It was truly a heart-breaking story, a tale of woe and wonder, telling of a young woman who had worked ceaselessly to aid the poor, disenfranchised and defenceless people in the London slums.

"...but, recently, gatherin' funds for charity 'as become just about impossible." Amy blinked up at the vicar with big, sad eyes. Too bad she hadn't brought onions with her. A few tears would be just the thing right now. "Most of da London business world 'as bin taken over by a despicable man who, despite being richer dan Croesus, won't give a single penny to charity!"

"No!" The vicar exclaimed in shock, while Karim, for some reason, suddenly had a coughing fit. They were all sitting around the coffee table in a cheerful little room within the vicarage. Jenny was busy balancing her toddlers on her knees, while the others listened to Amy's tale with differing expressions. The vicar seemed to be deeply moved. Patrick, Karim and Titus on the other hand... "How horrible! Who is this despicable individual?"

"P-please, don't make me speak 'is name." Judging the time right, Amy delivered a theatrical shudder that a Covent Garden actress couldn't have pulled off better. "If 'e ever 'eard what I said...It w-would be bad." Mostly, because 'e's yer landlord. Oh, and me best friend's 'usband.

"Don't you worry." Leaning forward, the reverend gently patted the back of her hand. "Just tell us everything you can."

"Yes, Tell us," Patrick said, eyes narrowed. "Even though I know the reason why we're here, of course, I for some reason feel very much interested in hearing this story."

"Of course, gentlemen." Demurely, as befitted a pure maiden, Amy lowered her head in agreement. "I shall tell ye everythin'. It is truly a relief ta be able ta share da burden of dese 'orrible events with strong, reliable men like ye. Da whole of London seems ta be followin' da example of dis 'orrible man. Dere ain't a single penny to be gotten for charity." A hopeful expression spreading over her face—the one she usually gave her more simple-minded clients who believed in their extraordinary equipment—she gazed up at the vicar. "I thought per'aps 'ere, in da country, it would be different. I thought per'aps dat good old Christian values 'ad survived out 'ere far away from da corruption of da big city I detest so much."

She glanced to the side, where Patrick sat, gaping at her, his mouth wide open. She gave him a sad little smile.

"Ye see? Even an experienced man of da world like Lord Patrick is speechless at da depravity of da big city. Thankfully, as a young lady, my life 'as been sheltered so far." She lowered her head even lower, oozing purity. "But dat only makes me wanna 'elp all dose poor souls who are less fortunate."

Jenny, with admirable timing, lowered her head even more demurely than her friend, beating her by at least two inches. "Amen."

The toddler on her left arm nodded energetically. "Agaga!"

Not bad for a two-year-old vicar-in-training.

"Splendid! Splendid!" The vicar clapped, beaming at everyone around. "You seldom find such behaviour in young women nowadays!"

"I," Patrick said, his face as deadpan as a mortuary for cooking pots, "would have to agree. Most young women I have met are very different from these two."

"I couldn't agree more!" The vicar leaned forward excitedly. In his exuberance, he went so far as to commit the extravagance of taking another ginger biscuit from the coffee table they were all seated around. "What, if I may ask, is the name of your charity?"

Amy gave him a beaming smile. "The Pussycat Palace."

"Pffft!"

"What an interesting name!" The vicar exclaimed, while Patrack furiously tried to wipe away the tea he had spewed all over his trousers. "Is there a story behind it?"

Amy nodded seriously. "Aye, ye see, our first venture was a 'ome for all the poor, 'omeless kittens in London. Ye wouldn't believe how many of dose dere are. And so far, it's been a great success. We 'ave people comin' every day from all over da city to pat and cuddle da—"

"Could I have another cup of tea, please?" Patrick interrupted, stomping on Amy's foot under the table. Or, at least trying to.

Ha! Ye won't catch me dat easily!

"Most certainly! Now, where's the tea pot...ah, thank you, Jenny my dear!" The vicar beamed at Jenny as she handed him the steaming pot, then turned his enthusiastic smile on the rest of them. "I must say, your dedication to charity is quite admirable, Miss Amy! Would you be willing to accept a donation from me to support your Pussycat Palace?"

"Rrrg!"

"Um...is everything all right, Lord Patrick?"

"Y-yes," His poor Lordship coughed. "Quite all right, Vicar."

Amy beamed at the reverend. What a sweet fellow! Too bad there weren't more clergymen like him. "Ye'll find we at da Pussycat Palace are always delighted ta accept money from gentlemen. Thank ye very much!"

