Page 280 of Once an Angel
Justin ignored it. He pounded until his raw knuckles began to bleed. His arms fell limp at his sides. He turned his collar up and started to turn away.
The door slowly creaked open. A gaunt face appeared in the darkened crack. A chill shot down Justin's spine. At first he thought it was Miss Winters beneath the dingy ruffles of the mobcap, but then he realized it was her young teacher, Doreen. The girl had aged twenty years since he had seen her last.
"Where is your mistress?" he asked hoarsely. "I must speak with her."
"She's gone. Gone like all the rest." Doreen's voice was as flat as a wraith's. She tried to close the door, but Justin jammed his foot in it. She stared up at his face, then her eyes came to life in a blaze of spirit. "Ye're the one, ain't ya? Ye're the golden-eyed devil wot drove 'em all away!"
Ignoring the protesting rasp of his throat, Justin deepened his voice, hoping he might break her with the sheer force of his will. "I must see your mistress. It's imperative. Where might I find her?"
"She's gone to an 'ome fer other broken-down old women. She didn't even fight 'em when they come to take 'er away. Ya took all the fight out of 'er with yer bloody rumors and insinuations. Ain't a decent family in London would 'ave trusted their brat to 'er care after ya poisoned their minds against 'er." Her pinched nose reddened. "Miss Amelia always took care 'o me, even to the end. Left me this fine 'ouse, she did."
Justin knew the house had seen the end of its finer days. It would be nothing but a crumbling albatross around its owner's neck. He raked a hand through his hair, torn between pity and frustration. "Perhaps you can help me. Have you seen Emily Scarborough?"
Doreen's face twisted. Justin was tempted to recoil from its pure malevolence. "Emily Scarborough!"
she spat out. "She's the one wot started all this. I always knew she'd be the death of us all. The only
place I 'opes to see the little bitch is burnin' in 'ell!"
She tried to slam the door in his face. Justin caught her shoulders and pulled her out, pinning her against the iron railing of the stoop. Her nightdress whipped in the wind. "You're the one who threw her off the boat, aren't you? Yes, I see you are. She told me all about it. So unless you want me to fetch the police and bring you up on charges of attempted murder, I suggest you answer my questions."
Doreen's freckles stood out in sharp relief against her pallor. Justin could smell the fetid odor of sleep
and fear on her breath. Exhaustion was making him reckless. He gave her a hard shake, eliciting a
sullen whimper.
"I ain't seen the wench. Not since the day we give 'er to you."
Even though he had expected it, the disappointment was grueling. His mind raced. Who in London
would Emily turn to? "What of the other girl? The maid you called Tansy? Do you know what's
become of her?"
Doreen licked her thin lips with lascivious malice. "That I do. She's gone on to her natural callin'.
Servian' the young swells for some highfalutin madam."
"What house?"
"I don't know."
Justin's spirits plunged further. Could his own rejection have caused Emily to rush headlong into the
arms of another man? His grip loosened.
Doreen took advantage of his divided attention to twist away and dart back into the house. The door slammed, and he heard the sharp crack of the bolt being rammed home.
Certain she was lying, he lifted his fist, determined to break the door down if he had to. His hand slowly fell. He would be of no good to Emily if he ended up in jail for murder.
Turning his collar up against the cold, he started down the street, his steps driven by desperate purpose.
* * *
"Well, wot do ya think of it? It does ya real fine, don't it?"
Emily ran a tentative finger beneath her eye, smearing the thick kohl. "I look like one of those American raccoons."
