As Holdsworth came out of Frank’s staircase, he saw Mr Whichcote’s footboy slipping through the gateway with a basket over his arm. Holdsworth set off in pursuit.
Two sheriff’s officers were standing outside the paved area in front of the Jerusalem gate. They recognized the boy, and called out to him, but he scuttled past and darted into St Andrew’s Street.
Holdsworth quickened his pace. The footboy turned into Petty Cury and threaded his way up to the market, where he bought fruit from one stall and cheese from another. Afterwards he drifted towards the Conduit, where there was always a little crowd. He helped himself to a strawberry. Next, he unwrapped a corner of the cheese with great care and examined it, as though looking for crumbs.
The boy was no longer alone. A tall, thin girl, drably dressed, sidled up to him. Holdsworth recognized her as the girl he had seen with the footboy in college. As if she felt his eyes on her, she looked up and stared at him. She must have said something to the boy too, for he turned in Holdsworth’s direction.
Holdsworth abandoned subtlety and made his way over to them. The two children backed away.
‘Pray do not alarm yourselves,’ Holdsworth said quickly. ‘I mean you no harm. You are Mr Whichcote’s boy, are you not? I have seen you at Lambourne House and just now out at Jerusalem.’
‘Yes, sir. Mr Whichcote’s waiting -’
‘It’s merely that you looked hungry and I wondered whether you would care to share a pie with me.’ Holdsworth gestured towards a nearby pie stall. ‘I should like a mouthful or two myself, but I do not have the appetite for an entire pie. And it would be a sin to waste what I cannot eat.’
The boy looked at the girl. Some sort of signal passed between them.
‘And perhaps your friend would like some too. Will you be so good as to choose a pie, as large as you wish, and bring it to me?’
Holdsworth held out his hand, palm upwards, and uncurled the fingers, revealing three pennies and a threepenny piece. The boy’s hand swooped on the money. He and the girl went over to the pie stall and negotiated with the woman who was serving. When they came back, the boy held out the pie to him. The girl held out the two remaining pennies.
Holdsworth made no move to take either. ‘I wish to talk to you,’ he said.
The boy took a step back and then another.
‘Stay,’ Holdsworth said, realizing he was about to lose him and that, to make matters worse, the lad might report Holdsworth’s blundering attempt to talk to him to his master. ‘Lisen to me, it is for your own good.’ He brought his head down to a level with the boy’s and lowered his voice. ‘I know what happened at the Holy Ghost Club.’
Alarm flared in the boy’s eyes.
‘Does Mr Whichcote owe you money, sir?’ the girl said suddenly.
‘No. But I wager he owes this lad his wages.’ Holdsworth saw from her face that the shot had gone home and he pressed his advantage. ‘All I want is five minutes’ conversation with you,’ he said to the boy. ‘And your friend may stay with you and see that you come to no harm. And while we talk, you and she may eat the pie. Can we strike a bargain on it?’
It was the pie that provided the clinching argument. Holdsworth had watched it in the boy’s hands. The small, grubby fingers were fiddling at the crust. The smell was rising to his nostrils. A piece of the pie lid came away from the rest and the boy crammed it into his mouth. He glanced at the girl and mutely offered the pie to her. She too broke off a fragment of the crust.
‘Come,’ Holdsworth said. ‘You will not wish to eat and talk in the middle of a crowd. Is there somewhere near by?’
They took him to the little churchyard attached to St Edward’s, where they found a corner in the sunshine and away from the gaze of passers-by. The boy broke the pie in two and offered the larger part to the girl. They ate swiftly and with concentration. Holdsworth made no attempt to talk while they ate. He leaned against the wall of the church and thought how like they were to small animals, only partly tamed.
‘Your friend will not mind moving a little aside while we talk,’ Holdsworth said to the boy when he had finished.
‘She knows as much as I do, sir.’
‘About the club?’
‘Indeed I do, sir.’ The girl’s voice was more Cockney than Cambridge. ‘I helped them make ready and I cleared up their foulness afterwards.’
‘And – and we’re friends, sir.’
‘If you say so,’ the girl said with a touch of scorn.
‘Very well,’ Holdsworth said. ‘You know that I am Mr Holdsworth. I am in the employment of Lady Anne Oldershaw. Let us begin at the beginning and first you shall tell me who you are.’
‘He’s Augustus,’ the girl said. ‘I’m Dorcas.’
‘And are you in service too?’
‘With Mrs Phear in Trumpington Street, sir.’
‘I begin to understand,’ Holdsworth said.
The girl said nothing but her eyes lingered on his face.
‘Mr Oldershaw is a very rich young gentleman,’ he went on. ‘He has it in his power to reward you well and to find you both new situations. Do you remember that meeting at the club in February?’
Augustus nodded.
‘And do you remember what happened in the pavilion? Were you there?’
Colour flooded through Augustus’s face.
‘I see that you do. There is nothing to be afraid of – no blame attaches to you. Tell me about the young girl.’
‘How do we know you ain’t gammoning us?’ Dorcas said suddenly. ‘Maybe she put you up to it.’
‘She?’ Holdsworth said.
‘Madam. Maybe it’s a test.’
‘It isn’t. Augustus knows I am acting for Mr Oldershaw and he has no love for Mr Whichcote.’
The boy nodded, but he kept his eyes on Dorcas.
‘A guinea,’ she said. ‘A guinea apiece.’
‘What about the situation?’ Augustus whispered.
‘A guinea’s a guinea when it’s in your hand,’ Dorcas said. ‘A promise is only a promise.’
‘If you serve me well, you shall have both.’ Holdsworth took out his purse and laid two guineas on the top of the nearest headstone, where they glinted in the sun. ‘You shall have these in a moment or two, when we are finished here.’
The children stared at the coins.
‘Tell me about Tabitha Skinner,’ Holdsworth said.
He knew instantly, by their stunned silence and their blank faces, that the gamble had paid off.
‘The girl,’ he prompted.
Dorcas sighed softly, as if with relief. ‘She come from the Magdalene, sir – you know, up in London. Same as me. But she was pretty.’
‘So are you,’ said Augustus.
‘Mrs Phear brought her?’ Holdsworth said.
‘Yes. That’s how she does it, see? Brings them up here. She tells the Magdalene Board that she can maybe help place them in service and at least train them up while they’re here.’ Dorcas’s pinched little features contorted and became older than their years. ‘Very charitable lady, Mrs Phear. The girls have to pretend they’s a virgin when the young gentlemen come.’
‘You mean to tell me that Mrs Phear brings these girls up from London to be servants and then prostitutes them?’
Dorcas laughed soundlessly, opening her mouth to reveal where her front two teeth had been. ‘Bless you, sir, the girls don’t mind. Not in the general run of things. Half the time the gentlemen are too drunk to mount them, but they get paid just the same. But Tabitha was different – she really was a maid.’
Holdsworth turned aside. The smell of the pie made him want to vomit. After a moment, he said, ‘To put it plainly, Mrs Phear and Mr Whichcote procured a virgin to be raped?’
