"I don't wish to complain, My Lord, Mister Irving, but..." The coachman yawned. "Are you sure you want to take a ride in the park at this time of night? I mean...it's nearly midnight! Wouldn't you rather be in bed?"

"Codswallop, Everstone!" Titus rebutted with a cheery grin that looked as if he'd just climbed out of bed. Which, taking his usual habits into account, might very well be the case. "After all, as Milton said, What hath night to do with sleep?"

"Quite a lot, I would imagine," Lord Patrick remarked drily.

"What! You dare disagree with our national poet? Die, traitor! Die! But only after you take me to a pub for a drink."

"You are aware that this is supposed to be a covert operation, aren't you?"

"Sure!" Titus nodded energetically. "That's why I brought this!" And he pulled a postcard out of his pocket depicting an idyllic little cove on the Cornish coastline. He flipped the card, and on the back of it was written "rt".

"See?" He grinned. "Cove. Rt. I came prepared."

"Titus?"

"Yes?"

"Remind me again why I have a feckless idiot for a best friend?"

"Because life would be boring without me!" Titus clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I may be a feckless idiot, but nobody knows more shady characters than I. You'll have plenty of people to choose from for implementing your little plan. I'm sure there will be at least one who has the right contacts and can tell you what you need to know."

"I certainly hope so," Lord Patrick muttered as the coach rolled into the park. It was so pitch-black outside, neither of them noticed the cloaked figure slipping through the trees into the park beside them. Green eyes flashed in the darkness.

"Let's get to the meeting place, shall we?"

"Yes, let's." His Lordship's eyes focused on the towering shape of the oak ahead, silhouetted against the moonlight. "Everstone, go ahead."

"Aye, My Lord."

The coach rolled ahead. As it stopped in the shadow of the great oak, Lord Patrick glanced out of the window and could see the first few shadowy figures come out from between the bushes. Apparently, Titus had indeed been able to assemble various...individuals.

"Titus...forgive me for saying so, but these fellows don't look particularly trustworthy."

"Patrick, you wanted people who are at home in the East End." Titus gave him a look.

"Let me guess...these people don't have the word 'trustworthy' in their dictionaries?"

"No. They don't have dictionaries."

"Oh."

"Except maybe old ones, to use as toilet paper."

"Ah."

"Cheer up, friend!" Grinning, Titus clapped him on the back. "This will be a novel experience for you."

A sudden blast of wind whistled through the clearing. Cloaks were lifted up, and on several of the surrounding figures, Lord Patrick saw sharp blades glistening in the moonlight.

"Of that," he muttered, "I have no doubt."

"Excellent! Well, now that I've fulfilled my part, I should probably leave. There's a nice inn with very friendly waitresses around here that is open all through the night, and I—"

His Lordship's hand closed in around Titus's wrist like a manacle, holding him in place.

"Everstone?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Leave the coach here and take a walk, will you? Mr Irving and I shall take care of this matter."

"But, My Lord—!"

"A walk, Everstone. Far away. This might get dangerous, and I don't want you to get hurt. Go!"

"A...aye, My Lord."

Lord Patrick climbed out of the coach and watched as his coachman hurried off into the darkness. His Lordship's hand was still clamped firmly around Titus's wrist.

Titus cleared his throat. "Err...do you want me to leave, too?"

"You?" Patrick patted his friend on the back with his free hand. "Oh no, my dear friend. You can stay."

Again, they saw a blade glinting in the dark. Or was it a murderous smile?

Titus swallowed. "Thanks. That's so gracious of you."

"You are most welcome."

"Hey, ye there!"

Lord Patrick turned towards the gruff shout coming out of the dark. A grey-haired man limped out of the shadows. He had a dirty rag wrapped around half of his head, and, judging by the smell that issued from under there, you did not wish to find out what was beneath it. "Are ye da one who dragged us out 'ere?"

Lord Patrick stepped forward. The cold night air whistled around him, tugging at his cloak. "I am indeed, Sir."

"I ain't no Sir, ye posh tosser! Now what do ye want? Out with it, or I'll polish yer face with my fist!"

Lord Patrick's eyebrows rose. "Charming," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Titus grinned. "You got what you asked for."

