It took a moment until Angeline felt the eyes on her. Her gaze flicked from one of her friends to the next, only to find that they were all intently gazing at her. Angeline's eyes slowly shifted to the window, through which a long line of waiting coaches was visible. Coaches full of people which she had not noticed so far.

Realization hit.

"You...!" Raising an accusing finger, she jabbed it straight at Amy. "What do you think this place is? A bloody five-storey hotel?"

"Nah." Amy shook her head, beaming at her. "We ain't blind. We know perfectly well dis 'otel only 'as three storeys."

"Those are nine coaches full of people out there! Nine bloody coaches full!"

Amy's smile didn't waver for a second. "Told ye I'd bring ye a big surprise."

"My mother is staying here! As in here, in this house! She'll be back any minute now!"

"Ah." Amy nodded, trying her very best not to smirk. "So ye got one less free room den."

"Argh! You...you are...!"

"Da best of friends?"

On the other hand, why not smirk? It's such a fun thing to do.

"In all fairness," Patrick interjected, placing a hand on Amy's arm. "I grew up in this place. It does have a lot of rooms. But enough for seventy people? I am afraid that, Miss Amy, as difficult as it is to accomplish, you have overestimated my mother's planning for future grandchildren."

Amy frowned. She'd been pulling her friend's chain, but that didn't mean they didn't genuinely need a place for those women and children to stay. "But if we don't house them here, then where?"

They all looked at Cora.

"Huh?" She raised a hand. "Oy, I only just got into town. Sorry ta disappoint ye, but me 'ubby doesn't 'ave a place 'ere."

"And I'm a 'umble vicar's wife," Jenny added. "Not even da church back 'ome would be big enough ta squeeze everyone in."

Amy's mouth twitched humourlessly as everyone's gaze fell on her. "Don't look at me. Ye know as well as I do, my place ain't bigger dan a stamp, and much less fit ta live in."

Everyone's gazes turned to Patrick. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Well...dere are still empty rooms in yer 'ouse. And ye did take da last batch."

"Which, unlike this one, consisted entirely of underage girls." Raising a hand, Patrick pointed at Titus. "This is my best friend. He visits my home on a regular basis. Do you think I'm the right one to be entrusted with fifty traumatized, scantily dressed women?"

"He's right." Titus nodded sagely. "That would be a very bad idea."

"I know a place," Flo piped up, raising her hand. "Dere's an abandoned match factory two streets down from—"

Amy gave the girl a thump. "Ye are not gonna recruit traumatized victims as free labour!"

The girl's shoulders sank, her dreams of expansion and domination of the match market crushed in their infancy.

A few more suggestions were tossed around, but Amy didn't think that any of them were any more practical than Flo's. Her disappointment and vexation was mirrored on the others' faces.

"Tarnation!" Patrick muttered, one finger tapping the table in irritation. "If only I could think of someone! Anyone! Some older lady, maybe, someone involved in child care or—"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Not now! I'm busy!"

"B-but, Sir..." The door creaked open, and a timid maid, whose costume, in Amy's humble opinion, was not nearly as sexy as her own, stuck her head into the room.

"What is it? Didn't you hear me? I'm occupied!"

"Um...pardon the disturbance, Young Miss, My Lord. I'm sorry to interrupt your time with your friends, but your lady mother heard that Your Lordship has returned home, and came to enquire whether you might have time to accompany her to the meeting of the board of governors of the London Society for the Aid of Orphans and the Poor."

"Not now!" Patrick waved her away impatiently. "I don't have time for petty things like that right now! I'm trying to find a home for dozens of homeless women and orphan—"

Silence descended over the room. Although, somewhere in the background, Amy fancied she could hear crickets chirping.

"Say..." Jenny leaned over towards Titus, speaking in a perfectly audible whisper. "Is amnesia caused by inbreeding common among nobs? We should get 'im 'elp."

Amy nodded approvingly. This kind of charitable attitude towards the mentaly ill was truly befitting of a vicar's wife.

Patrick sent the two of them a glare.

"Oy, don't look at us like dat!" Amy cocked an eyebrow. "Ye're da one who forgot about 'is own mother! Any reason why we shouldn't ask 'er for 'elp?"

He raised an eyebrow right back at her. "Are you seriously asking me that question? What do you think would happen if I told her? I can see it already...'Dear Mother, I need you to take care of fifty former sex-slaves I picked up in a dungeon...' Yes, I can see that going over very well."

"Aye." Amy nodded, her lips twitching. "I can see it, too. Quite clearly. Oh dear. Don't bother me for a minute, will ye? Dat's better dan any play."

