Several minutes later, Lord Patrick still sat in the living room, dripping with tea and trying to figure out what had just happened. His heart had filled with sympathy for the poor woman, he had generously offered his help, and then...

Well, then things hadn't gone exactly as planned.

Angeline stuck her head through the door again. "Another towel, brother?"

"Yes, thank you."

Absent-mindedly, Lord Patrick took the proffered towel and starting dabbing at his shirt without noticing whether he was actually hitting the wet spots.

"What the...why the blazes did she react like that?" he demanded.

"Very annoying if people aren't suitably grateful, isn't it?" Angeline enquired sweetly. Taking the towel and leaving the room, softly closing the door behind her. His Lordship stared after her—then slammed his fist down on the coffee table.

"Damnation! Why shouldn't she be grateful? I offered her a chance to change her life! She has nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

Wrong.

He suddenly remembered the look in the young woman's eyes. She looked at him like an ancient Greek Amazon might have looked at a cockroach she was about to squash. He remembered...

"Flo! We're leaving!"

It took about zero dot seven four seconds for the little girl to race down the stairs and take up her position beside the young woman. Clutching Amy's hand, the little one glared at Lord Patrick as if he were the villain in this scenario. Which, considering the whole kidnapping thing, from her perspective, he probably was. Damnation!

"Wait a minute!" Lord Patrick raised his hand. "You can't mean...you're refusing my help? You can't just—"

"Ye bet I can!" Amy, already turned away, cast him a glance over her shoulder. "I've survived on me own for over fifteen years! What makes ye think I suddenly need yer charity? I don't take 'andouts from nobody! Least of all from arrogant, girl-snatching arseholes! Mark me words—one day, ye'll pay for dis!"

And with that, she had grabbed the girl, tossed her raven-black hair over her shoulder and marched out of the room. Lord Patrick had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

He thought she had nothing?

Wrong. So wrong.

She had her pride. A boatload of pride. Enough of it to keep her straight and fighting, no matter what might happen.

A truly beautiful sight.

Which was a good thing, because the next thing Lord Patrick got to see was his own door slamming in his face. Not quite so beautiful.

"Patrick? Patrick! Hey, brother!"

"W-what?" Patrick blinked, resurfacing from his memories. "What's the matter?"

Angeline, who apparently had somehow appeared in the room again without him noticing, raised an eyebrow. "You tell me. I've been waving this," she held up another pot of tea and a towel, "under your nose for the last few minutes, but haven't gotten a reaction yet. So, do you want some or not?"

"Err...yes. Yes, thank you."

Lord Patrick filled himself a cup of tea and took a small sip.

"So what next?" Angeline demanded. "Seems like you've lost your only witness. What are you going to do?"

Eyes narrowing, Patrick scrutinized her. "You couldn't have been listening. I checked the door."

Angeline gave him a big, warm, sisterly smile. "There's a spot upstairs where you can take a loose brick out of the wall. It's amazing how well sound travels through a chimney shaft."

"You are a nosy, impertinent little pest!"

"I learned from the best, Lord Patrick-Secretly-Investigating-Dangerous-Street-Gangs-Day. Now, what are we going to do next?"

"We aren't going to do anything. As for what I am going to do..." He took another long, thoughtful sip of tea. "You're right. The girl is gone. But from what little I could get her to tell me, and what I've seen so far for myself, a single witness isn't going to do much good anyway. All I've gotten so far is a glimpse at the front of this business. The real people behind it are hiding in the shadows of the slums, and I have no idea what scope their operation has. There's only one thing I can do: go and find out for myself." With a determined clink, he set down the tea cup. "Angeline?"

"Yes?"

His Lordship rose to his feet. "Be so good as to call me a cab. I have to go see Titus. I'll have to ask him to set up a little meeting for me."

Angeline gazed at him for a long moment—then nodded. "Very well." Ringing the bell, she gave instructions to the butler and waited until he'd left the room. Then she turned towards her brother once more.

"Brother...be careful, will you?"

He nodded. "I will." Smiling, he turned and strode towards the door.

"And..."

Lord Patrick paused. "Yes?"

"Remember to change your wet shirt before you go."

***

Amy was pissed off. Crazily, madly, completely pissed off! Still better than being pissed on, as Tammy would say—but right now, Amy wasn't sure she could agree.