"No trouble, no trouble at all!" Fishing a few notes out of his pocket, the reverend held them out, and in a blink, they vanished into Amy's pocket. "But, I assume asking for donations for lonely kittens isn't the main reason you came here, is it?"

"No." Amy's expression turned as sombre as a sombrero. "Dere's a much more pressing problem we need yer 'elp with."

"And that would be?" Leaning forward, the vicar gave her an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Miss Weston. No matter what it is, my wife and I will always support a charitable cause. So tell me, what is the reason for your visit?"

"It's dose poor, 'elpless orphans."...who were kidnapped by a ruthless, bloodthirsty street gang. "Dey need yer 'elp, Reverend. We need yer 'elp." ...breaking into a nobleman's mansion and snatching the children he holds captive for depraved purposes.

"Marvelous! Marevlous!" The vicar beamed. "You know what? My dear wife is just the right woman for that kind of job!"

Beside Amy, Patrick gave another choking noise. "Y-you are too kind, Vicar!" he forced out. "But I'm sure that in her current condition—"

"Oh, don't worry about that." Once again gazing at his spouse with pride, the vicar gave them all a beaming smile. "My dear Jenny likes to keep active. I'm sure a visit to some neighbours is just the thing she needs to perk up her constitution."

"Aye..." Jenny sat there, grinning, fingers steepled on her pregnant belly, somehow managing to look far more like an evil mastermind than a nine-months-pregnant vicar's wife. "That sounds just like what I need."

Lord Patrick Day opened his mouth to argue again—whereupon Amy stepped on his foot, hard. She, to her great pride and satisfaction, did not miss.

"Agh!"

"I must say, Miss Amy," the vicar turned back towards her, "you are a woman of true Christian values. It's not often I come across ladies as pure and good as you and your friends. Please, come by whenever you want. We'd be honored to have you as a guest in the vicarage. The girls in the village could do worse than learn from your example."

Once more, choking sounds came from Patrick's direction. Amy listened, her head cocked. She wasn't an expert or anything, but by the sound of things, His Lordship would expire in about two minutes or so.

"Something wrong?" the vicar enquired solicitously. "Would you like a cup of water?"

"Whiskey," Patrick managed to squeeze out. "A full glass! No soda, please."

"If ye wish..." Getting up, Jenny wobbled over to the whiskey cabinet, pulled out a bottle and filled a glass with clear amber liquid. Returning to Patrick, she admonished. "But ye should be careful with dat stuff! Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise, Proverbs 20:1."

"Amen," Amy added, piously inclining her head.

"Amen," Titus repeated, piously eyeing the whiskey bottle.

Patrick meanwhile grabbed the glass, downed the contents in one go and narrowed his eyes at the two women. "How miraculous! All of a sudden, I feel both mocked and enraged."

"The word of the Lord is truly without compare," Amy nodded solemnly.

"To get back to the matter at hand..." Karim grunted.

Hurriedly, the vicar cleared his throat. "Oh, yes. Um..."

"The charity."

"Ah!" Instantly, the vicar's face brightened. Apparently, you just had to use that word once every ten minutes, and he'd be a happy man. Amy tucked that little piece of info away for later use. Leaping to his feet, the reverend smiled down at her. "You know, I already have quite a few people in mind that might contribute to a worthy cause! Lord John Wetherston, for sure. Didn't he marry that other friend of yours, Miss Cora? I'm sure he'd love to help!"

"Oh yes." A smile started to spread over Amy's face. "And I'm sure Cora would love ta lend a 'and as well."

"Too bad Lord Ambrose is away. I am sure he would have loved to contribute to such a good cause."

This time, it was Amy who nearly choked in a sip of tea. "Err...aye. Loved to. Right."

The vicar snapped his fingers. "But there's always His Grace the Duke of Arrendyle! He is reputed to be a very generous man!"

Suddenly, silence descended on the room.

And here we go!

Amy's fists clenched in triumph, well-hidden under the table. All the little jabs and jokes at the expense of Patrick were suddenly forgotten. Not just by her, by all of them. Lord Patrick's, Karim's, Titus's and most of all Amy's intense gaze bored into the reverend. Even Jenny, busy with her rugrats as she was, seemed to pick up on the unusual atmosphere. She narrowed her eyes at Amy, calculation sparkling in their depths.

The vicar, on the other hand, was more joyful and eager than ever.