"Miss Amy?"

"Aye?"

"Quit smirking!"

"Do I 'ave ta? 'cause it's really, really 'ard."

"Well, you had better finish fast and start thinking of something!" Raising a finger, he jabbed it at the door. "She is outside, right now! Even if we do ask for her help, we both know we cannot tell her the full, true story! If we don't come up with something quickly, my mother is going to ask some very pointed questions. Currently, I cannot even think of a way to explain the contents of those nine coaches to her—let alone asking her to take care of it! How would you propose we do that?"

"Well..." Amy sent him an evil grin. How nice he'd finally asked that question. Sidling up to His Lordship, she slid an arm around his broad shoulders and snuggled up against him. He stiffened. Well, not the important part of him yet, but one step at a time, right? "Yer lady mother wanted ta take ye out to a little charity function, didn't she? I'm sure if ye promise ta accompany her and ta tell 'er all about yer recent outing with yer new lady love to da countryside, during which ye visited da local vicar and toured a lovely castle, she would be delighted to do you a little favour."

The expression on Lord Patrick Day's face looked like he'd just swallowed a pickled onion whole. The fact that he was wearing that expression because he was considering telling his mother about having spent time with her might have been insulting, if it hadn't been so funny.

"No! No, you cannot seriously expect me to—"

"Aye." Amy's grin widened. "I absolutely can."

And, grabbing him by the arm, she pushed him up and towards the door.

***

Some horrifically torturous time later...

"It is done."

With the air of a condemned man whose last meal had been eaten by his pet rat, Lord Patrick Day marched back into the room,

Titus patted his best friend on the back. "We appreciate your sacrifice."

Patrick resisted the urge to wrap his hands around his friend's neck, like in the good old days at university. "Take my sacrifice and stick it up your—"

"Yoo-hoo! Patrick, my dear, where have you wandered off to?" a familiarly motherly voice came drifting down the hallway, and he suddenly decided not to finish that sentence.

"The women will be taken care of," Lord Patrick started talking fast, as footstep approached from the corridor outside. Without looking, he absent-mindedly accepted the cup of tea offered by the maid beside him. "As will the younger girls. I managed to divert my mother's questions by telling her I came across them in a workhouse that I intended to donate to, but found to be horribly abusive. Be sure to keep your stories straight!"

"I'm good with straight stuff," the maid beside him assured him. "Especially straight men."

He stiffened.

Then, just an instant later, his head whipped to the side. There, with a Chesire-cat grin on her face, was Amy, offering him a bowl of sugar cubes. He took it, and only then noticed what his hands were doing.

"Wha—how...Amy?"

"Present and correct."

"Where," he hissed, glancing quickly at the door, "did you get a maid uniform from?"

She batted her eyelashes at him. "I always carry one around with me. Don't ye?"

That bleeding impudent wench! She...!

He sent her a glare.

"All right, all right." Amy the maid shrugged. "I bribed one of yer maids ta strip. A first for me. I much prefer bein' da one who gets da money."

Lord Patrick's mouth fell open. "You...!"

"Would ye prefer I meet yer mother in my usual getup and introduce myself as yer secret ladyfriend ye've bin hangin' out with?"

Lord Patrick shut his mouth again.

"Good job," Titus, the traitor, patted the wench's shoulder! "Feel free to ask my friend's maids to strip whenever you wish. Just invite me along next time."

Lord Patrick hands twitched. Oh yes, strangling his best friend really seemed appealing.

"Patrick? Patrick, yoo-hoo, where are you, son?"

Whatever Lord Patrick might have wanted to say or do, it was interrupted by a whirlwind of ladylike motherliness rushing into the room. There was a furious expression on his mother's face. Luckily, not directed at him. "Patrick, what kind of hellhole did you find these poor women in? I was just outside to check on them, and...and..." Her eyes flashed, promising hell on earth the way only a devout, proper lady could. "Tell me which workhouse they were in! I don't know what kind of things they've been through, but the look in their eyes...I don't even want to know! Just tell me who did this! I'll see to it that he is sacked from his position immediately!"

"Ehem, well..." Lord Patrick Day cleared his throat, unable to combat the mental image of his mother twisting the arm of the Queen of England, trying to get her to sign a decree to sack one of the thirty-one dukes of the realm. And maybe a few barons for good measure. "Don't worry. I've already seen to it that he is appropriately disciplined."

