Death of a Stranger (28 page)

Margaret smiled back at him, meeting his eyes with candor, and then suddenly realizing how bold she was and moderating her gaze. “I am sure you have done all that could be…” she started, then stopped. “We have thought about it a great deal also, and certain events have changed matters considerably. Hester will tell you; it is her idea… although I do heartily agree.”

Rathbone turned to Hester with his eyebrows raised and a distinct look of apprehension in his face as he invited them to be seated. He turned to Hester. “Well?”

She knew time was limited and she must not waste words or choose the wrong ones. There would be little opportunity to retrieve a mistake. She was prepared to risk a touch of overstatement. If she was wrong she could apologize later. She plunged in.

“I know who the usurer is… was,” she stated with assurance. “It was a partnership, one man who found the young women and lent them the money, the other who actually ran the brothel and did the day-to-day management of affairs. He collected the repayments and exacted the punishment if they were late. It is the one who did the lending who is dead,” she added.

“Then is the business ended?” he asked, doubt in his face. “Will he not find another usurer, or plan that part of it himself?”

“He can’t take it over himself,” she answered. “He has not the skills, nor has he the opportunity to meet the sort of young women most vulnerable. He is a brothel-keeper, and he looks and sounds like one.” She leaned forward a little. “What he needs, desperately at the moment, is someone who appears to be a gentleman but who has business ability and a degree of charm to deceive young women in debt into borrowing from him in the belief that they can repay with money honestly earned.” She watched him carefully to make sure she was putting the case clearly and yet not so obviously that he was ahead of her, and would refuse before she had had the opportunity to explain the whole plan.

“I expect he will find one,” he said, his face filled with the rueful humor she knew so well. “It would be very pleasant to think that he will not, but not realistic. I’m sorry.”

“I agree.” She nodded. “If he could not, then we would have no concern.”

“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.”

“Touché,” 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 clouded. “ ’Oo are they?” he demanded.

“Friends of mine,” she replied confidently. “The gentleman is in a way of business which might interest Mr. Robinson. I am aware of certain”-she hesitated delicately-“requirements, at the moment. You had better tell him I am here.”

He was empowered to make decisions; it showed in his face. It was also more than likely that he was fully aware of the problems occasioned by Baltimore’s death. It was probably he who had moved the body and left it in Abel Smith’s house. He swung the door wide, slight surprise registering in his face. “Then yer’d better come in,” he suggested. “But don’t take no liberties. I’ll find if Mr. Robinson’ll see yer.”

He left them in the small side room in which Hester had waited before. There was not even space or chairs for all three of them to be seated.

Rathbone looked around him with curiosity and a slight puckering of his nose with distaste.

“Did you come here by yourself, Hester?” he said anxiously.

“Yes, of course I did,” she replied. “There’s no one to come with me. Don’t look like that. I didn’t meet with any harm.”

“Did Monk know?” he asked.

“No. And you are not going to tell him!” she said hotly. “I will do so myself, when the time is right.”

He smiled very slightly. “And when will that be?”

“When the matter is closed,” she said. “It is not always a good idea to tell everybody everything, you know. One should keep one’s own counsel at times.”

He gave her a pointed look.

“Hester is very brave,” Margaret said loyally. “Far braver than I am… in some things.”

“I hope you have more sense!” he said sharply.

Margaret blushed and looked down, then up again at him quickly. “I do not think you should criticize Hester, Sir Oliver. She does what she has to in order to protect people who have no one else to care for their interests. The fact that in some cases they may have made errors of judgment does not set them apart from the rest of us.”

Suddenly he smiled. It was a warm and charming gesture. “You are quite right. I’m not used to women who take such risks. It is my fear for her which speaks. I am very slow to learn that my discomfort may concern her, but it certainly will not stop her.”

“Would you wish it to?” Margaret challenged.

He thought for several seconds.

Hester waited, surprisingly interested in what he should reply.

“No,” he said at last. “I used to wish it would, but I have learned at least that much.”

Margaret smiled back at him, then looked away, conscious of his eyes upon her.

The butler returned. “Yer’d better come,” he said, jerking his head toward the corridor and leading them deeper into the warren of passages and stairways.

Squeaky Robinson was sitting in the same room as when Hester had seen him before. Piles of papers were strewn around him, and one gas lamp was lit, throwing a pool of yellow onto the desk. And again there was the tray with tea. He looked tired to the point of exhaustion; his skin was papery with dark smudges under his eyes. Had he been in ordinary trade Hester would have been sorry for him, but she was too aware of Fanny and Alice, and others like them, to allow herself such a feeling.

Squeaky stood up slowly, only glancing at Hester, then his eyes went straight to Rathbone. He barely noticed Margaret at all. Perhaps women were largely invisible to him if he was not inspecting them as goods.

“Good evening, Mr. Robinson,” Hester said as calmly as she could. “I have brought this gentleman, whose name you do not need to know as yet, because he is interested in investing money in a business a little out of the ordinary, where he can have a fast and safe return. It will also be desirable if it can escape the attention of the tax inspectors and not have to be explained to certain members of his family with whom he might otherwise have to share it.” She indicated Margaret. “And this lady is good with books and figures, always an advisable attribute to have when considering an investment.”

Squeaky stood up slowly, his face like that of a man who has walked long across an arid plain and at last thinks he sees water. He stared at Rathbone, taking in his immaculate boots, his perfectly cut suit with its excellent cloth, his cravat as clean as snow, the humor and intelligence in his face.