"Dat arrogant, arse-faced son of a wart'og! I'm gonna wring 'is neck till 'e chokes on 'is own bloody self-righteous generosity!"

He had actually dared to condescend to her? He, who'd been stumbling around the alleys of the East End with a metaphorical bag over his head? The bloody fool could count himself lucky he hadn't ended up floating face-down in the Thames with a knife between his ribs yet! And he thought that she needed his help? He thought she should beg and plead at his feet?

Ha! The arrogance!

There were a million reasons to refuse him. He was a prime example of the kind of men she detested most—the ones who didn't just have a dick, but actually were one! A stuck-up noble, who thought he owned the world, and everyone should thank him for his grace if he glanced their way.

No matter all the pretty stories he'd told her, she still wasn't entirely convinced that he'd purchased a personal slave girl and dragged her, bound and helpless, halfway through London, just out of the goodness of his heart. Amy had met a lot of men in her life, and so far, few of them hadn't been perverts in some part of their measly little souls. If they admitted it outright, that was one thing. But if they played the sanctimonious angel come to save everyone crawling in the dirt below?

No, thank you! That was a game she wouldn't play!

"And let's not forget 'is bloody 'Oh my goodness gracious, I come straight from Oxford, where I have tea with the Queen every day'-accent! How could ye ever trust a man who talked like dat? Plus, 'e looks way too honest and 'andsome! And 'is smile is far too darn charmin', and 'e's got a suspicious mole behind 'is right ear, and...and..."

She suddenly realized her insults weren't heading quite in the right direction.

Dat bloody bastard! 'e even made me lose me ability ta curse!

But, of all the things he did, that wasn't the worst. No, above all, there was one reason why his haughty offer of help drove her mad with rage: Because there had been a time in her life, years ago, when she'd desperately needed help. Wished for it, prayed for it, even. But had someone come? Had someone, anyone, held out a helping hand? No, of course not! She'd had to fight through it all on her own, as bloody always! And she'd done a bloody good job of it, too, without anybody's bloody help!

But even back then, had some arrogant jerk offered her "help" like that, as if he were God's gift to the world's suffering strumpets and floozies, would she have accepted?

She knew the answer the instant the question popped into her mind.

No.

No, she would not. Not for an instant. There was accepting help from friends, and then there was...this. She would not be indebted to an arsewipe for scraps of charity! Not on her life!

"Go frig yerself with da front end of a funnel!" Amy muttered and spat on the street. "Because I sure as 'ell ain't gonna do it for ye!"

"Amy! Amy, there you are!"

She was abruptly jerked from her thoughts when, suddenly, she fell victim to an ambush. Gelda and the other girls jumped out from behind a bush and rushed towards the two of them. Flo let out a whoop of joy and leapt into Gelda's arms in a way that would have cost anyone else three shillings and sixpence.

"There, there, girl!" The big woman hugged the girl tight. "Ye're all right now. We won't let nothin' 'appen ta ye."

A muffled reply came from the folds of her dress, where most of Flo had already vanished. Over the top of the little girl's head, Gelda gave Amy a sharp look, examining her from top to bottom.

"What 'appened, girl? 'ow did ye get 'er out of dere? Did ye give dat bastard what he deserves, or do we need ta pay dat 'ouse a little visit?"

For the sake of Angeline, who probably didn't deserve a troop of wrathful ladies of the night smashing her windows and invading her home, Amy decided to answer the last question first. "Nah. Let's just leave. I'll explain everythin' after we're at a safe place."

"A safe place?" Tammy raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly would ye suggest dat we, of all people, find such a marvellous spot?"

"I know where. Come with me."

"Ye're off yer rocker," Olive diagnosed—but they still followed her.

About twenty minutes later, they stood in front of a store in a middle-class area of London. The sign over the door proudly proclaimed Conway & Co, finely tuned pianos since 1789.

"I think I 'ave to agree with Olive," Tammy stated calmly. "Ye are off yer rocker."

Amy grinned. "Ye girls just don't know 'ow to appreciate a finely tuned piano da way I do. Come on in!"

The girls exchanged suspicious glances, but followed Amy into the shop. The inside was bright and cheery, the lamplight casting a warm hue on the flowery wallpaper. Various musical instruments were spread around the room, including two large pianos made from dark wood. The bony older lady behind the counter was busy doing accounts. She glanced up distractedly and gave them an automated smile.

