Page 66 of Rogue’s Holiday

“No…no, I was spared rape, thank God.” Chastity’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment at having to discuss such a possibility.

“I see,” said Miss Abby, her eyes full of pity. “As you might imagine, I have heard such tales before. Not every young woman brought to me arrives unscathed, I am sad to say. Was the man who abducted you the man who brought you here?”

“Yes.”

Miss Abby went to the sideboard and poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. “A few sips will do you good.”

Chastity sipped the rich red wine. It calmed her frayed nerves. Now that it seemed she was safe, she could not stop shivering.

“Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

The woman went to a tasseled bell pull and summoned a footman. “See that some food is brought for our young guest, Raymond. Some cheese, bread and fruit and tea. And ask Emma to bring the basket of salves.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the footman before retreating.

“Now then,” said Miss Abby. “Let us sit and you can tell me what happened.”

Finally experiencing relief, Chastity drew Sir Robert’s cloak around her and began to recount all that had befallen her since her arrival in London.

The woman’s face took on a look of grave concern. “For your sake, I will tell the man who brought you that you did not object to entering my house and that I have decided to accept you. He will think you are joining my ladies, but it will not be so.”

“Oh, thank you,” Chastity said, tears of relief cascading down her bruised cheeks.

The woman handed her a handkerchief. “Here, dry your eyes.”

Chastity gratefully accepted it.

“Perhaps it would help you to know that I did not seek to become the madam of a bordello and I take my responsibility to the young women here seriously. A distant uncle bequeathed Willow House to me when my position as governess to two young women ended. I always had a tender for girls in trouble and my reputation for showing them kindness drew to me young beauties who wanted a safe place away from the bawdy houses of Covent Garden or worse. Any girl who comes to me wishing for a different life is helped on her way, some to domestic service, and those who are educated to more. Only the most beautiful, well-spoken and gracious are allowed to join those who live and work at Willow House, if that is their desire and there is an opening. Some of those eventually find a relationship with a particular man.”

Chastity felt safe for the first time since she’d been taken. “Thank God that horrible man brought me to you.”

Miss Abby patted her hand. “He is not aware of my reputation. He knows only that Willow House is the most elegant brothel in London, which it is. Members of the ton and their wealthy friends are our only clientele.”

The food arrived and Miss Abby urged her to eat, which she did, surprisingly hungry all of a sudden. The maid, Emma, entered with a basket and came to apply salve to her face. “Poor thing and ye have such beautiful skin, too.”

The kind madam poured tea. “While you are eating, I will dispense with the man.” She handed Chastity a cup of tea.

“What will you tell him?”

Miss Abby gave her a knowing smile. “Why, that you are beautiful and intelligent and will fit in perfectly with the ladies of Willow House.” She looked at Chastity’s bare feet. “Emma, find Miss Reynolds a decent gown and some shoes.”

Robbie was growing desperate and exhausted. His eyes burned for lack of sleep but he had no intention of stopping. As a spy he had, at times, forced himself to go on little or no sleep. He would do so now to find Chastity.

He and Jack had spent all day searching only to find Chastity was not in any of the bordellos they had visited, unless the madams had lied which, all things considered, might be a possibility. A young woman of Chastity’s quality would be a prize they would not easily surrender.

He glanced at Jack, recognizing the lines of fatigue but knowing he would never complain so great was their mission. Robbie had decided to stop at The Guardsman public house for food before going on. As they entered, he smelled the familiar scent of ale and smoke. The light from several large paned windows fell across a dozen scattered wooden tables, half of them occupied with customers.

“I’ve never been here,” said Jack. “A recent favorite?”

“Until last year, my twin brother and I were frequent customers. It was once home to the First Regiment of Foot Guards and only in recent years has become a public house. Were he not in Brighton, you might glimpse the Duke of Wellington raising a pint with the fellows at the bar.”

Robbie and Jack claimed a corner table where they could talk undisturbed. It was still late afternoon so many tables were yet to be filled. The air smelled of the fare one found in a tavern. They ordered coffee and mutton stew, which arrived with bread and cheese.

“I’m famished,” said Jack, breaking off a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese and stuffing them into his mouth.

Robbie lifted a mouthful of stew to his lips as Sam, the rotund proprietor in his fifties, came to their table. He waited until Robbie swallowed. “’Tis good, isn’t it?”