"Are you sure this is where you want to go?" Titus looked up doubtfully at the façade of the tidy, tiny little house in front of them.

"Does this 'Madame Lola' you told me about live here or not, Titus?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Well, then where is the problem? Let's go."

With long strides, Lord Patrick advanced towards the front door. His hand reached out for the bell—until he realized there wasn't one. So he just raised his fist and knocked twice.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Then, footsteps approached from the other side, and a suspicious voice asked, "Aye?"

"Madame Lola?"

"Who's askin'?"

"My name is Day. Lord Patrick Day."

"Sure it is, deary. And I'm Queen Shalala of Sheba."

"No, really, Ma'am. I'm—"

"Let me," Titus cut in and, leaning forward, told the suspicious eye: "We have money."

"Ye do?"

Titus held up a few crisp pound notes.

"Well, why didn't ye say so at once?" Patrick heard the sound of the latch being pulled back. "What do ye want?"

Lord Patrick stepped forward and cleared his throat. "I have a proposition for you."

The door opened, revealing the face of a woman. A roughly eighty-year-old woman, with a bent back, grey hair, and wrinkles covering her face.

"Ye do?" She smiled, revealing the gaps in her teeth. "Well, it's bin a while, but I'm sure I can remember a few old tricks."

Leaning forward, Titus grabbed His Lordship by the arm, apparently determined to save his friend's life. "Um...are you sure you don't want to visit Miss Bamby or Miss Cherry? They don't live too far from here, and they still have all their teeth and can walk without a walking sti—ow!"

The old woman's walking stick lashed out, whacking Titus across his knuckles.

"Just 'cause I'm old don't mean I'm deaf!" she told him. "Now, tell me what ye two want, or I'm gonna slam the door right in yer face." She studied Lord Patrick, raising a wrinkly eyebrow. "Mouth? Hands?" She gifted him another smile. His Lordship would never have thought that a smile with so few teeth could hint at so many scandalous acts. "Or...more dan dat?"

Lord Patrick stiffened, and his face flushed like a hundred water closets. "I assure you, Ma'am, it is not that kind of proposition!"

"Pity." Still grinning, she sighed and let her gaze travel up and down his figure. "Ye're a pretty fellow. Won't ye reconsider?"

If Lord Patrick Day had thought his cheeks couldn't turn any redder, he had been severely mistaken.

"Ehem...perhaps another time, Ma'am." Meaning when hell freezes over and Satan starts selling ice cream!

"If ye change yer mind, I'm available on weekends, love." Winking at him, the old woman waved for them to come in. "Well, if ye wanna talk, come on in. I've got a pot of tea on the stove."

Lord Patrick cleared his throat. "You're inviting us in, just like that? Aren't you afraid that—"

"—what? That ye'll steal my virtue?" The old lady cackled. "A bit too late for dat, love! And I ain't got much else to steal, either. Come on in!"

Thus, they followed the old woman inside and sat down in the tiny drawing room. There was no reason to procrastinate. Taking a deep breath, Lord Patrick slowly began to explain what he suspected, what he needed from her and why. The old woman's visage first darkened abruptly, then slowly, understanding spread over her face. His Lordship's gut twisted as he saw it.

"So...are my suspicions true? Is that how it is done? Can you do it?"

He prayed for both a yes and no at the same time. Prayed until...

"Aye."

"So it is true." His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper now. He almost wanted to vomit. No...he wanted to go out and kill someone! He wanted to march up to the Queen's Guards and demand that they do something! How could this sort of thing truly be happening? How had this gone unnoticed for so long?

"Aye, dat's 'ow it's done. Things ain't as dey used to be. Just about anyone gets new girls dat way dese days. And it ain't just for da bawdy 'ouses, either. There are..." Her eyes wandered over Patrick in a not very complimentary manner. "There are aristocratic gentlemen with special tastes dat require young blood for such entertainment. Quite often."

"Please!" Reaching out, he grabbed her gnarled old hand. "You have to help me!"

"I don't 'ave to do nothin' I don't want to!"

"Then don't help me. Help them."

They both knew who he was talking about. The old woman hesitated.

"Ye know I've bin out of da business for a while now, don't ye?"

"Titus told me as much." Lord Patrick nodded, unable to keep his body from tensing. "Can you still help?"

"Well...I've still got a few connections. Some dat used to be me girls now've got places of their own to run. Dey don't use dose kinds of ways to get new girls, or else I'd tan their 'ides, but dey know people who know people who know people..." She nodded slowly. "Aye, I think I can do it." Her head jerked up, and she sent a sharp glare his way. "As long as ye ain't lyin' to me about what's gonna 'appen to da girl. If ye are...!"

"You may rest assured, Ma'am." Lord Patrick's face was as harsh and serious as it had ever been. "After this is over, I still plan to be able to look my mother straight in the eye. This is one thing I wouldn't dare speak untruths about."

The old lady held his gaze for a moment—then nodded.

"Come back in a cuppa days. I'll 'ave what ye need."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Don't thank me. Make it worth it."

