Page 49 of A Treacherous Trade
“You do not seem to think very highly of men or their company,” I blurted. “Not that I blame you.”
She kept to her habit of laughing at the oddest moments. “Just because I do not pledge myself to one man doesn’t mean I do not enjoy their company.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “No, darling, quite the contrary. I am never lonely, and neither is my bed nor my heart empty. There are men I enjoy physically, socially, and even emotionally. I adore most men, in fact. However, the only time I want a man to think he is above me is when he’s physically on top of me. Other than that, he can sod right off.”
Little spasms of surprised delight escaped with the laugh I thought I’d lost. She joined me until we both sighed with the pleasantness of a controversial opinion shared in wicked feminine confidence.
“Do I need to be worried about what happened to you?” She flicked a hand in my direction, encompassing my ruined hair and Amelia’s damaged dress.
“Erm…” I looked down and considered what I should tell her. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but nor did I want to lie to my client. “The girls… they didn’t initially take to me as well as we’d hoped.”
She made a rueful noise in the back of her throat. “I worried they wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t mention,” I said through a gathering grimace.
“Well, one never knows.” She shrugged. “You’re a clever, endearing girl. I thought you had as good a chance as any. Do I need to intervene on your behalf?”
“No, actually, things worked out all right in the end. The girls had some rather interesting things to say.”
She beamed at me. “I thought they might. I suppose I should have warned you… There’s sort of a strange viciousness between prostitutes and courtesans. They’re effectively the same trade; however, this is the only profession where the less you work, the more you can charge. Seniority and experience aren’t as well respected as they are with other industries, and that creates an atmosphere of contention from time to time. Now tell me, what did you learn tonight?”
Even though I chose my words carefully, I could see the darkness gathering on her visage as I told her the pertinent parts about my interaction with Night Horse and subsequently the women in her employ.
“Surely you know some of this already,” I surmised. “If Night Horse has been a patron here for some time, then you know that both Alys and Jane were particular favorites of his. And that Indira… well…” I stopped short, wondering if I should intimate that she might be next. Or that she might be suspected of the crime.
Beyond that, I had no evidence against Night Horse but a physical relationship with the two dead women.
And that he was a murderer by trade.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I continued, “Night Horse is employed by a rival. Are you not afraid he’ll… I don’t know… sabotage you somehow?”
“Bah.” She waved my words away with a quick flick of her fingers. “You know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If Night Horse is a spy, all he’ll learn from my girls is that they are successful, well trained, and happy. They know better than to share secrets, and their loyalty to me is appreciated both personally and financially.”
Absorbing this, I said, “After tonight, I think it’s safe to add the Reverend Jewett to our list of suspects.”
Bea shook her head and claimed the chair behind her desk as if it were a throne. Or a strategy map in a war room. “If I know anything, it’s men. And Reverend Jewett is all spite and no spine. I don’t think he did this.”
My brows slammed together. “But surely it’s worth looking into—”
“Sophia,” she cut in. “I thinksheis the thread we must pluck and follow to its source.”
“Sophia,” I agreed, though my suspicions about the vicar hadn’t been satisfied. “Can you tell me why she left here for The Velvet Glove?”
“The VelvetbloodyGlove.” Bea slapped her desk with the palm of her hand as if the vicar needed another reminder of her rage. “I’d like to tear the face off that blasted blackguard. I’d give my eyeteeth to see him fall.”
“You mean Jorah—er—the Hammer?”
Her eyes snapped to me, instantly alert. “You know him?”
I didn’t think anyone aliveknewJorah David Roth. He was an extroverted enigma. All show and no tell.
But everyone who was anyone in this city knew to fear him. Including me.
“We’ve met,” I said. “On good terms, I’d assume.”
Her gaze went from keen to speculative as she templed her fingers. “Fiona Mahoney, you are a font of luck where I am concerned. Do you think the Hammer will remember you well enough to allow you to chat with one of his girls? I’d love to know what Sophia has to say about all this.”
“It’s certainly worth a try,” I replied, which was the understatement of the century.
The Hammer would not only remember me—he owed me his life, after a fashion. A debt he said he didn’t know how to repay. One I thought he’d rather forget.