"Good evening. How may I help y—"

Her voice cut off as she got her first good look at the visitors in their very colourful, very, very revealing outfits. The gaggle of girls sauntered into the shop, looking around curiously. Eyes widening, the bony lady took a step back.

"'ello dere!" Amy beamed at her. "Could ye call young Mister Conway, please?"

"I believe the young master is busy right now." Eyes narrowing, she gave all of them a frosty look. "And happily married."

"I'm delighted ta 'ear it. Den per'aps ye could just call Mrs Conway out instead? It's mostly 'er I wanna see, anyway." Unable to resist, Amy wiggled her eyebrows. "Da two of us are...very intimate friends."

The old hag's eyes widened. "Mrs Con—! You can't mean you...!"

Amy's smile widened. "Oh yes."

The woman took a deep breath. "Out! Out, you filthy, perverted—"

She cut off when the curtain to the back of the shop slid aside and a beautiful young woman with golden hair fluttered into the room like an angel.

"What is it, Agatha? I heard shouting and—oh, Amy! It's you!" Rushing forward, Ella hugged Amy tightly to her. "How wonderful to see you again!"

The old crone behind the counter nearly choked on her tongue. "Y-you know this...person, Mistress Ella?"

Ella beamed. "Oh yes! She's friends with my sister! With all my family, in fact! We're very intimate."

"Y-you are...?"

"Definitely! Please, Amy, I can already guess why you're here. Come to the back of the shop, where we won't be disturbed by anyone. And bring all your friends with you, will you? The more, the merrier. And...oh! Agatha! Is something wrong? You don't look well."

"I...I'm just feeling a little faint, Mistress. I think I'll go and lie down."

"I'm so sorry to hear that!" Ella patted the old woman gently. "Go and rest. Call me if you need anything. Come, Amy, let's go. The little girl is back here, just as you wanted, waiting for you and her sister."

"Little girl and her... goodness gracious!" Uttering a tortured groan, Agatha fled from the room, covering her ears with both hands. Amy, grinning from ear to ear, followed Ella into the back room. Spending time with her best friend's sister always proved to be fun in a very unique sort of way.

The rest of the girls followed the two into the back of the house, which was by no means as pretty and orderly as the shop towards the front. Parts of various instruments and a dazzling variety of strings and bits of metal were strewn all across the place. And there, in the midst of it all, sat a happy, harmless little man, with a brown mop of hair on his head and a little girl on his lap.

"...then you turn the pin with the piano lever," he was saying, "and, of course, you must take care to check the tone with a diapason regularly, or else—"

"Ehem." Ella cleared her throat. "Teaching again, are you, Edmund?"

The man glanced up, and his ears turned red. "Oh. Um. I was just taking a minute to explain to her how the whole process works, and—"

However, he was abruptly interrupted by a shriek that shook the walls.

"Jo!"

"Flo!"

Gelda staggered as, abruptly, a girl-shaped projectile shot from her arms. Its smaller counterpart leapt from Edmund's comfortable lap as if it were on fire, and the two of them collided in the middle of the room with a force that could have brought down the walls of the Tower of London.

"Ah." Eyes lighting up, Edmund rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping over Amy and her friends, managing the impressive feat of not ogling a single one of them. The only things that Edmund Conway ever ogled were his wife and Bösendorfer pianos. Which was why Amy thought he was slightly mad and, also, one of the few men she respected. "Are those the ladies you told me about, Ella, my love? Please, come in, come in! Make yourselves comfortable!"

Amy glanced behind herself. Her friends were gathered in a tight knot at the doorway, their gazes flicking suspiciously between Ella and Edmund. They weren't used to be called "ladies" in a way that sounded actually respectful. And on top of that, being treated hospitably? Something had to be fishy here!

Amy could understand their feelings. She'd shared them, in the beginning. But now...

Cautiously keeping her eyes still on the two horribly suspiciously hospitable people, Gelda sidled over to Amy and nodded towards Ella.

"Who is dat tart?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, gazing distrustfully at the young woman's angelic smile. "'ow do ye know 'er? Is she in da 'business'?"

