“Bella’s here, too,” Polly said, and it was Arabella’s turn for a hug that left her breathless.
“I’m glad you’re ’ere,” Harry said. “I picked up a new girl t’day. You can meet ’er, if you like.”
“Please,” Arabella said, and her fingers strayed to the hidden pocket again.
Harry shepherded them into the parlor, a small and sparsely furnished room, and stuck his head out into the hallway. “Tess!” he bellowed. “Our Pol and Bella are ’ere! They’d like to meet Aggie!”
Arabella sat on a lumpy sofa with frayed upholstery and splitting seams. Compared to her grandmother’s parlor in Mayfair the room was a hovel; compared to where Polly and Harry had grown up—a cramped room in the most dilapidated of Whitechapel’s rookeries—it was a palace. “I have some earrings,” she told Harry. “Rubies.”
“Good,” he said. “I picked up two more girls last week, and I ’ave me eye on another.”
The rush of gratitude was so strong that Arabella’s throat tightened and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She looked away from his broad, plain face and busied herself extracting the earrings from the hidden pocket, fumbling her fingers through the narrow slits in her gown and petticoat. “Here.” She held them out to him.
In these surroundings the earrings didn’t look so garish. Harry held one up and examined it. “Needs cleanin’,” he said. “But they’ll fetch a good price—”
He slid the earrings into a pocket as the door opened.
A young woman stood in the doorway, her belly rounded in pregnancy. Tess’s smile showed two missing teeth, but her face was pretty and dimpled. Holding her hand was a scrawny, waif-like girl.
The girl’s gaze flicked from Harry to Polly, and then to Arabella. For a long moment they stared at each other. Arabella saw a pale, too-thin face and wide, wary eyes beneath a crooked fringe of fair hair. She smiled at the girl. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Aggie.” She held out her hand. “Come and sit here beside me.”
Aggie hesitated, and then released Tess’s hand and crossed the room. Her dress was filthy, her bare feet almost black with dirt, but her face was clean.
“Did Tess make you wash your face?” Arabella asked, as the girl sat beside her on the sofa.
Aggie nodded. “And me ’ands.”
Arabella looked down at the girl’s hands. Her nails were ragged and dirty, but the skin was clean. Dark bruises ringed Aggie’s left wrist. “How did you get those bruises?”
“Me ma,” the girl said.
Arabella glanced at Harry.
“Trying to sell ’er for a bottle o’ gin,” he said with a grimace. “Weren’t she, Aggie?”
The girl nodded.
“But Aggie ran away. And I found ’er.” Harry grinned at the girl, who smiled shyly back.
“It was very clever of you to run away,” Arabella said. “Very brave.”
Aggie bit her lip and nodded. She looked down at her lap and twisted a fold of dirty fabric between her fingers.
“How old are you, Aggie?”
“I dunno, miss.”
Somewhere between ten and twelve, Arabella guessed. Dirty and half-starved, but with eyes that were bright with intelligence. “Have Harry and Tess told you what’s going to happen to you now?”
The girl’s head lifted. Her thin face split into a grin. “I’m gonna go t’ school!”
Arabella laughed. “You want to go to school?”
The girl nodded.
“Did Harry tell you about the school, Aggie?”
“Missus did.” The girl’s gaze flicked to Harry’s wife, Tess. “She says it’s in the country.”
“A place called Swanley,” Arabella said, smiling. “Not far from London.”
“She says it’s for girls like me.”
“It is.” Girls like Polly and Tess had been, girls like Aggie was now: with lives of poverty and prostitution ahead of them.
“I’ll learn ’ow to read an’ write, and t’ speak proper,” Aggie said. “And I’ll ’ave me own bed!”
“Yes, you will.” Aggie would have her own bed, new clothes, and three good meals a day. She’d have encouragement and kindness—and most importantly, she’d have a future.
Arabella glanced at Harry, standing with an arm around Tess. “We must be going.” She stood and held out her hand to Aggie. After a moment’s hesitation the girl placed her own hand in it.
“I’m glad to have met you, Aggie. I hope you’ll be very happy at school.”
Aggie nodded shyly.
Arabella released the girl’s hand and turned to embrace Tess. “Thank you,” she said.
Tess blushed and shook her head.
Harry accompanied them into the dark hallway. He hugged his sister again and opened the front door.
Arabella paused on the doorstep. “You said you’d seen another girl—?”
Harry nodded. “In Thrawl Street.” His gaze flicked briefly to his sister. “She’s older ’n Aggie. Been on the game a few months.”
Polly’s mouth tightened. She looked away.
“I’ll talk to ’er tomorrow,” Harry said. “See if she wants t’ leave Whitechapel.”
Arabella nodded. “Thank you.”
“No,” Harry said, his eyes on his sister. “Thank you.” He glanced back at Arabella. “Want me t’ walk with you?”
She shook her head. “We’ll be fine.” She knew these streets as well as she knew the streets of Belgravia and Mayfair.
Harry nodded farewell and closed the door.
Arabella pulled the shawl forward over her face. She linked her arm with Polly. “Back to Rosemary Lane.” And then Kensington Gardens. And then the Fothergills’ ball.
The incongruity of it made her feel slightly dizzy for a moment: she stood in Whitechapel, in a street that was little more than an open sewer, and yet in a few hours’ time she’d be in a ballroom, wearing a dress of midnight-blue satin and with pearls in her hair. There’d be music and the scents of mingled perfumes, the shimmer of rich fabrics and the gleam of jewels. Crystal drops would dangle from the chandeliers, glittering as brightly as diamonds.
Arabella blinked and shook her head, dispelling