Lord Patrick couldn't argue with that. Mouth flattened into a grim line, he grabbed the edge of the coach roof and, with one swift move, pulled himself up. Hands on hips, he stood tall on the roof so everyone could see him and, just in case, so he was out of the reach of hidden daggers and knives.

Clapping his hands, he attracted everyone's attention.

"Greetings, gentlemen!"

There was a moment of silence, then...

A voice like a grater came out of the shadows. "Did 'e just call us gentle?"

"I think 'e did. Per'aps ye should take 'im to da nearest bawdy 'ouse and show 'im 'ow bloody gentle ye are."

Raucous laughter exploded from all around. Lord Patrick stayed calm, as befitted a member of the Day family. He simply waited until the laughter had subsided, then continued, "I have an offer of employment for you. Profitable employment."

Abruptly, the laughter cut off.

"We're listenin'!" growled the man with the bandaged head. "Spit it out!"

"I prefer to explain without bodily fluids, if you don't mind." And, pulling a scroll of paper from his pocket, he tossed it at the vagabond. The man caught it and unrolled it with surprisingly quick fingers. His eyes widened.

"Dis is..."

"A map of the East End, yes." Patrick nodded. "One that cost me a considerable sum, I might add. Not too many mapmakers fancy risking their necks by venturing into a warren no one wants to see in any case. And I have no doubt it is incomplete—especially regarding the targets I'm interested in. That's where you come in, gentlemen."

"Targets?" enquired a pale, haggard-looking man, who looked as if he'd climbed straight from the pages of Varney the Vampire. "What targets?"

"That is where you come in." Extending his arm, Lord Patrick encompassed his audience. "I am searching for the hideouts of a certain organization. Whoever I hire in the end, his job will be to train me to pass for a native in the East End, and subsequently help me locate all the bases of the aforementioned organization. The work won't be strenuous, and the pay will be excellent."

"Ye're after a couple of street thugs, are ye?" Varney the Vampire gave Lord Patrick a smile that made His Lordship wish for a bunch of garlic. Reaching into a pocket, the deathly pale man pulled out a knife and twirled it in the air. "Why don't ye just give me deir names? I'll take care of them for ye, no problem."

Lord Patrick fixed him with a forbidding stare. His hand slid to his belt where, fortunately, he had placed his duelling pistol before leaving the house tonight.

"Unfortunately, I do not know their names."

"Eh?" The vampire lookalike scowled. He wasn't the only one. The bandaged man looked ready to punch someone, and other figures, still hidden in the shadows, didn't sound too happy either. "Then what da 'ell was da point of calling us out 'ere? I'm warnin' ye, ye ain't gonna play me for a fool!"

"I never had any intention of doing so." Taking a firmer hold of his pistol, Lord Patrick took a step forward until he stood at the edge of the carriage roof. He didn't know much about these people—but he understood one thing: showing weakness would spell his doom. Without typos. "I may not know their names, but they are rather easy to identify by their activities. I'm sure you have heard of a certain group of people who have been abducting young girls from the street and selling them to the highest bidder? That is who I'm after!"

Silence fell over the crowd under the great oak. Only a lonely owl hooted in the distance.

When the silence stretched a little bit too long, Lord Patrick narrowed his eyes. His gaze swept from candidate to candidate—or at least what he could still see of them. They seemed to have retreated several steps into the shadows.

"Well? Who is interested?"

"Bloody 'ell! Are ye barmy? Don't tell me ye're really after them!"

His Lordship's eyes narrowed even further. Them. The way the man had whispered that...

He swept his eyes around the crowd again. The attitude didn't exactly seem to have improved. Their belligerence had vanished—but in its place was something far worse. Something that told him more about the people he was up against than he really wanted to know. That something was fear. Naked, absolute fear.

Varney the Vampire was creeping backwards as if someone were waving half a dozen crosses in his face. The bandaged man seemed to be determined not to acquire more facial decorations. And as for the rest of them...

Heck! Where were all of them?

Not here anymore, that much was clear.

"Titus?" His Lordship growled. "What's going on? I thought you said these people are experienced!"

"Oh, they are." Titus nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw that, for once, his friend wore a grim expression. That, more than anything else, put Patrick on guard. "They're sharks in their own waters. But...the first thing a shark learns is to bolt when a killer whale comes its way."

