As he took the chair opposite my desk, I turned to Milford. “Some sandwiches, if you please, and coffee.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Milford said with a bow, and withdrew quietly.
I remained standing a moment longer before resuming my seat. “Anything new to report?”
Finch reached into his coat to draw out his notebook. “I visited the households and establishments from the list SisterMargaret gave Lady Rosalynd. The stories are all much the same. The young ladies set out on errands and never returned. Some of the disappearances were reported to the police, but nothing ever came of them. Suspicious, if you ask me. One would expect at least a few enquiries. But there were none.”
A familiar tightness settled in my chest. His report matched what we had found in the police reports.
“And Lady Honora?” I asked.
“I engaged a female associate for that enquiry,” Finch replied. “An older woman in her fifties, someone I have worked with before. Women trust her more readily. She often secures answers I cannot.”
He paused, as if weighing what came next, then continued.
“We made our way to Berkeley Square and began asking questions, starting with the constables who were on duty the evening Lady Honora disappeared. For several hours, it came to nothing. But eventually she found someone willing to talk.
A sharp-eyed maid from one of the neighboring houses. On the day in question, the maid was returning from her half day when she noticed a woman approaching a servant she recognized. After a brief exchange, a man joined them. The three then moved together toward a carriage that appeared to be waiting. She thought little of it at the time, as she saw that same servant the following day. A maid from the Greystowe household.”
The picture formed too easily in my mind. Sickening in its simplicity. And horrifying. “They approach the girls under some innocuous pretext. Directions, perhaps. Then the man intervenes, chloroforms her, and they take her away. No one raises an alarm because the victim does not cry out or struggle.”
“That’s what we concluded,” Finch said, his mouth tightening. “And you and Lady Rosalynd? Have you uncovered anything further?”
Before I could answer, Milford and a footman entered after a brief knock, bearing trays laden with sandwiches and the coffee service. The interruption was almost jarring after the grimness of our discussion.
“Beef and ham,” Finch said, rubbing his hands.
“And cheese, with a pot of mustard, Mr. Finch,” Milford added. Once the trays had been set on a small table beside him, the servants withdrew.
“Do you mind?” Finch asked, gesturing toward the food.
I waved a hand. “Help yourself.” He had likely missed breakfast.
He satisfied his hunger with remarkable speed and then returned his attention to me. As I updated him on what Rosalynd and I had learned, his expression sharpened, the genial lines giving way to something colder.
“The Venus Grotto,” he said at last. “That is not a name I have encountered.”
“My best estimate places it close enough to London to be reached by barge or boat,” I said, “but not so close as to draw Scotland Yard’s attention.”
“It would need to be a substantial property,” Finch observed. “They’ve taken more than a dozen girls.”
“It’s worse than that.” I reached for the stack of reports on my desk and let my hand rest wearily upon them. “These files document thirty-two missing women. Most were never investigated at all. The few that were led nowhere, which seems to have discouraged any effort with the rest.”
Finch went very still. His shoulders squared, and his fingers curled slowly against the arm of the chair. “Twelve was bad enough,” he said at last. “But thirty-two?” His gaze lifted, hard and dark with revulsion.
The number sat between us, foul and undeniable.
“And those are only the ones who were reported,” I replied. “God knows how many were not.”
The silence that followed was heavy, dense, and unyielding.
“We need to find the Venus Grotto,” Finch said at last. The words came clipped and forceful. “That’s where our efforts must be directed.”
“I agree.”
“Where would such a place be located?”
I retrieved the map of London and the surrounding districts from my desk. Spreading it across the surface, I gestured for Finch to join me. “Here is London,” I said, laying my finger along the familiar sprawl, “and here is the Thames.”
