, prey for any villain who crossed her path.

Evelyn squeezed his arm. “She has Becky with her.”

He nodded grimly. Mira and Becky together was better than either of them wandering about alone. But it wasn’t much of a defense against the local elements. If a ruffian was intent on meddling with them, two young women couldn’t hope to defend themselves.

“You want me to fetch the missus?” Tweed asked.

“I’m here.” A familiar female voice floated up from behind him. It was followed by the woman herself: Lily Pritchard. She wore a loose housedress, her gray-streaked hair twisted up on her head in a careless knot.

Ahmad inwardly recoiled at the sight of her.

For thirteen years she’d been his employer. She’d never hurt him. Had never forced him to her bed. But her interest had always been clear. She’d petted and handled him, knowing all the while that he must endure it or end up back on the streets, and his cousin along with him.

“Malik.” She regarded him in much the same way Lady Heatherton had. “What’s the meaning of this, banging on the door in broad daylight, as if you were the law? You know we don’t entertain visitors until sundown.”

“He’s looking for Mira,” Tweed said.

Mrs. Pritchard’s bloodshot eyes became acquisitive. “Well, well.” She lounged in the doorway. “Have you lost her at last? Your little ward?” Her gaze moved to Evelyn. “And who might you be?”

“A friend,” Evelyn said, pushing up her spectacles. “I’m no concern of yours.”

“Oh ho!” Mrs. Pritchard laughed. “What starch! Malik’s got himself a little bluestocking.”

Ahmad turned to leave, guiding Evelyn back down the stairs. There was nothing to be gained by conversing with Mrs. Pritchard.

“If she comes here, I shall welcome her back,” she called after them. “There’s always a place for pretty girls in my house—if they’re willing to work. That goes for you, too, my fine lady.”