Gritting his teeth, Lord Patrick glanced from left to right, trying to pierce the darkness with his gaze. "You! Come back! I will pay you double! No, triple! You cannot...you cannot just...!"

In answer, a rather rude noise came from between the trees. Moments later, the last flicker of movement vanished into the brush. Silence sank over the park. Once more, in the distance, an owl hooted.

"Well..." Titus cleared his throat. "That went well."

"No!" Taking an involuntary step forward, Patrick nearly toppled off the coach. He fell to his knees at the edge of the roof, head bent in defeat. Raising a fist, he slammed it into the coach roof hard enough to make pain flare through his knuckles. Right then and there, he didn't care. "Damnation! No!"

What now? He needed a guide! This plan had been his last best hope to find new evidence. Without it, he was done for. What could he do now?

"Ehem?"

His head jerked up.

"Did my ears deceive me," Titus enquired, "or did that owl just clear its throat?"

"I do not think that was an owl, Titus." Taking a deep breath, Patrick pushed himself to his feet. It had undoubtedly been a human voice. And, what's more, one that he seemed strangely familiar with. But how could that be? Titus had invited all those people to this place. Nobody even knew he was planning to go up against the gangs, except...

No.

"Golly. Looks like ye've gotten yerself in a bit of a pickle 'ere, don't it?"

Lord Patrick closed his eyes. Oh great Father in heaven, no. Please don't let it be her!

***

Pushing the hood of the cloak off her head, Amy stepped out of the shadows and smiled up at the man towering above her, on top of the coach. She had a feeling he liked to be on top.

Too bad. Not tonight, Mister!

She gave him her most resplendent, expensive smile.

"I 'appened ta be passing by, and couldn't 'elp but over'ear yer little talk. Seems ta me like..." Her smile widened as she gazed up at Prince Pervert. "...ye need my 'elp."

"No, thank you!" The bugger's voice was cool, his eyes narrowed. Straightening, he took up a leisurely pose, as if he just happened to be passing time standing on the rooftop of a coach in Hyde Park in the middle of the night. "We're perfectly fine on our o—"

He was cut off by the man beside him tugging at his sleeve. "Who," the fellow whispered at a perfectly audible level, "is that surprisingly attractive female down there, who you are actually conversing with? Another sister you've been hiding?"

Amy smirked. By the looks of him, Prince Pervert had some interesting friends.

"For your information, Titus," he squeezed out of the corner of his mouth without moving his elegantly sculpted lips, "it is perfectly possible for me to establish an acquaintance with women who aren't related to me."

"It is? Dear me, I'll have to keep a watch out for flying pigs."

"I spend time with women!"

"Yes, to question them on their breeding, connections, education and pedigree. Then you find them lacking and dismiss them from your august presence, Your Majesty."

Amy decided she liked this Titus fellow. A lot. Turning, she directed her beaming smile at him. "I'm Amy. I'm a lady of da night and got ta know this gent durin' a fun session we spent with some rope, a parasol and a candlestick."

"Really?" The man's eyes lit up, while Prince Pervert beside him was busy trying not to choke on his spit. "Patrick, my friend! All this time you had hidden depths you never mentioned? Naughty, naughty, Mr Haughty!"

"It is not what it sounds like, Titus! It—"

"Oh, it never is. Don't worry." Titus winked in a manner that reminded Amy of her brothel madam. Considering that lady had been in the business for over forty years and counting, that was saying something. "You can rely on my discretion."

His Lordship buried his face in his hands.

"And, speaking of discretion..." Titus started retreating into the shadows.

Instantly, Prince Pervert's head jerked around. "What? Wait, Titus! Where are you going?"

Titus winked lasciviously. Amy was quite impressed. She was an expert in lascivious winks, and she would give that one nine points out of ten without hesitation.

"Well, as they say, in a moonlit park, two is company, three is a crowd."

"Actually, three is a threesome," Amy felt herself obliged to humbly point out.

A grin spread over Titus's face. "I can see you're in great hands with this young lady, Patrick, my old friend! I shall no longer disturb you two lovebirds."

He retreated into the shadows.

"Wait! No! You misunderstood! We are not...we never...!"

But Titus was already gone.

What a nice man.

