Page 74 of A Treacherous Trade
“I see…” He drew out the word. “And how much coin are you looking to make?”
“The most possible, of course.”
“I’d have to leave your face out of it, then,” he said drolly.
I hoped he meant because of my split lip. Not that Iwantedto be the sort of woman who posed for torrid photographs that were indiscriminately disseminated. But something in me bristled at the idea of not being desirable enough to.
To add insult to injury, Croft had heard him say that.
I had to unclench my teeth to reply, “Whatever you say.”
“Come in the back,” he beckoned, sweeping the black drapes aside. “I’ll show you my work, if you demonstrate yours. My clients are very discerning.”
Giggling like I’d heard Izzy do several times, I took off my hat and coat and hung them on a rack by the door. “Of course I’ll go in the back,” I said in Croft’s direction.
Turning, I glided past him as if I were not terrified to have his body in between me and escape.
To have him behind me in any respect.
His back room was a tidy chaos. A large camera on a three-legged stand posed before a backdrop of silvery drapes and furniture that was as well made as it was well worn.
He gestured for me to take a seat on the couch in front of the camera. It was still warm from where I assumed the family before me had sat.
“Are you always so pale?” he asked with avid fascination as watched me with predatory eyes.
My fingers twitched as I managed not to touch my face. “Is that a problem?”
His toothy grin widened. “No. No, in fact, it’s a boon if you’d let it be.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll get to that later.” He bothered around with bits and bobs on the camera.
“I’m anxious to see your work,” I said.
“Have you ever done this before, Miss Montague?” he asked, never looking away from what he was doing.
“I—Not often, all told. I might need a bit of direction. It’s why I wanted to see what you did for the other girls.”
“The other girls,” he echoed, in a voice becoming increasingly soft. He looked at me for a long time, and I gave what I hoped was a reassuring bat of my lashes. “Which one of them sent you, again? Which one told you to come seek me out?”
I swallowed, ardently aware of the knife in my sleeve. “I forget her name just now, but she and I met through The Orchard, if that helps.”
“The Orchard?”
I paused a beat longer than I should have because something in his tone bemused me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it felt dangerous. As if he wasn’t questioning what The Orchard was, but that it would send me.
It was then I decided to be bold rather than careful. “Oh, yes, her name was Jane.” That felt important for him to know. That, should he be the reason the woman was dead, she’d not disappeared from memory.
He cleared his throat and went to his desk, rummaging around in a drawer. “There are a great many women named Jane.”
“Jane Sheffield.”
Making a noncommittal sound, he extracted a key from the drawer, went to a cabinet along the far wall, and unlocked it. I saw a black case he unbuckled with the utmost care.
My father had kept guns in just such a case.
“Take off your dress, Miss Montague.” It was less suggestion than order.
