Detective Inspector Holland rubbed a hand over his face. “That was the only thing you did right. I was able to say I got an anonymous tip about a body, but I can’t protect you if you keep inserting yourself into dangerous situations.”
Phoebe bowed her head. “Understood.”
The inspector didn’t look the least bit convinced.
Smart man.
“I assure you that it won’t happen again,” Will said but the man gave him an equally skeptical look.
“Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but that didn’t work out so well last time. I shouldn’t need to tell you that it is Miss Atkinson who is incurring the greatest risk here.”
The back of Will’s neck heated. It was true. Phoebe could be ruined by all of this.
“Never mind that,” she said briskly, as if her reputation was a trivial detail. “We need to find this Maude woman Mr. Cartwright saw. If she truly was at Alice’s flat, then she has to know something. We can go to that music hall she frequents.”
“There is no ‘we’ here, Miss Atkinson,” Detective Inspector Holland said with exasperation. “You are not to have any more involvement into Alice Clarke’s disappearance.”
“But—”
“I will look into it,” he insisted. “I promise you. But you must give me some time. I will write to you within the week. Is that satisfactory?” he added mockingly.
Phoebe sat back in her seat. “I suppose,” she said with a pout. “But do you at least know Maude?”
The inspector’s pause was telling. “Possibly.”
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Is she a prostitute?”
He let out an awkward cough and turned to Will. “Is she always like this?”
“It appears so,” Will said with a helpless shrug.
The inspector looked scandalized. He finished his pint in one long swallow and rose. “As I said,Iwill look into it.” Then he addressed Phoebe as he pulled on his overcoat. “And for God’s sake, don’t go to that music hall.” Then he pointed to Will. “He won’t last five minutes there.”
Will began to bristle but the inspector shot him a pleading look, so he kept his mouth shut. Phoebe gave a meek nod, but the inspector still didn’t look convinced.
“Your Grace,” he said and touched the brim of his bowler hat.
Will nodded in return and the inspector then exited the room, leaving them alone.
Phoebe stared at her untouched glass of cider. She had removed her gloves when they first sat down and now Will couldn’t tear his gaze away as her pale, slender fingers idly tapped the table. It was easy to imagine her writing on a chalkboard with smooth, confident strokes.
“I should have done more to help Alice,” she said softly. “I knew she was struggling after her mother died. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been so vulnerable.”
Will leaned an arm on the table, though what he really wanted to do was take her hand in his own. Her skin would be cool to the touch, and so soft—except a working woman like her might have a callus on her finger. The thought was unexpectedly exciting.
“I’m sure you did all you could,” he began. “And remember, sheis not the first girl to fall prey to the empty promises of a scheming madam.”
Phoebe’s head rose sharply, but not with the look of appreciation Will expected. “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions about the both of them, Margrave.”
Will’s cheeks flushed at her unexpected admonishment. “They’re hardly outlandish though,” he pointed out, suddenly feeling defensive. “The peddling of flesh is a scourge in this city.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “It is,” she agreed.
Will relaxed a little, glad they had found some common ground. “Thankfully Lord Fairbanks is drafting a bill aimed at punishing the culprits, like this mysterious woman.”
Phoebe let out a harsh laugh. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that theprostitutesare to blame.”
“Well, no. Not entirely,” he amended.