"You did? Excellent! That's my son!" Beaming, the dowager-duchess linked arms with Lord Patrick, who unfortunately was not quick enough to dodge. He vowed to himself to resume his fencing practice and work on his reflexes.

"So...you will be able to take care of them, mother? The women and young girls?"

"Leave it to me! I would never let any more harm come to these poor souls. I'll definitely see them to a safe place!"

"Thank y—"

"However..." Lady Henrietta's face lit up with the kind of unholy glee only a loving mother was capable of. "Just remember to be on time for the charity board meeting, and to tell me all about the details of your country outing with your mysterious young lady. Otherwise, I might just forget where I put those unfortunate people, or that they are humans who need food."

Lord Patrick swallowed. Ah yes, that was his beloved mother. Threatening innocent people's lives to get herself some grandbabies. "I shall definitely be there. I wouldn't want to disappoint my dear mother."

"Wonderful! In fact, why don't you bring your young lady along?" Lady Henrietta asked, stepping forward with a beaming smile, while over her shoulder, Lord Patrick saw Amy busying herself with a feather duster, dutiful maid that she was. "I'm sure that Lady Alathea, Lady Gwendolyn, and my other friends from the board of trustees, would love to meet her, too!"

Patrick swallowed. Just at that moment, Amy happened to bend over to dust something on a lower rack, lifting her maid outfit in the back.

They most certainly would. Those old bats would have a field day with that juicy piece of gossip.

"That, ehem...might be difficult, mother. She has many duties to attend to."

Her Ladyship's distinguished brow deigned to furrow. "Pish-posh! What could a well-bred young lady such as her possibly be busy with?"

Patrick's gaze flickered to where, behind his dear mother, Amy was polishing a shelf full of fat porcelain shepherdesses, whistling the melody of a raunchy song.

"You might be surprised."

"Oh. Well, if that is the case..." Her Ladyship's face fell, and she looked so sad and forlorn that it almost made Lord Patrick forget all about how she had used the fate of seventy homeless women and orphans to blackmail him for information on his lovelife. "I suppose I'll get going then. Those women and girls look harrowed, and need somewhere to rest. Hm...I'll need a large place. An orphanage? No, no, most of the people out there are adults. Maybe Lady McMillan's place? Lots of empty rooms, and the whole family is away right now. I don't think she'd mind..."

Mumbling and rattling off a string of items and supplies, Lady Henrietta made her way towards the door, without seeming to notice that the maid who had been carrying fur mantles in her son's house a week or so ago was now handing her her hat and parasol. She was already nearly out the door when Lord Patrick felt a painful twinge.

"Ow!"

He glanced down at where his wrist bloomed red, freshly pinched, and then glanced over at Amy, who, for her part, jerked her head in his mother's direction.

Oh, right!

"Mother, wait!

"Sweets for the children, vegetables...hmm, what?" Halting just as she was about to step out of the door, the dowager-duchess turned around. "What is it?"

"Let me know when you have found a place for the women and children to stay, all right?" Lord Patrick smiled at his lady mother, making sure to keep the expression on his face casual. If she had been this outraged by what she had seen of those women and girls so far, he did not want to know what Lady Henrietta Valentina Day would do if she actually learned the truth of what happened to them. "Someone might drop by to look in on them during the next week or so. Hendrickson is his name. Arlen Red Hendrickson. He will be asking them some questions. We're workin on a...little piece for the newspaper to showcase the plight of young women and girls in the poorer parts of the city."

"Oh! How splendid!" His mother clapped her hands, stars suddenly sparkling in her eyes. "I see your young lady has had a wonderful influence on you!"

"What? No, she—" He suddenly hesitated, the words stopping in his throat. A moment of silence passed. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at a certain young woman in a rumpled maid outfit on the other side of the room, too far away to hear what mother and son were saying. "Yes. Yes, maybe she has."

He turned back just in time to see the triumphant look on his mother's face.

Oh fu—

—tility of swear words.

"I'll be off then!" Wrapping her silk stole tightly around herself, Her Ladyship dashed towards the door. "Don't worry, the women and girls will think they've landed in paradise! I'll be waiting for you at the board of governors' meeting, darling." She winked. "I'll look forward to hearing all about your young lady. And I'll especially look forward to meeting your young lady very soon. Toodeloo!"

And she was gone.

Well, that...boded well for his future.

And that was one of the finest examples of sarcasm ever.

Luckily, misery was easier to bear when you could spread it around. Glancing back, Lord Patrick met the eyes of his friends, companions, and scandalous maid. One corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Shall we pay a visit to Mr Hendrickson? I expect he'll be delighted to see us."