"You'll see! We're all very helpful in this neighbourhood. I'll start making my rounds immediately and see if I can't arrange a meeting with His Grace through the head steward! Jenny, be a dear and entertain our guests while I'm gone, will you? You and your friend must have a lot of things to talk about."

"Oh, aye." Cocking her head, Jenny skewered Amy with her gaze. "I definitely 'ave. Seems dere's bin lots of stuff 'appening I don't know about. I very much look forward ta 'earing it."

Whistling, Amy started to study the pretty spider webs on the ceiling. What a fascinating view! Definitely better than having to look her friend straight in the eye.

"Thank you so much! And you, too, Miss Amy, Lord Patrick, Mr Karim, Mr Irving, for giving me such a wonderful opportunity to help poor, unfortunate orphans!" Grabbing a hat off the hallstand, the vicar slipped into a coat and hurried out the door, apparently far too excited to notice he had accidentally put on a straw hat.

After the reverend left the room, silence descended. Amy sat, waiting. Ten seconds...fifteen...

From somewhere down the corridor, they heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Finally. They were alone.

Instantly, Jenny turned towards her friend, a fire lit in her eyes which seemed so gentle just a moment ago.

"Now. Explain. What are ye really doing 'ere?"

Amy smirked. "Are ye sure ye don't wanna read me a few more moralizing Bible passages first?"

"Don't mess with me! Don't ye think I didn't notice da arsenal in yer coach, or da extra carriages full of men with murder-ready mugs? So cut da crap and talk!"

The smirk morphed and grew into a beaming smile. "Now, dat's da friend I remember!"

Jenny cracked her knuckles. "Den I guess ye still remember my right hook, too, don't ye? Spill!"

***

Patrick listened intently as Amy retold the story of their adventures, particularly because there were parts of it—such as him tied to the bed, pleading for mercy and forgiveness—which he didn't quite remember the same way she told them.

When Amy reached the part about Flo's abduction, Jenny's fists tightened in anger. The two pink bundles in her arms seemed to be the only thing keeping her from jumping up, rushing to find the men who were behind this and beating them to death with a meat tenderizer. With obvious effort, she forced herself to remain seated where she was and continued to listen, her light brown eyes, which seemed so friendly and open a moment ago, suddenly shining with a dangerous light.

Before, Lord Patrick had thought coming here for help was a silly idea. Ridiculous, even. Now, however, he was not so sure about that anymore.

"So, tell me..." Eyes glittering, Jenny leaned forward. "What did ye do to dem?"

The question sent a shiver down Patrick's back. Not What happened next or How is Flo now. Just What did you do to them.

Is that the kind of life the two of them have lived?

Amy smiled at her friend, not noticing his intense gaze. "What makes ye think I did anythin'?"

Jenny gave her friend a long look—then, without blinking, her foot lashed out, nudging the side of Amy's skirts. A moment later, something landed on the floor with a metallic thud. All four of the visitors looked down to see a pistol lying on the carpet.

Raising her head, Amy smiled. "Point taken."

"What are ye up to, Amy?"

"Why don't ye try and guess?"

"Let me see..." Jenny narrowed her eyes. "Ye came 'ere. Ye wanna collect for 'charity'...from whom? Rich arsewipes. Da kind dat would 'ave enough money ta buy a pricy toy or two dat ain't entirely legal. And da rich bastards in dis neighbourhood are...Wetherston? No, he'd never do such a thing. Ambrose? Never!"

"A good man, is he?" Patrick enquired, feeling his faith in England's aristocracy somewhat restored.

"Ha, not in a million years! 'e'd just never waste money on buying people when renting dem is so much cheaper."

"Err...oh. I see."

"Dat only leaves..." Jenny's gaze met Amy's, and the young mother's eyes hardened. "Arrendyle. It's 'im, ain't it?"

"Aye."

"That slimy little...! Next time I see dat maggot, I'm gonna rip 'im ta shreds!"

Lord Patrick felt his fists clench. "Pardon me for saying so, Miss, but you shall have to get in line."

"Oy! What 'appened ta lady's first?"

"I'm afraid it does not count." His voice was hard as bedrock. "Not in this case."

Jenny appraised him with a long look. "Hm...and who're ye, ta be tellin' me what ta do and what not ta do?"

Lord Patrick opened his mouth to give his noble name, and—

"'e's me customer," Amy answered.

"Pfft!" Another mouthful of tea was unceremoniously spewed over his trousers.

