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“Hester!” he protested, aghast. “For God’s sake . . .” He swiveled to Margaret. “I apologize, Miss Ballinger, but I couldn’t possibly involve myself in usury and prostitution! Not to mention sanctioning the brutal punishment of people unable to pay their debts . . .”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t be!” Margaret said sincerely. “You would only have to go there once.” Her eyes did not leave his. “And surely lawyers deal with some very questionable people a lot of the time? You can hardly defend people who haven’t at least been charged with a crime, whether they are guilty or not?”
“Yes, but that’s . . .” he protested.
Her smile lit her face with a softness and a warmth which were unmistakable. She could not have hidden her admiration for him then even had she tried, and at the moment she was oblivious of it. “If anyone were to mention it, should they know, you could be perfectly candid afterwards as to why you were there,” she said reasonably. “Could anything be more justified than rescuing perfectly honest young women from a life on the streets?”
His face was filled with confusion both intellectual and emotional. Hester, who knew him so well, could see it clearly.
“That’s not exactly what you’re suggesting,” he pointed out reluctantly, looking from one to the other of them. “I need to go to this . . . Squeaky?”
“Yes . . . Squeaky Robinson.” Hester nodded.
“And offer to be his partner in usury and pimping?” he finished.
“Only offer,” Hester said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not actually do it.”
“The difference between intent and execution would be difficult to prove,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.
“To whom?” Hester argued. “Who is going to know, except Squeaky Robinson, who will be in no position to retaliate, and Margaret and I, who will be undyingly grateful. And of course we know exactly where your real morality lies.”
“Hester, it is . . .” he tried again.
“Ingenious and unpleasant,” Margaret answered for him. “Of course it is.” Her voice conveyed understanding and disappointment. Her eyes were wide, full of gentleness, as if she knew she had expected too much.
Rathbone flushed. He was perfectly well aware that she and Hester worked in Coldbath Square almost every day, regardless of dirt, danger, or risk to their reputations.
“When were you planning on doing this?” he asked tentatively.
“Tonight,” Hester replied without hesitation.
Margaret smiled hopefully and said nothing.
“Tonight! I . . .” Rathbone was momentarily nonplussed. “I . . .”
“Thank you,” Hester murmured.
“Hester!” he protested, but he had already surrendered and all three of them knew it.
Margaret’s eyes were gleaming, her cheeks faintly flushed, although no one could have told whether the cause was anticipation of the possible victory tonight or her knowledge that Rathbone had succumbed largely because of her.
Hester stood up, and Rathbone and Margaret did likewise. Time was short, but quite apart from that, it was wise to withdraw before triumph could be turned into defeat by a thoughtless additional remark.
“Thank you very much,” Hester said sincerely. “Where would you like to meet us? Coldbath Square might not be the most advisable.”
“What about Fitzroy Street?” Margaret suggested. “I can be there at whatever time you wish.”
“Then I shall join you at nine o’clock,” Rathbone replied. He looked at Hester with a twisted smile. “What does one wear to buy into a brothel?”
She regarded his extremely elegant gray suit and white shirt with its perfectly tied cravat. “I would not change, if I were you. Dressed like that, he will believe you have money and influence.”
“How about greed, immorality and perverted tastes?” he asked with a slight curl of his lip.
“You cannot dress for that,” she replied with perfect seriousness. “Regrettably.”
“Touché,” he murmured. “Until nine o’clock. I presume you will tell me then whatever else I am required to know?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Oliver. Good-bye.”
