“I cannot prevent it, Hester,” he said gravely. “Nor can I reasonably find out who it will be. I wish I could. Or are you saying that if we are to stop this business we have only a small amount of time in which to act?” He looked genuinely grieved. “I would, if I knew of anything that would help. It is not practical to try closing him down. London is full of prostitution, and probably always will be, like all large cities.” There was apology in his eyes, in the line of his mouth. He did not look at Margaret.
“I know that,” Hester answered softly. “I am not so idealistic as to aim at changing human nature, Oliver, only at putting Squeaky Robinson out of this particular business.”
“Miss Ballinger suggested that you had an idea,” he said with care, the slight frown back between his brows.
She could not help a flash of humor. He had been involved in one or two of her plans before and was wise to be wary.
She plunged in. “We must strike before he finds a partner,” she said firmly, praying she would phrase her plan in such a way as to make him believe it was not only possible but perfectly moral and reasonable, which would not be easy!
“Strike?” he said warily. He glanced at Margaret.
She smiled with magnificent innocence.
He looked uncomfortable and turned back to Hester.
She took a deep breath. This was the moment. “Before he finds a partner himself,” she said, “we must provide one… who will need to examine the books, of course, before he commits himself…”
Rathbone said nothing.
“And will thus have the opportunity to destroy them,” she finished.
He looked puzzled. “He won’t believe you,” he said with grave regret. “Your reputation is too well known, Hester. And unless he is a complete fool, he wouldn’t believe Monk either.”
“Oh, I know that,” she agreed. “But he would believe you, if you did it well enough.”
He froze, eyes wide.
There was nothing to do but continue. “If you were to go to him with us, of course, and say you would be interested in investing a little money in such a profitable sideline.” She knew she was speaking too quickly. “Providing an examination of the books, the debts still to be collected, and so on, were satisfactory, then you would also be able to provide suitable young women in the future. You come across them often enough in your practice-”
“Hester!” he protested, aghast. “For God’s sake…” He swiveled to Margaret. “I apologize, Miss Ballinger, but I couldn’t possibly involve myself in usury and prostitution! Not to mention sanctioning the brutal punishment of people unable to pay their debts…”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t be!” Margaret said sincerely. “You would only have to go there once.” Her eyes did not leave his. “And surely lawyers deal with some very questionable people a lot of the time? You can hardly defend people who haven’t at least been charged with a crime, whether they are guilty or not?”
“Yes, but that’s…” he protested.
Her smile lit her face with a softness and a warmth which were unmistakable. She could not have hidden her admiration for him then even had she tried, and at the moment she was oblivious of it. “If anyone were to mention it, should they know, you could be perfectly candid afterwards as to why you were there,” she said reasonably. “Could anything be more justified than rescuing perfectly honest young women from a life on the streets?”
His face was filled with confusion both intellectual and emotional. Hester, who knew him so well, could see it clearly.
“That’s not exactly what you’re suggesting,” he pointed out reluctantly, looking from one to the other of them. “I need to go to this… Squeaky?”
“Yes… Squeaky Robinson.” Hester nodded.
“And offer to be his partner in usury and pimping?” he finished.
“Only offer,” Hester said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not actually do it.”
“The difference between intent and execution would be difficult to prove,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.
“To whom?” Hester argued. “Who is going to know, except Squeaky Robinson, who will be in no position to retaliate, and Margaret and I, who will be undyingly grateful. And of course we know exactly where your real morality lies.”
“Hester, it is…” he tried again.
“Ingenious and unpleasant,” Margaret answered for him. “Of course it is.” Her voice conveyed understanding and disappointment. Her eyes were wide, full of gentleness, as if she knew she had expected too much.
Rathbone flushed. He was perfectly well aware that she and Hester worked in Coldbath Square almost every day, regardless of dirt, danger, or risk to their reputations.
“When were you planning on doing this?” he asked tentatively.
“Tonight,” Hester replied without hesitation.
Margaret smiled hopefully and said nothing.
“Tonight! I…” Rathbone was momentarily nonplussed. “I…”
“Thank you,” Hester murmured.
“Hester!” he protested, but he had already surrendered and all three of them knew it.
Margaret’s eyes were gleaming, her cheeks faintly flushed, although no one could have told whether the cause was anticipation of the possible victory tonight or her knowledge that Rathbone had succumbed largely because of her.
Hester stood up, and Rathbone and Margaret did likewise. Time was short, but quite apart from that, it was wise to withdraw before triumph could be turned into defeat by a thoughtless additional remark.
“Thank you very much,” Hester said sincerely. “Where would you like to meet us? Coldbath Square might not be the most advisable.”
“What about Fitzroy Street?” Margaret suggested. “I can be there at whatever time you wish.”
“Then I shall join you at nine o’clock,” Rathbone replied. He looked at Hester with a twisted smile. “What does one wear to buy into a brothel?”
She regarded his extremely elegant gray suit and white shirt with its perfectly tied cravat. “I would not change, if I were you. Dressed like that, he will believe you have money and influence.”
“How about greed, immorality and perverted tastes?” he asked with a slight curl of his lip.
“You cannot dress for that,” she replied with perfect seriousness. “Regrettably.”
“Touche,” he murmured. “Until nine o’clock. I presume you will tell me then whatever else I am required to know?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Oliver. Good-bye.”
He bowed very slightly. “Good-bye.”
Hester and Margaret walked away side by side, heads high, without speaking, each lost in her own thoughts. Hester assumed Margaret’s were of Rathbone, perhaps driven by emotions rather than reason. Her own were also emotional, the full realization that whether Rathbone knew it or not, he was falling in love with Margaret Ballinger quite as much as he had ever been with Hester herself. She felt a powerful mixture of regret and pleasure, but she knew in a while the pleasure would win.
By the time the hansom stopped in the Farringdon Road at just after half past nine, Hester, Margaret and Rathbone knew exactly what part each was going to play in what they hoped was going to be the downfall of Squeaky Robinson’s business. They alighted and walked the short distance in the fitful lamplight along Hatton Wall and across Leather Lane to the darkness of Portpool Lane, under the shadow of the brewery. None of them spoke, each concentrating on what he or she was going to say and how to assume their various roles.
Hester was nervous. It had seemed a brilliant idea when she first thought of it. Now that it was about to become a reality, she could see all the difficulties that she had so eagerly persuaded Margaret, and then Rathbone, did not matter.
She led them through the alley entrance, which was still remarkably clear of rubbish, and up the steps to the door. As usual it was opened by the man in the cast-off butler’s suit.
“You again,” he said somewhat ungraciously to Hester, then looked beyond her to the other two. His face
