“We?” Solomon asked.
“Anthony and I. Even the police inspector understood that.”
Bella’s large, mournful eyes were fixed on Constance. “Didmy father come here?”
“Never,” Constance said steadily, “until the night he died. Even then, he was never over the door.”
The girl’s gaze did not shift.
“She doesn’t believe me,” Cordell said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I told her—”
Bella stopped him with a quick, silencing gesture. “Let her speak. I presume you are Mrs. Silver?”
“More properly, I am Mrs. Grey. But yes, the establishment is mine.”
“And how do you know Mr. Cordell?”
“My husband met him in your home. They talked together on leaving, and Solomon gave him a card for our investigation business, Silver and Grey.”
The suspicion remained in Bella’s eyes. She was not yet convinced.
Solomon stirred in his chair. “We also discussed other aspects of this establishment. My guess is that Mr. Cordell was curious—and perhaps too impatient to wait for morning to visit the Silver and Grey office.”
“Exactly,” Cordell said, but Bella did not look at him.
She flashed a glance at Solomon. “What otheraspectsare there?” she asked contemptuously.
“There are the people who live here.” Constance allowed a shade of scorn into her smile. “Yes, we are people too. Not all of us were born to wealth and safety. Some of us were born into poverty. Some of us fell there from poor decisions or bad luck. Either way, we are still entitled to life.”
“Likethis?” Bella said, gesturing to encompass the whole disreputable house.
“Why not? My profession is as old as time, Miss St. John, though not all of us choose it. Some do. But what do you think happens to the ladies of your own class who are seduced—or worse—by so-called gentlemen? What happens to the maids who are made pregnant because they’re too frightened to resist their masters, and are then dismissed without a character? Without help, their fall is relentless and inevitable. Some have to provide for children.”
“So you take them in and put them to work here,” Bella said disdainfully.
“Oh, I take in the few I can help, and yes, we are all responsible for some work. Some choose to be courtesans in a safe place—”
“Safe!” There was anger as well as derision in the girl’s face.
Solomon said, “Brothels are rarely safe for women, who can be beaten, abused, and even murdered without anyone batting an eyelid. They deserve it, don’t they, for being fallen women? It does not happen here.”
“Nor,” Constance added, “are we going to kidnap you and hold you captive without food and water until you are broken enough to agree to lie with whoever is brought to you. Because, yes, that happens too, to women of all classes unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place without the right protection.”
“That’s enough,” Cordell said, clearly appalled at such subjects sullying the ears of his betrothed—who, in fact, was looking both astonished and revolted.
“It is,” Solomon agreed. “More than enough. So, Constance takes in as many such women as she can, providing shelter, medical treatment, and good food, all without judgment. She helps them give birth and have their children adopted by decent people where appropriate. She sees to their training in various trades and professions they have chosen—if that is their wish. Itis a recognized charity, which Mr. Cordell has chosen to support after his visit last night.”
“With cash donations,” Cordell added deliberately, in case, presumably, his betrothed chose to suspect any other kind of transaction. “Many respectable people do.”
“This morning,” Constance continued, noticing that the girl’s flushed face had whitened, “Mr. Cordell called at the Silver and Grey offices by appointment, and contracted us to investigate the death of your father. Who was not, by the way, known at any other of the establishments I’m familiar with. We will hear in time if he ever visited any, but my impression of the man is that he did not.”
Bella was still staring at Constance, as though trying to force the truth out of her. “Youwere not born into poverty, deprived of wealth and education!”
“My dear, I am a mere example of dragging myself up by the garters,” Constance drawled. “You can choose to disbelieve everything I, my husband, and Mr. Cordell say. Or you—having rather forced yourself into my house—can help us find the truth about your father. Mr. Cordell seemed to believe it would help you.”
Bella’s gaze fell at last. It was a lot to grasp and understand, and no doubt contrary to everything she had ever been taught. But the defiance, the outrage, had drained out of her.
“How can I help you find the truth?” she asked in a small voice. “I know nothing about his leaving the house that night, or about opium, or anyone who could conceivably want to hurt him.”
