“What happens next?” Daniel couldn’t imagine telling Beatrice that nothing would be done to keep other women from experiencing the same trauma she had.
“We keep an eye on all of them when possible.”
“Meaning you’ll investigate if someone else files a complaint as well.”
“Or when we have some sort of proof.” Hurdy shook his head. “I wish I had better news for you. Finch is a nasty character, but he has those women under his thumb, and they’re reluctant to tell the truth for fear of punishment. One had a blackened eye but swore she fell.”
“Damn.” How many women had Finch taken? Women who arrived in London to search for work, leaving their family and everything familiar behind. But no doubt those families never heard from them again and had no idea how to locate them.
“If there’s no one to report a lost loved one,” Hurdy continued, “then Finch doesn’t have to worry. Perhaps that’s why he chooses women who are new to the city. They don’t know anyone, and there’s no one to sound the alarm that they’ve gone missing.”
That was what would’ve happened to Beatrice if she hadn’t found the fortitude to escape. Finch probably had the newer women drugged to keep them from truly understanding what was happening. Or from having the desire to escape. Once they realized what was expected of them, many probably sought drugs or alcohol to blur their new reality.
Daniel was both sad and angry at the thought and refused to sit idly by when he knew what was happening. Hurdy’s hands might be tied, but Daniel’s weren’t. He wasn’t restricted by legalities. Not when he already had all the proof he needed.
“I wish I had better news,” Hurdy added, obviously unaware of Daniel’s dark thoughts.
“As do I. Will you keep me apprised if any further developments arise?” Daniel handed him three pounds which should be enough to convince him to continue pursuing the case.
“Of course.” Hurdy dipped his head in thanks as he pocketed the money.
Daniel took his leave, his thoughts swirling. What had happened to Beatrice demanded justice in one form or another. And it appeared that he’d have to be the one to dole it out.
BEATRICE TURNED TO the side and then the other before the cheval glass in Caroline’s bedchamber, hardly able to believe her appearance.
“Margaret, your talent amazes me,” she declared.
Margaret grinned. “My work is easy when I have an attractive person to dress.”
Margaret had modified a gown she’d already been working on to fit Beatrice. Though Beatrice had protested, Caroline insisted, saying her first social event was special and required the proper attire.
The green was a shade deeper than was normally considered fashionable, but the darker tone brought out Beatrice’s golden hair and grey eyes. At least, that’s what Margaret said. Beatrice already knew she had excellent taste based on Caroline and Annabelle’s attire.
Life in Beatrice’s small village hadn’t been spent worrying about fashion, but the circles in which Lord and Lady Aberland moved meant it was a necessity.
“It isn’t about how much money one spends on gowns,” Margaret said, “but about how they fit and enhance one’s appearance.”
“I don’t pretend to understand how you know, but you do.” Beatrice couldn’t help but admire the gown in the mirror once more. “I only wish I could tell everyone that you designed it.”
“Unfortunately, such things are frowned upon.” Margaret shook her head. “No one can be seen working. There’s a reminder that you’re not the only one keeping a secret.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Beatrice began.
“It is, actually,” Caroline interjected as she joined them with a length of white ribbon in hand. “If anyone knew Margaret designed and sewed our gowns over the years, she’d be ruined. One does not dally in trade.”
“She’s right.” Margaret gave a single nod. “It’s one thing to admire fashion but a completely different thing to actually partake in creating it.”
“The same is true for Annabelle.” Caroline held Beatrice’s gaze. “If people knew she wrote books, let alone the sort of mysteries she pens, she would be ruined as well.”
Beatrice stilled as that truth sank in. Caroline had lent her a copy of Annabelle’s book, but after spending a sleepless night, she’d come to the conclusion she could only read it during the day. The story had held her from the start, forcing her to turn just one more page to find out what happened. The idea that Annabelle, who was so kind and friendly, wrote the mystery came as a surprise.
Why should following one’s passion, like Margaret and Annabelle did, ruin a person just as Beatrice had been ruined for being held in a brothel? Society’s rules were difficult to understand and seemed especially unfair for women.
“Everyone has secrets of one sort or another.” Margaret held her gaze in the cheval glass. “That’s why it’s so important to surround yourself with those you can trust.”
“And those you love.” Caroline stepped forward to wind her arm through Margaret’s. “The people in your life make an incredible difference.”
“True.” Margaret nodded, though a shadow lingered in her eyes.
From what Caroline had told Beatrice, their father, Sir Reginald, was failing mentally. That had been another secret they’d done their best to hide, fearful it would adversely affect his shipping business along with their place in Society. Now that Caroline was Lady Aberland, the worry had lessened because her husband was involved in the business and held a title.
Mayhap everyone truly did have a secret. The thought bolstered Beatrice’s confidence almost as much as the gown.
“I shall keep that in mind this evening.” Beatrice wiggled her brows. “And I will do my best to discover