Lord Patrick nodded, his expression grim. "I shall."

Titus nodded, too, his expression no less dour. "And I shall sit around at a safe distance and wear a serious expression."

Lord Patrick grabbed his best friend by the elbow.

"Ow! Let go!"

"We shall take our leave of you now, Ma'am." Rising, His Lordship pulled Titus to his feet, and bowed to the old woman. "We will return in a number of days. Godspeed."

The old lady snorted. "That's the first time someone said that to me before I went out to...well. The less said the better."

The old lady accompanied them to the door. The two friends stepped out into the cold London morning, and Lord Patrick took a deep breath. Finally, he had taken a step forward! He would take down those vermin and see justice done!

"Well..." Beside him, Titus rubbed his hands. "Now shall we go visit Miss Bamby and Miss Cherry?"

Patrick sank an elbow in his ribs.

"Oof!"

"Let's go home. We have preparations to make."

Several days later, they returned to the madam's residence. When the door was opened, Lord Patrick's face was tense.

"You have obtained...what I asked for?"

The old lady nodded grimly. "Aye."

"Good."

"You'll be taking 'er with ye?" She narrowed her eyes. "Da girl's bin through an ordeal, and what's worse, I've 'ad a 'and in it. Ye'd better make dis worth it, and take good care of 'er. Can ye do that?"

"No." Lord Patrick shook his head. "But I know someone who can."

"Who?" Titus asked, curious.

"Come and see."

With their "merchandise" in tow, they left the old lady's house and drove through London, until they finally came to a stop in front of a pretty, white-painted house in a highly respectable upper-class quarter of the city. Titus stared at the house as if it was the gate to the innermost circle of hell.

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm completely serious."

"Well, then I'm completely out of here!" Leaping out of the coach, Titus lifted his hat. "I'll write you a nice obituary."

"How kind of you. I'm so lucky to have a friend as brave and steadfast as—"

Lord Patrick cut off, since Titus was already halfway down the street, moving off at a fast pace.

"Oh, well." Sighing, His Lordship pushed open the coach door. "Once more unto the breach, then. Are you coming?"

He glanced behind him at the little figure in the shadows.

"Up yours, arsewipe!"

"That might present logistical difficulties." Taking a deep breath, Lord Patrick strode towards the door and knocked.

The door flew open, revealing the figure of a tiny woman with frizzy hair.

"Patrick! You remembered!"

"Huh...?"

***

"Remembered what?" Amy enquired.

Lord Patrick hurriedly cleared his noble throat with dignity. "Err...well, that is neither here nor there." Straightening in his seat, he fixed his dark gaze upon her. "What is important right now is that you realize the dark reality we are facing."

His Lordship's face was grim. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. He might not like her social status, her methods or her language, but this young woman had risked everything to come to the rescue of a little girl in need. In all probability, she was not only a deeply upright and moral young woman, but also completely sheltered all her life from the evils of the world. Only the truly innocent, unaware of the dangers of the world, could walk into the lion's maw without wasting a thought on the possible repercussions for themselves.

He shouldn't shatter a young woman's safe, harmless view of the world. But he had to. She needed to know, for her own safety as much as the child's.

He hesitated...then started to speak again. "I didn't want to believe it myself at first, but...I questioned your young friend, and the old lady I visited. From what they've told me, there's no longer any doubt: Underneath the pretty veneer of London, a vast criminal network stretches across this city—nay, this entire country! A network of slavery that preys on innocent young girls and sells them as sexual slaves to the highest bidder, or to bolster the ranks of brothels. This is the ugly truth I intend to reveal to the world!"

Cautiously, he gazed at her. Any moment now, she would faint. Or start to cry. Or both. Any moment now...

Any moment now?

Still waiting...?

Frowning, Amy cocked her head. "So what?"

His Lordship blinked. "Pardon?"

"I said 'so what'." Shrugging, Amy frowned at him. "Brothels, gangs, sex slaves sold to the 'ighest bidder, et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah. I'm still waitin' for ye to tell me somethin' I don't know."

Lord Patrick opened his mouth—then closed it again. And opened it again. "But...but..."

"Are ye all right, P? Why are ye doin' a goldfish imitation?"

"W-what in God's name are you saying?" he demanded. "How could you know this sort of thing? I spent weeks to find all this out!"

"Really? 'ow silly of ye. Ye could just have asked me, if ye'd gotten to know me a bit earlier, dat is."

"But...but...how? No lady would know about this sort of sinister affair!"

He took a big gulp of tea, trying to calm himself.

"Oh, well, of course dey wouldn't," Amy agreed, cheerfully. "But I ain't no lady. I'm a prostitute."

"Pfffffft!"

"And ye're a water spout, it seems."

"Would you like me to bring you a new cup of tea, brother?" Angeline asked, sticking her head into the room with admirable timing. "And a towel for your trousers?"

