Lady Redvers straightened. “I guess cricket is better than archery.”
Mama pressed her lips in a hard line. “I have to say?—”
Oh, heavens. Angeline gave her mother the slightest shake of her head. No arguing.
Mama cleared her throat. “Being good at something like archery doesn’t exclude being good at other, more delicate activities.”
“Besides, Lady Redvers,” Lord Havisham said, “now that I think about it, Miss Haywood is an excellent piano player.”
“What?” she said at the same time as Mama said, “Excuse me?”
Lord Havisham didn’t flinch at the surprised tones. “I heard her playing. She sounds like an angel, true to her name. A professional.”
Royston frowned.
“Oh, really? I’m eager to hear her play then.” Lady Redvers sounded livid.
What in the blazes was happening? Angeline exchanged a glance with her mother who was speechless. Royston kept frowning.
“I’m sure Mrs. Haywood will be happy to organise a piano concert for us only.” Lord Havisham angled towards Mama. “What do you say, Mrs. Haywood?”
It was the first time Angeline had seen her mother astonished.
When Mama swallowed and said, “Of course,” Angeline knew she was doomed.
After the festivalended and Angeline had left in a hurry with her mother, Royston headed to the women’s shelter. A jumble of different thoughts and feelings crammed his mind. The moments spent with Angeline had been the best, not only of the day but of the year. The worry about what her mother might be doing poisoned his happiness.
He paced in front of Mrs. Walsh’s door, waiting for the lady to open. He’d always considered himself a good judge of people, but if what Havisham had told him was true, Royston had been wrong about Mrs. Haywood. Very wrong.
Blackmailing rich men who were unfaithful to their wives, as wrong as it was, was one thing, especially if Mrs. Haywood might not have had many choices in her life. But taking advantage of the misfortune of poor women was quite another.
“Lord Wharton.” Mrs. Walsh curtsied. “Sorry to have made you wait. I didn’t expect anyone.”
“Madam, do not worry.” He handed her another envelope filled with banknotes he’d hastily put together before coming.
Mrs. Walsh hesitated before taking it. “Thank you, my lord. A second donation so soon.”
“Actually, I came here mostly to ask you something.” And he hadn’t wanted to come empty-handed.
“Anything, my lord.”
“Did a Mrs. Haywood come here, asking to see the girls?”
Mrs. Walsh’s peaceful expression hardened. “Oh, what a nasty visit, my lord. Yes, a woman came and introduced herself as Mrs. Haywood. Quite a refined lady. Dark hair, dark eyes. Very well-spoken and very pretty.”
Royston’s heart gave a solid kick of disappointment. “What did she want?”
“Honestly.” Mrs. Walsh shook her head. “She wanted to recruit a few women who live in the house. She said she could pay well if the girls did a good job by…” She averted her gaze. “Well, Mrs. Haywood wanted to use the girls to meet some gentlemen in an intimate rendezvous. She was quite insistent about the idea of taking photographs of the girls with the gentlemen.”
He passed a hand over his face. “Unbelievable. What did you say to her?”
Mrs. Walsh lifted her chin. “I told her to leave immediately. My guests have seen enough violence and abuse. They don’t need more.”
“Bless you, madam.”
Mrs. Walsh wasn’t finished. “When I asked her why she came here and not to a brothel, she had the audacity to say that she didn’t want to recruit women from the trade because she’d need to share the income with the madam of the brothel.” Her voice broke. “She said the girls here were cheaper since they didn’t work for anyone.”
“That’s horrible. I apologise.”