"Oh?" Jenny scrutinized him with renewed interest. "'ow is 'e in bed?"

"Ggrrn!"

"So-so." Amy waved her hand. "Last time we slept tagether, 'e didn't do much of anythin'."

"Does 'e pay decent at least?"

"Wanted me ta work for free at first. Can ye believe it?"

"Typical! Da nobles dese days are all cheapskates."

Lord Patrick opened his mouth again to interject—

And Titus beside him picked this moment to nod solemnly. "How true! I myself would have paid at least a sovereign a day."

Both women sent him beaming smiles. "Thank ye so much for da compliment!"

How in any sense of the word is that a compliment? How?

Titus gave a gracious bow. "You're welcome, ladies."

Lord Patrick took a deep breath. Why was this person his best friend again?

"Are you three quite finished?" he cut in, his voice steely. "We have more important matters to discuss, remember?"

The grin drained from Amy's face and, for a moment, Patrick regretted what he'd said—until he remembered why they were here, and what would happen if they failed.

"As much as I would like ta deny it, 'e's right," Amy admitted.

"Let's get the pleasantries out of the way first." Rising to his feet, he gave a curt but deep bow. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I am Lord Patrick Day, Knight of the Order of the Garter. At your service."

"Hm. Not bad." The young mother nodded, glancing at her friend. "I assume you...managed to convince him to help you with this matter?"

"No." Patrick's head turned towards Amy at the sound of her voice. It was so soft he hardly recognized it. "He was da one who convinced me to 'elp da children."

"Is dat so...?" The way Miss Jenny looked at him subtly changed. But she did not say anything else. Instead, she glanced over at Karim. "And ye? Why are ye 'ere?"

"I was forcibly recruited," he growled.

"Ah. And ye?" She she let her gaze wander to Titus.

"I was kidnapped."

"I see. So ye're all eager and ready ta 'elp. Spiffin'!"

Leaping to her feet, the young woman determinedly strode to the door, at quite a pace for one person carrying the weight of three.

"Come on, everyone! While me dear 'usband goes 'obnobbing with disgusting perverts, let's go fetch yer luggage and get ye situated. We don't 'ave as many free rooms available as we used to 'ave..." She lifted one of the pink bundles in her arms. "...but we should be able ta fit ye in." Cocking her head, she glanced at Karim. "Well...probably."

"I," Karim said dignified, rising to his feat, "shall find a spot for myself, thank you very much. My men and I are used to rough conditions. The stables shall be more than sufficient for us."

Translation: I would rather share a roof with horses than with certain people here.

Before anyone could object, Karim strode out.

"Great!" Jenny rubbed her hands. "Why don't all of ye go 'elp 'im while I tell da maids ta prepare yer rooms? Here." Pulling something out of her pocket, she threw it at Lord Patrick and, instinctively, he reached out to catch the thing. What the...

A key?

He raised an eyebrow at the lady of the house—and she raised one right back. "Da wheelbarrow is in da garden shed at da back. Don't strain yer noble back muscles, Yer Lordship."

Lord Patrick Day, heir of an ancient line of nobles stretching back all the way to the time of William the Conqueror, stood there, staring down at the key that elevated him to the august position of gofer.

"You..."

"Oh, and lock da door behind ye when ye're done. I don't want da village brats ta get inside."

"I shall endeavour to secure the lock to your satisfaction, ma'am," he told her coolly.

From behind him came a giggle. By the time he had whirled around, Amy, Titus and Karim had already vanished out the door. Fingers clenched around the key, he strode after them—only to be stopped by Jenny's hand gripping his arm.

"Do you need something, ma'am?"

"I don't need nothin'. I'm gonna give ye somethin'."

"Give me something?"

"Aye. A warning." She nodded at the door through which Amy had vanished, then fixed a grim gaze upon him. "Amy's bin me best friend since longer dan I can count. If ye wanna keep yer bollocks attached to yer body, do not 'urt 'er."

Lord Patrick's spine stiffened as if he'd been struck by a whip, cold rage rising inside him. "I beg your pardon? I am a gentleman! I would never raise my hand against a woman! Why would you insinuate such a thing?"

"Raise a hand against..." Her voice trailing off, she stared at him for a long moment—then, snorting, rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the door. The last thing he heard was something that sounded like a muttered "Men! Bloody thick'eaded idiots!", then the door slammed shut behind him.

Amy, who stood a little distance away beside the coach, glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. "What was dat all about?"