Edmund, curse his sharp piano-tuning ears, seemed to have overheard her. He gave her a wide smile. "She helps out, sometimes. But I take care of business matters here, mostly."

"Ye do?" Gelda's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes."

"Well, well. Just goes to show, it's always da quiet-lookin' ones ye've gotta watch out for."

Amy stepped on Gelda's foot, while trying her best not to burst out laughing.

"You were askin' 'ow we know each other, yes?" She increased her pressure on Gelda's foot. "Ella is da sister of a friend of mine. You know the one. The one who comes to visit sometimes?"

"Oh, you mean dat crazy crossdresser who—ow!"

"A very good friend of mine."

"What is a crossdresser?" Ella enquired, sounding interested. "Some kind of Christian religious costume? I had no idea Lilly was so active in church matters!"

Amy cleared her throat. "Err...well, I guess dere are a few things ye don't know about 'er." And it 'ad better stay dat way! Hurriedly, she pointed towards Flo and Jo. "Let's get back to da main subject, shall we? What are we gonna do with dem?"

The two little girls, still clutching each other in a tight embrace, seemed to notice all the eyes suddenly focused on them. They turned towards their audience and, instinctively, Flo positioned herself in front of the smaller Jo, protecting her, even here.

Amy understood all too well.

Dere's no such thing as a safe place. Not really. Dere are just doors dat 'aven't yet been broken down, and windows that 'aven't yet been shattered.

"What do ye bloody mean?" Flo demanded, raising her stubborn little chin. "Nobody is doin' nothin' with either of us!"

"You can't just go back on da street." Amy held up a hand to forestall Flo's protests. "And not 'cause I think ye can't take care of yerselves." Although I do think dat. 'ave always thought it. But could never say it, 'cause I was you once. I knew words wouldn't do no good. "Just think about what would 'appen if someone from da gang dat grabbed ye, recognized ye on da street. Do ye think dey'd just let ye stroll by peacefully? Dey'll catch ye! Dey'd squeeze out of ye 'ow and why ye got free. And after dat..."

She moved her forefinger across her throat in a quick slashing motion.

Flo swallowed. She didn't say anything in reply.

"I have a suggestion." Holding her hands out with a sweet smile, Ella stepped forward. "Why can't they simply stay with us for a while? I don't know exactly who is looking for these girls, Amy—but they aren't likely to visit this quiet neighbourhood, are they? There's an empty room over the shop where they could stay."

"Um...over the shop?" Amy shook her head. "Dat would be a bad idea."

"Why?" Ella enquired, looking confused.

"Yes, why?" Edmund nodded. "They seem like such sweet little girls! And little Jo is even interested in learning how to tune pianos. I think, with a little tutelage—"

Giving the two a pitying look, Amy marched over to Jo, grabbed her before the little weasel could escape, and shook her coat, hard. Various objects clattered to the ground, including Edmund's wallet, several loose coins, a pocket watch, a magnifying glass, a handkerchief, and about half a dozen rolled-up piano wires.

"Err...um." Edmund cleared his throat. "Well, she seemed interested, anyway."

"I believe you owe someone an apology, young lady," Amy admonished Jo.

"Up yours, busybody!" The five-year-old shot back, chin raised high.

"Jo!" Flo smacked her little sister's hand. "Apologize, right now!"

The tiny girl held her sister's gaze for a moment or two—then hung her head in shame. "I know, I know. I'm sorry."

"And what are ye sorry for?"

The little girl's head sank even farther. "Gettin' caught. Next time I'll do better, I promise!"

Somewhere in the background, Edmund made an indistinct noise. "Err...perhaps it would be better if they didn't stay here, after all."

"Shame on you, Edmund!" Silencing her husband with a wave, Ella rushed forward to embrace Jo. "This little girl doesn't need rejection! She needs care and warmth! I read about this in a magazine—young children, stealing things because they have been neglected, and it is the only way they can get an adult's attention and care. Kleptomania, that's what it's called!"

Jo's head jerked up, and Amy could see the delight sparking in her eyes. Right then and there, Amy would have liked to gag Ella and stuff her in a briefcase! The woman was truly a danger to herself and all around her.

"Yes, dat's it, exactly!" Jo piped up, eyes sweeping over the room's contents with the assessing gaze of a seasoned pawnbroker. "I've got Crapptomania! Huge, terrible Crapptomania!"