soft singing of a woman came to Edwina. She opened her eyes to find the cosy room flooded with morning sunlight. The familiar hubbub of the streets drifted from beyond the walls, and above it all a cacophony of sound from the city’s many church bells. From somewhere in the house doors opened and closed, and the smell of warm bread and frying bacon wafted into her room.
She tried to remember what had happened—seeing Jack and how he had lashed out at her in anger. A chill ran through her. She recalled being lifted up by someone else, but she couldn’t remember who it had been.
Unable to conjure up his face, she forced herself to relax and enjoy the warmth and safety of the bed, at least for the moment, letting the pleasant smells of the house and the woman’s song lull her. Edwina wondered who she was. The singing stopped and whoever it was spoke to someone else. Other voices could be heard now, laughing and giggling.
Hauling herself to a sitting position, she leaned back, pulling the covers up to her chin. After a few moments a young woman came into the room, humming softly under her breath. Her auburn hair spilled to her shoulders in a luxuriant mass. She was bearing a tray weighted down by a pot of tea and a platter of eggs and bacon and bread and butter. The delicious aroma tempted Edwina, who’d had nothing to eat since the previous midday.
The young woman stopped when she saw Edwina sitting up in bed, and a smile stretched across her pretty face. ‘Good, you’re awake!’ she said, her voice as clear as her glowing complexion. She placed the tray in front of Edwina on the bed. ‘Here, get that down you. Mrs Drinkwater says you’re much too thin for comfort and insists we feed you up.’ She took a step back. ‘I’m Harriet Crabtree, by the way, and I’m pleased to meet you. How do you feel?’
‘Better, thank you—at least I shall when my clothes are returned to me.’
Still smiling, the young woman cocked her head. ‘I can’t say that I blame you, but when you were brought here, Mrs Drinkwater refused to let you lie between her clean linen in what you were wearing.’
‘Mrs Drinkwater?’
‘The owner of this establishment.’
‘And what kind of establishment is this?’
Harriet had no time to reply, for at that moment a woman bustled in, carrying some clothes over her arm. She smiled when she saw her young guest sitting up in bed. ‘Hello, dear. Dolly Drinkwater,’ she introduced herself. ‘I’m glad to see you awake at last. You took a nasty knock on the head last night and had us all quite worried, I don’t mind telling you.’ Her voice was rich and warm like the peach dress she wore. Fifty years old, Dolly Drinkwater had a face that was lined, but her figure was still slender, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that age would not dim.
Draping the clothes over the back of a chair, she stood looking down at Edwina. Despite her outward composure, the poor young thing looked extremely tense, frightened, almost. ‘You can put them on when you’ve eaten and had a bath. We had difficulty with the dress size—you being so small, you understand—but Harriet made a quick adjustment to the seams so that it would fit. I’ve told one of the maids to have some hot water brought up.’
‘Thank you—and thank you for the bed. It’s the best I’ve slept in for a long time. You’ve been very kind.’
‘What’s your name, love?’
‘E—Ed,’ she replied hesitantly, her voice hoarse.
The older woman raised an elegant brow. ‘Oh, come now. It was no stripling lad I undressed last night—though you’d have everyone believe that, wouldn’t you? You might have fooled Adam, but you can’t fool me.’
Edwina’s composure began to crumble when she recalled seeing Adam outside the theatre. He must have witnessed what happened and rescued her from Jack. ‘Adam? Adam brought me here?’
‘That he did, and most concerned he was, too. Now, what’s your real name?’
‘Edwina.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
Dolly’s stare was forthright, her tone gentle. ‘Why are you masquerading as a boy? Running away from someone, are you?’
‘You—might say that,’ she answered, convinced Jack would come after her—or worse, that he would put the law on her.
‘Well—you’ll be safe now. There’s no where safer in the whole of London, dearie, than Dolly’s Place. No constable will venture inside this house.’
‘No?’
‘It’s a bordello, love,’ Harriet quipped saucily, her eyes twinkling. ‘Of the prestigious kind, of course. Don’t you worry, though,’ she said, winking cheekily. ‘You needn’t sell your favours if you have no mind to. Although, we could teach you all you need to know to be a fitting companion for the gentlemen who visit here—but,’ she went on, wrinkling her nose with distaste at Edwina’s greasy hair and dirty face, ‘we’d have to fatten you up a bit and do something about your appearance first.’
‘Stop it, Harriet,’ Dolly reproached, a chuckle taking out the sting. ‘You’ll embarrass our young guest.’
Edwina stared from one to the other in shocked incomprehension. She was in a bordello, a den of depravity, and this kindly lady was a procuress. ‘Companion? You mean whore!’ she blurted out hotly. ‘I will not sell my body.’ She had not given up her life as a thief to become a whore. That would be too much to be borne.
As soon as she had said the words Edwina was contrite. It was a harsh remark, and it must have hurt, she could see that. Harriet didn’t reply at first, and then a faint smile curved her lips. The lovely, vivacious young woman with lively, laughing hazel eyes was too worldly to be upset by a remark that must have been hurled at her many times.
‘Don’t judge me or the other girls who work at Dolly’s Place too harshly, Edwina. Life isn’t always as clear cut as it might seem.’
‘You’re right. I, more than most, should know that. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for helping me. I owe you and Mrs Drinkwater a huge debt of gratitude,’ she murmured, smiling at Mrs Drinkwater as she went out. ‘I’m sorry, Harriet. I meant no offence.’
‘None taken, love. What I do helps pay the rent, and a girl needs all the help she can get. I’ve no romantic illusions about what I do—I’ve grown used to having insults thrown at me. Reality surrounds me every day, and I face it resolutely—shoulders squared.’ She shrugged and smiled prettily. ‘What other way is there? Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold. I’ll go and see where that girl’s got to with your bath.’
The maid who carried the water and prepared Edwina’s bath could not suppress her curiosity at the young person with cropped hair. But nothing was said, and after laying out soap and towels she left the room. Alone at last, immediately Edwina was out of bed and lowering herself into the hot scented water, revelling in the sheer luxury. She scrubbed weeks-old grime from her skin and soaped the gnarled thatch of hair, careful when she washed over the cut on the side of her face, which was extremely tender.
When she was satisfied that she was clean, she relaxed and closed her eyes. Her body now smelled of roses, and not the hateful stench of poverty. Not knowing what would happen next, and that there was every possibility that she would be turned back
