Chapter Nineteen
They woke tobe told that a visitor awaited them downstairs. A maid brought the news, knocking on the door then putting her head around it to ask—blushing and stammering—whether Mrs. Blackmore knew where Lord Kemble might be.
Apparently, their nighttime liaisons were not as secret as they hoped. With their daughters living under the same roof, they were being particularly careful that their nocturnal activities did not become a matter of gossip. With that in mind, Allan stayed hidden under the sheets, while Melody left the bed. Since she had been wearing nothing, Allan would have liked to watch.
“You have a card?” Melody asked.
“Yes, Ma’am. Here, Ma’am.”
“Madam Hera,” Melody read aloud. “Please show her to the small parlor and tell her that we shall be down shortly. Would you be able to provide her with the beverage and refreshments of her choice while she waits? I do know where Lord Kemble might be, and shall pass on the message. Please send up a maid with warm water to my room and Lord Kemble’s.”
Allan raced back to his room as soon as the maid left, and washed and dressed in record time. The maid with her washing water must have helped Melody with her buttons, for she was ready at her door when he emerged from his chamber. They hadbeen quick, but it was still thirty minutes before they arrived in the parlor to find Madam Hera sipping tea.
“Coffee for us both,” Allan said to the maid, while Melody said to their guest, “Madam Hera, good morning. Thank you for coming to call. How may we help you?”
“By putting a stop to that fiend Teign,” Madam Hera said, her face grim. “Lord Kemble, Mrs. Blackmore, I have now spoken to all my former colleagues from my days with Ramping Billy, and I have news to share. In private.”
“I shall pour the coffee, Maudie,” Melody said to the maid. “Please shut the door on your way out.”
As soon as the girl was gone, Madam Hera told them her news. For years, the prostitutes of London had known that someone was buying the personal and exclusive services of a dozen or so of London’s top whores each year.
Back before Madame Hera transferred her focus to the ladies’ club, she, like the others in the profession, had believed those selected by the unknown buyer were the lucky ones, chosen to spend a year being pampered and richly paid, then able to retire on their newly earned wealth.
“By the time I retired from the brothel business,” Madam Hera told them, “Some of us were beginning to have our doubts. Usually, when a girl does well, they come back at least once or twice to show off their clothing and their jewelry to the other girls, and to boast about how good their protector is to them.”
She sighed, and took another sip of her tea. “Or, they waste their money, or the protector doesn’t keep his promises, and they come looking for their old place back. In all the years this buyer took girls, I never heard of one coming back.” She drained her cup.
“Let me pour you another,” Melody said. Madam Hera passed her the cup and continued her tale. “When two of my girls were invited during that last year, I begged them not toaccept. But they believed the promises of the buyer’s agent, poor girls.” She accepted the freshly poured cup of tea.
“Thank you, dear. I spent yesterday visiting different houses where I know the madam or the senior girls. I wanted to know if it was still happening, and if anyone had discovered who was behind it. Sure enough, my former colleagues have been watching, listening, and comparing notes.”
After another deep breath was exhaled in a sigh, she said, “The buyer is only a middle-man, but he delivers the girls to a person who is an agent for a man named Farnham.”
Allan must have reacted, for she nodded and commented, “I thought you would know the name.”
“Teign’s steward,” Allan said.
“Indeed. Kemble, I don’t know what has happened to those girls, but I am very afraid they are dead. Or most of them. There are rumors that a few discards are sold cheap to the worst hell holes in London or in other cities. The buyer purchased a new crop of girls a few weeks ago, but as to where they were taken, we do not know.”
Allan exchanged a glance with Melody. They knew the location to which the girls were taken, and Madam Hera’s information explained where they came from.
“Madam Hera,” he said, “we think we know where Teign is holding those survivors. What you’ve told us might be the final nail in the villain’s coffin. Would you be willing to write and sign a statement for the magistrates?”
He half expected her to refuse. Women who had pursued a career such as hers tried to avoid the notice of magistrates, except for those who came to them as customers, and who were therefore guaranteed to turn a blind eye to their illegal activities.
Madam Hera firmed her lips and nodded. “I owe it to those girls,” she said. “What should I write?”
They settled that Melody should ask her questions and take notes, and then write out a statement that the club owner could copy and sign. Allan sent for more coffee and writing materials. By the time the rest of the family were awake, Madam Hera had told Melody all she knew about the girls who had been taken and the buyer, and had gone on her way.
Halfway through the morning came the news that Thomasina’s house in Smithfield had been attacked in the night. The attackers had not reckoned on the resilience of three French aunts who had not only survived the revolution, the Terror, the directorate, Napoleon’s years in power, and the return of the Bourbons, but had built a thriving wine export business out of the ashes of their former lives as aristocrats.
The aunts had gone into action while Cornelius was grappling with one of the intruders and Thomasina was taking their son to the attics, where a gap beneath the rafters connected the houses.
One had fetched a pistol, one a club, and the third had rung a large handbell that brought the rest of the neighbors out in their droves. With six men in custody, the community had awaited the arrival of the constables, celebrating with wine from the cellar, and baguettes, cheese, and olives produced by other merchants who had come to the rescue.
Several hours passed in revelry before Cornelius realized he should let his brothers know what had happened.
When Allan immediately declared his intention of going to Thomasina’s place to make sure no one was harmed, Clara ordered him a carriage and Melody said she would go with him.