Intrigued, Amy stood there and watched Lord Patrick Day as his fists clenched and unclenched. Turning to glare at her with those fierce, bright blue eyes of his, he seemed to be searching for something to say, until finally...

"Malediction!"

Amy gazed at him with a mixture of intrigue and pity. "Was that supposed to be a curse?"

He sent a glare her way that nearly seared the skin off her. A cold breeze blew through the nocturnal park, making the strands of his golden hair flutter in the wind like a lion's mane. Gazing up at him as he towered above her atop the coach roof, Amy couldn't help but feel a shiver go down her spine.

"What," he asked, his voice as smooth and dangerous as a dagger wrapped in velvet, "are you doing here, pray?"

Amy grinned. I ain't da prey 'ere, Mister. Ye are.

This son of a bachelor had made the mistake of thinking he was in charge—after venturing into her world. Time to teach him a lesson about how things worked on the streets.

Time ta set da trap.

Glancing around demonstratively, she raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like da gents 'ose 'elp ye wanted don't wanna oblige ye."

"Thank you so very much." Raising an aristocratic eyebrow, he pierced her with his gaze. His voice was calm, but his tensed muscles definitely weren't. "I would never have noticed without you, Miss."

"So glad I could 'elp." She sank into a wobbly curtsy—then looked around, with one hundred and fifty per cent genuine astonishment. "Oh, and I see yer friend is also gone."

"You don't say."

Amy gazed at him with sympathy. "So, now ye're all alone, without a clue what to do..."

"Your illumination of my inadequacies is truly appreciated."

"Ye're welcome!" She beamed. "So, 'ow are ye possibly gonna find what ye need now?"

Prince Pervert took an abrupt step forward, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Throttling you might not be a bad first step."

Amy sadly shook her head. "Sorry. I'm afraid I ain't into choking games."

He nearly fell of the coach.

"You...you..."

"...charmin' young lady who 'as come ta console ye in yer hour of defeat?" Amy suggested with a brilliant smile. "It really is so sad... Findin' yer way in da East End ain't dat difficult, really." If ye don't mind da occasional dagger aimed at yer ribs. "Ye just gotta know where ta go, 'ow ta walk and talk...like, oh, I don't know...a native maybe?"

"Is that so?" Prince Pervert growled, leaning forward as if he was going to pounce on her. "If you know so much about the East End, why don't you teach me?"

Trap sprung!

Amy smiled. "All righty. No problem."

"Ha! I knew you wouldn't—wait, what?"

This time, Patrick really did fall off the coach.

Thud!

"Ow! Hell and damnation...!"

"Language, from ye?" Stepping closer, Amy did what she'd been longing to do for a long time now: look down on him. "What 'appened ta ye?"

Grabbing the side of the coach, Lord Patrick Day pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. From behind tangled golden strands of hair, he glared at her, and then jabbed a finger in her direction. "You happened!"

Marching forward, he planted himself a few feet away from her. Once again, Amy couldn't help but realize how imposing the bloody man could be. Beneath his blond mane of hair was a face full of strength, the fierce expression of which was by no means mitigated by a set of broad shoulders, and two strong, long-fingered hands balled into fists.

"What in God's name do you think you are doing here?" he demanded. "You can't be my guide! You're just a—"

"What? A woman?" Amy's eyes narrowed. "Ye know, ye're lucky my best friend didn't 'ear ye say dat. She's not as understandin' as I am."

Completely ignoring her words, the snobby bastard took another step forward. By now, Amy could feel the heat of his body, and it only made her anger burn hotter! Before she knew how or why, she, too, had taken a step forward.

"I'm da only choice ye got!"

"It cannot be you! I simply cannot—"

"—ask for 'elp from a lady? Especially a lady of the night?"

"That's not the point! I need someone who—"

"—knows deir way around da East End, right?" she finished his sentence for him with the ease born of long years of practise at stunning men into silence. She took another step forward. The charged air between them crackled, and her eyes sparked as she raised her chin to meet his eyes. "Ye listen 'ere, mister! I grew up on da streets. I know every nook and cranny, Dere's not a gang leader I don't know by name, and few I don't know by dick size."

His Lordship, who had just been about to open his mouth to protest, slammed it shut again. His face took on a very decorative rosy hue.