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Heather shook her head, her blue eyes twinkling. “You’re a lot kinder than most people think you are. Not one lady in a thousand would think to ask the help what they wanted.”
Allison laughed and flounced over to the chair to replace the soft slippers she’d worn to breakfast with her sturdy boots. Unfortunately, there were things on the streets of Bethnal Green she definitely didn’t want to step in with only a layer of silk beneath her feet.
“Honestly, even though it’s sometimes a bit scary, I believe in what you’re doing, and I’m happy to be a part of it. As long as you’re doing this, I’ll be right there with you.” Heather finished putting away Allison’s jewelry and turned to face her. “We’re saving London, one prostitute at a time.”
Allison burst out laughing, so grateful for her friend’s support. Sometimes she could get so focused on what she wanted that she ran roughshod over those around her. “Well, let’s get going then, shall we?”
* * *
MERCY HOUSE STOOD ON a bustling street in the heart of Bethnal Green. The brick townhouse stood side by side with other houses that had probably been nice family homes a century ago but had now been broken up into multiple rundown flats. They weren’t in Mayfair anymore, that was certain, but Allison had never sensed any danger here.
In fact, one of the most appealing things about this location had been the fact that Inspector O’Brien’s police station was just a few blocks away. Although she’d only seen him a handful of times since he’d rescued her from Paris five years ago, they’d become incredibly close on the voyage, and she’d always liked the fact that he and his men were close by if the girls ever needed anything.
Allison, Heather, and Joseph stepped down from the hired hack they’d arrived in and made their way up to the front door. They could have taken one of her brother’s many fine coaches—he even had a motorcar!—but she’d learned quickly that those elaborate vehicles drew far too much attention. She liked to believe that in their nondescript clothes, no one was looking at them at all.
Lucy Peele, who had worked in one of Roger’s brothels and had been one of the first women Allison had taken in, opened the door. In her early thirties, with lovely dark hair and eyes, she had once been one of the most sought-after courtesans in London.
“Good afternoon,” Lucy greeted them warmly and led them into the parlor, where a small tray of tea and biscuits waited for them. The room was warm and welcoming, decorated in cool shades of green with plenty of places for the girls to sit and relax after a hard day’s work.
Allison had made Lucy the house mother. She did the cooking and cleaning and generally took care of the house while the other girls were at work. Because it was early afternoon, the rest of the girls wouldn’t be home until later. Allison hoped she’d get a chance to meet with some of them as they trickled in and ask how they were doing, but that wasn’t why she’d come. Once a month, she went over the books with Lucy to review expenses and see what was still needed to make the home more comfortable for its inhabitants.
They’d barely sat down when Lucy gave Allison an anxious look. “I’m a bit concerned about Polly, milady. She didn’t go to work today.”
Allison had admonished Lucy a thousand times to call her Allison, but she likely never would. Though she’d done everything she could to become Lucy’s friend, she feared the other woman would never see past the difference in their stations. “Is she ill?”
“That’s just it. I’m not certain. She won’t answer her door.” Lucy gazed down at the floor, unable to meet Allison’s gaze. “I don’t think she came home last night. She wasn’t there at bedtime.”
Allison had instituted a strict curfew for all the girls. They were to be in the house by nine and in their rooms by ten. Allison could tell by the look on Lucy’s face that she didn’t want to tattle on Polly but was genuinely worried.
“Polly...” Allison mused. Twelve girls plus Lucy shared this house, and she tried to remember which one was Polly.
“Lovely Irish girl,” Lucy supplied. “Dark hair, beautiful face.”
“Oh, yes!” Allison said, the description sparking the memory. Polly had been referred to her by Inspector O’Brien... She blinked away the image of the handsome policeman, trying to focus again on Lucy’s worries. “Well, perhaps she missed curfew but made it to work. I believe this is her first infraction, so we’ll have a talk with her, but as long as she doesn’t do it again, it will be fine.”
A muscle tightened in Lucy’s jaw, as though she was holding back anger, and Allison blinked, wondering what Lucy had to be angry about. The rules were in place for a reason. These girls had lived horrible lives before coming here. If they truly wanted to change and become productive members of society, they needed to leave their old lives behind.
“Joan came back on her break to tell me that Polly had not shown up at the factory, either,” Lucy finally managed. “No one knows where she is, and when I tried her room this morning, it was locked.”
“That’s odd,” Allison murmured. If Polly wasn’t in the room, then why was her room locked? “Was it locked last night when you checked on them at bedtime?”
Lucy shook her head. “I thought about using the key, but I wasn’t certain...”
Allison stood up decisively. “I think we should.”
Lucy and Heather exchanged a look that Allison caught out of the corner of her eye, and she stiffened, knowing that she’d once again overstepped in some way, but she refused to back down on this matter. As long as Polly lived under her roof, she’d abide by the rules. By missing curfew, Polly had forfeited her right to privacy.
Squaring her shoulders, Allison headed for the stairs, leaving the other women to trail behind her.
“Which room is hers?” Allison demanded once she reached the landing on the second floor.
“This one right here,” Lucy said, hurrying past Allison to unlock the one which was two doors down on the right.
As the door swung open, an intense stench flooded the hallway, hitting Allison’s nostrils and stopping her in her tracks just steps from entering. The scent was overpowering, indescribable. Rotting meat and alcohol, something dead... Blood.
“Oh, dear God,” Lucy moaned, stepping away from the door and promptly losing her lunch on the carpet.
“What does she have in there...?” Allison whispered, aghast, the truth of it still not clear to her. For some reason, when she stepped into the room, she expected to find that the woman had been hiding a pet that had somehow died.
What she did not in a million years expect was that Polly would be sprawled across the spartan iron bed, naked and very, very dead.
“Come away,” Heather demanded, steering Allison back toward the door. “Don’t look. There’s nothing we can do for her.”
But it was too late. Allison had already looked, and the image would be seared in her brain for all eternity.
Crimson blood and pale skin. Polly’s dark hair haloed about her like a cloud, her flesh torn, her insides visible...
“Call for Inspector Quinn,” she managed to tell Joseph, who was running up the stairs, having obviously heard Lucy’s distress. She sagged against the wall, her hand pressed to her mouth as she struggled not to cast up her accounts as well. “Polly has been murdered.”