"Y-yes, thank you." Lord Patrick coughed, dabbing tea off his mouth with his handkerchief. He glanced at Amy, who was sitting there with her rumpled dress and world-wise eyes, in the middle of in his sister's immaculate, luxurious living room, like a fish out of water. He couldn't help but let his eyes travel up and down her figure. "Y-you mean you really...for a living...?"

"If ye're 'aving trouble understandin', I could demonstrate," she offered. "My rates are very reasonable."

Hurriedly, he retreated as far as his seat would allow. "N-no, thank you, Miss! That won't be necessary!"

His Lordship continued to stare at her intently—until he realized what he was doing and tried to find anything else to look at. A lamp. A hatstand. A fly dancing tango on the ceiling. Anything! "But...I still don't see how you could know about...about..."

"Are ye really dat naïve?" The young woman gave him a look that made her deep green eyes look far, far, too old and wise. "I've bin livin' on da streets since I was younger dan 'er." She jerked her head at the door through which the little girl, Flo, had disappeared earlier. "Do ye really think I don't know what's goin' on out dere?"

"But...but if you knew..." His fists clenched. He was barely able to stay in his seat. "Why in God's name didn't you go straight to the police?"

There was a pause. She cocked her head and looked at him like someone would if he'd asked, "If you knew about the tasty grandmother in the hut, why didn't you inform the poor little hungry wolf immediately?"

An image of Inspector Ian Pritchard flickered through Lord Patrick's mind. "Well, ehem...some policemen might be less than perfect, agreed, but I am certain the majority of Her Majesty's finest are good and honourable people, who strive for the betterment of society."

"Thanks for answerin' my question. You really are that naïve."

Patrick looked at her then. Really looked at her, for the first time. Not as a crass, kidnapping, gun-wielding madwoman, but as the crass, kidnapping, candlestick-wielding woman she really was. And, to his severe annoyance, he could not tear his eyes away. It wasn't so much that she was beautiful. For years now, Patrick had been the most eligible bachelor of London society, and he had met more society beauties than he could count, even with the help of his three dozen accountants. Few of them were sufficient to attract his attention. Beauty was nothing new to him.

But strength?

He had never seen that kind of strength in a woman's eyes. And not just strength. Experience. Far too much experience. She had a spark of fire deep inside her, because she had been burned one too many times, and the fire had caught hold.

Lord Patrick stared at her as if she were a creature from another world. And in a way, she was. The place where all those horrible things happened, the place that he had only just discovered...that was her home. Her world, not his. A world where children were abducted, tortured and abused? A world where you had to fear the police and rely on criminals? A dark world. A desolate world. A world no woman should have to belong to.

She deserved better! She and that girl!

He squared his shoulders. There was something he had to do. If he didn't, he would blame himself for the rest of his life.

***

Amy could see the determination spark in his eyes. She knew what he was going to say. This bloody ox with his accent from Oxford, his arrogance, and his chivalrous delusions straight from the middle ages, really had a screw loose! He was going to go up against the bloody street gangs! And by the looks of things, he was going to ask her to join his suicide mission.

Ha! As if she'd ever be stupid enough to do anything like that! She hadn't survived on the streets all these years by risking her life for every idealistic idiot who came her way. When he asked her for help, she'd just tell him no and—

"You need my help."

Amy blinked.

"Eh? What?"

"Don't worry." Reaching out, he gently touched her shoulder. Touched her shoulder. Without paying for it! The bloody freeloader! "It's all right if you can't bring yourself to say it. I can recognize a helpless damsel in distress when I see one."

"Ye can, can ye?"

And can ye recognize a fist rammed into yer face as well?

"Yes. Don't worry, Miss. You won't have to live that miserable life anymore."

"Ah." Amy gave him a smile. It contained as much mirth as the smile one might see after the last death-rattle, surrounded by polished bone, black robes and a sharp scythe. "By 'dat miserable life,' I assume ye mean my life?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Ye're gonna 'elp me find a better one, I assume?"

"Yes. You can stay here in the servants' quarters for the time being. I'll ask around. I'm sure I'll find something for you to do. Work as a chambermaid, or in some kitchen, or washing clothes... Well, anything really will be better than what you're forced to do now."

"Oh dear. 'ow gracious. May I express me thanks in some small way?"

The son of a bachelor gave her a superior smile. "You don't have to. I'm always happy to help a damsel in distress, and—"

All right. That was it.

Splash!

"—bbbrgs! Frrmmph! What the—"

Patrick stared down at his tailcoat, dripping with tea and whiskey.

"Oh dear." Amy glanced from her empty cup to Patrick's sodden figure. "Looks like ye'll 'ave ta get someone ta wash yer clothes." Her eyes and voice hardened in an instant. "But it won't be me, ye bloody arrogant bastard!"

"What the blazes... I don't understand...?"

"No." Amy scrutinized him, eyes cold and hard as emeralds. "Ye really don't, do you?" She shook her head. "Ye've got a lot to learn."

And she would have to be the one to teach him a lesson.

Abruptly, she rose to her feet. Turning, she marched towards the door, pulled it open, and called, "Flo!"

"Aye?" came an eager shout from upstairs.

"We're leavin'!"