Page 27 of Their Master

She scowled. “Why is everyone asking about her? She’s a scrawny tart who—”

“Who else is asking?”

She pursed her lips and Smith leaned toward her, whatever she saw on his face caused her to sit up straighter. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I know you want to be helpful,” he lied. “So, I’m going to assist you in that endeavor.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and extracted £10 from his notecase.

Avarice sparked in her lovely brown eyes when he held it up.

“Answer my questions—honestly—and this is yours. Do you understand?”

She nodded; her gaze riveted to the money.

“I want to hear you say it, please.”

“I’ll answer all your questions honestly and you’ll give me the money.”

“Good. Now, do you know where Moira went?”

“No.”

Smith stared.

“What? You asked for the truth—that’s the truth.”

He continued to stare.

“You can give me beastly looks all you want, but I still don’t know,” she said, exhibiting commendable—if ill-advised—backbone. “However, Idoknow what was ailing her and it wasn’t an influenza.”

“What was it?”

Her lips curved slightly. “She had a bad client.”

“Bad how?”

“He beat her.”

Smith’s jaws clenched. “She told you this?”

“No, her nightgown slipped off one shoulder and she had welts, bad ones. Some had split and the blood was on her nightgown. I told her that she’d never get those stains out, that it was ruined.”

Smith’s head buzzed, the sensation not one he experienced often, but one that almost always presaged violence. It took him twenty or thirty seconds to re-establish control over his boiling emotions.

“Did she say anything?”

“She said it was an old nightdress and—”

“Not about the nightdress.” He had to shove the words through his teeth. “About whoever gave her the welts.”

“Oh. Well, you’ve met her, so you know it’s not as if she talks very much. I told her she should go to Madam and tell her who did it, but she didn’t want to.”

“Did she tell you who did it?”

Julia hesitated, but then shook her head. “She didn’t, but I knew.” A shadow of something like guilt flitted over her face. “He was handsome—reallyhandsome—and all of us were panting for him when he came in. And then he astounded everyone and selected Moira.”

“His name?”

“He said his name was Mr. Brown.”

---