Tremont’s chest puffed a little. “Yes. It will please me. The goddess of the hunt presents a certain challenge.”
Mrs. Miller nodded eagerly. “Then I can expect you in three days?”
“So long?” he pouted.
“Only if you want to hear her scream,” she reminded him.
He wet his lips and ceased tapping the quirt. “Very well. In three days.” Tremont gave Kenna one last look before he exited the room.
Mrs. Miller paused before she closed the door. “Three days, Diana. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed me.”
* * *
Polly Dawn Rose fingered her water glass thoughtfully as she looked at the pinched and unsmiling faces of the eight women seated at her dining table. “Ladies,” she said, tapping a spoon against her china plate. “Whatever is wrong? From the sad looks surrounding me I could well suspect someone was getting married.” The attempt at teasing brought only a glimmer of response. She put down the spoon. “I insist you tell me what these long faces are about. We open our doors in but two hours and our clients pay well enough for our gaiety and not a halfpenny for our troubles.” Polly turned to the young woman on her left. “Sheila. You begin.”
“It’s about the new girl at Mrs. Miller’s.”
Polly sighed. “Her again. I thought it was settled. There is nothing I can do for her. Nor any of you,” she added pointedly.
“You did ask,” Sheila answered, pushing away her plate.
Polly watched as the other girls did the same, mutinous expressions on their faces. “Really, ladies. What is it you think we can do?”
At that moment the kitchen assistant set down a dish of hot peas in front of Polly. Hard. Some of the peas bounced out of the dish and rolled across the white table cloth. There were a few snickers along the table but they ceased as the young girl spoke up somewhat defiantly. “We think we can get her out of there, Miss Rose. Same as you helped me.”
“It is hardly the same thing at all,” Polly answered, striving for calm. “You were brought here for purchase. She, on the other hand, was not. I help those I can but helping this girl is something else again.”
At the far end of the table Loreta spoke up, tossing back her long black mane of hair. “I talked with Katie in the park this afternoon. Diana, that’s what Mrs. Miller’s named this girl, is going to be Lord Tremont’s property tonight! You know what will happen to her, Polly.!”
“I’ve heard she’s been drugged since she got there,” Sheila added. “Even those witches at Betty’s have some compassion for her. They say she won’t survive Tremont. Betty’s made him wait three days to have her. He’ll be savage by the time he’s alone with Diana.”
Polly’s hands twisted in her lap. She knew Tremont’s requirements, having nursed two girls who felt the sting and slash of his crop when she was still working at Mrs. Miller’s. She had counted herself among the fortunate that he never found her to his tastes. He was a young pup then, bent on proving that he was someone to be reckoned with. And because he had not matured one whit, he was barred from Polly’s door. “Betty’s girls may be compassionate, but are they willing to help? Have any of them lifted a finger to get Diana out of that house?” Silence greeted her and several heads dropped to study the pattern in the white linen tablecloth. “As I thought. What, then, can we do?”
“We thought…perhaps…Mr. Canning would help,” one of them ventured meekly.
Polly would not even consider it. “He has had enough laid at his door these past weeks. I cannot ask him. The woman who was murdered, Lady Kenna Dunne, was a close friend.” A murmur of shock greeted her announcement.
“We didn’t know,” Sheila said softly.
Polly patted Sheila’s hand. “I know you didn’t. And this latest business with Napoleon. Well, you can imagine how he’s taken it. Fighting so long on the Peninsula, and for what?” She pushed away from the table and stood up, tossing her napkin on her plate. “If it’s help you want to offer Diana then we must come upon a plan ourselves.”
“We?” Loreta asked uncertainly.
“Yes, we. All of you and me,” she said staunchly as if there had never been any question. “And, everything considered, we don’t have much time.”
* * *
Kenna’s hands trembled as Linda fussed with her hair and made nervous cooing sounds when she patted down curls. The face that was reflected in the glass was not her own, she thought somewhat fuzzily. Her cheeks were not so red, nor her lips. Her hair was darker and shorter than she remembered and her eyelids were painted a light blue. There was a chill in the room and her rouged nipples pressed provocatively against the gossamer gown she had been forced to put on. Beneath it was only her flesh and she felt as naked with the clothing as she had without it.
“I can’t do this,” she said, though in truth she hadn’t any clear expectation of what was required. Mrs. Miller had explained it to her several times over the last three days, always holding the precious bottle at arm’s length and giving Kenna just a taste before she swept out of the room.
Linda laid a comforting hand on Kenna’s bare shoulder. “Of course you can,” she said though the words stuck in her throat. “You want more of your medicine, don’t you?”
Kenna nodded, touching her fingers to her temples, trying to still the throbbing so she could think. “I want it now,” she said petulantly. “I need it. I don’t feel well.”
Linda knew that was certainly true. In the afternoon Kenna had had severe cramping and a bout of nausea that dropped her to her knees. Mrs. Miller had been forced to give Kenna more of the drug than was her desire to keep the sickness of withdrawal at bay. Linda urged Kenna to her feet. “Over here, Diana. On the bed.”
Kenna stumbled a little as they crossed the floor. “Don’t call me Diana. ’S not my name.”
