Peregrine lifted the coil of rope he had prepared earlier and slung it over his shoulder, then climbed out of the carriage and made his shadowed way to Mrs. Kent's unsavory establishment. At this hour, the shabby street was empty, though drunken shouts and laughter came from a tavern that he passed.
The upper half of the brothel was washed by moonlight, which made it easy to count windows. Two floors above street level, second window from the rear. Having no desire to forage in a stinking London alley, he had brought his own pebbles. He drew one from his pocket and threw it against the dirty glass. After a minute passed without response, he tossed another.
He was about to throw a third pebble when the window moved upward in a series of jerks. A small blond head appeared and looked down warily. Peregrine stepped into the moonlight so that Jenny could identify him. After she waved in recognition, he tossed the end of the rope up to her. She missed the first time, and the line made a scraping sound as it slithered down the brick wall, but no one looked out to see what was happening. In this neighborhood, any such sounds would be attributed to rats.
On the second attempt she caught the rope, then disappeared inside. Wanting to keep it simple. Peregrine had tied a loop on the end of the line so it need only be dropped over a bedpost.
After a minute Jenny reappeared with a small, shapeless bundle of belongings. When it had been lowered to her rescuer, she climbed up on the windowsill. Even from twenty-five feet below, Peregrine could see the fear on her face, but without hesitation she turned and began inching her way down the rope.
She was small and agile, and with the aid of the knots he had tied in the line every eighteen inches she came down without serious difficulty. There was a touchy moment when a muffled cry sounded from the room below the one that had been hers. Jenny's head was level with the room's windowsill, and she froze for a moment, probably thinking of all that had happened to her within the brothel's walls. Then she continued her painstaking descent.
When she was within his reach, Peregrine set down the bundle and reached up to catch the girl by the waist. Her small body was icy cold and shaking. After setting her on the ground, he asked softly, "Are you all right?"
Nodding, she picked up her bundle, but her trembling didn't stop. He pulled his coat off and wrapped it around her. "It's just a block to the carriage."
She nodded again and followed him out into the street. Unfortunately, it was no longer empty, for three drunken sailors had spilled out of the tavern and were making their way down the middle of the road, clinging to each other and singing discordantly. Peregrine and Jenny would have to go around them to reach the hackney. He took the girl's arm with his free hand. "Don't worry, it will be all right," he said under his breath. "Just stay close and keep walking."
" 'Ey, mates," the tallest of the men called out. "Look at that pretty little night bird." He leered at Jenny. "Come with us instead, sweetheart, you'll earn three times as much."
She glanced up fearfully, and the bright moonlight clearly revealed her exquisite features. With her long blond hair and gaudy harlot's gown, Jenny looked like a sailor's dream.
At the sight, another of the men, a hulking creature of ox-like proportions, gave a bleary whistle. "Aye, she's a beauty." As the three drunks began closing in on their prey, he said coaxingly, "Le'me see you better, sweetheart."
Steel in his voice, Peregrine said, "The lady is with me."
"Aw, she's no lady, any damn' fool can see that," the tall man scoffed. With bleary good humor he continued, "Don't be a dog in the manger, mate. What do you say we all four share her?"
As Jenny made a small, desperate sound, Peregrine moved between her and the drunks. "I say no. She is mine."
The sailors' good nature tilted to anger. "Don't say we didn't ask polite," the ox-like man growled. Without warning, he leaped forward, his hands reaching for Peregrine's throat.
Unhurriedly Peregrine stepped forward and caught his assailant's right wrist. With one smooth movement, he twisted the arm into a position where the elbow was in danger of being broken backward. As the man howled, his two comrades jumped to his aid. Peregrine spun his captive around and hurled him into the other two sailors.
Five seconds after the brawl started, the three drunks were lying in the filthy street like toppled nine pins. The tall one started to scramble to his feet, but a kick in the belly took the fight out of him. None too gently, Peregrine prodded the ox-like man in the ribs with the toe of his boot. "Find yourself another woman, and make damned sure she's willing. If you take one that isn't, I may hear of it and come looking for you."
The sailor's eyes were murderous, but he contented himself with filthy oaths rather than renewing the fight. Taking Jenny's arm again, Peregrine guided her to the waiting hackney.
Jenny glanced at Kuram, who sat on the driver's box in mustachioed menace. His gesture toward being inconspicuous was to wear a dark turban rather than a light one. "Why didn't he come help you?" she asked Peregrine.
Kuram answered himself in his heavily accented English. "Was not necessary."
She glanced up at her rescuer, then gave a little smile. "No, I reckon not," she murmured as she climbed into the hackney.
Once the carriage was moving, Peregrine produced a small flask of brandy. "Have some of this. You need it."
Silently she obeyed, choking as the fiery spirits seared her throat, then handed the flask back. "If I'd ever thought of working the streets, that lot of scum would've changed my mind."
"Good. A streetwalker's life would make Mrs. Kent's nasty little house look genteel by comparison. You can do better than that." He heard the rustling of fabric as she pulled his coat tighter around her. "You don't have a cloak?"
Bitterly Jenny said, "She wouldn't waste money on outdoor gear for someone who was always inside."
"No, I suppose she wouldn't."
There was silence for several more blocks. Then she blurted out, "I didn't think you'd come."
"Your life has not been one to inspire trust," Peregrine said, unoffended. "But as you see, I did what I said I would."
"But why?" she asked, bewildered. "Why are you going to such trouble for someone who is nothing to you? I don't even know your name."
"I'm called Peregrine, and I'm not going to much trouble. This is an easy chance to do good without effort."
She refused to drop the topic. "God only knows how many other men came to me. Some were better than others, but no one else ever wanted to help. Why did you? What do you want?"
Her last question revealed why she needed a genuine answer, so Peregrine tried to recall just why he had offered to help her escape. Though he had acted on impulse, there was usually a reason for his impulses. "When I talked with you last night, I saw that in spite of everything, you are not damaged beyond repair. I think you are one of the rare ones with the strength to escape squalor and build a better life."
His gaze drifted to the girl's huddled, shadowy figure, but it was not Jenny Miller whom he saw. "You remind me of a lad I once knew, a lad who also endured a great deal without being destroyed. But strong though he was, if someone had not helped him, he might never have been able to go beyond mere survival," Peregrine said pensively. "To answer your earlier question, I want nothing from you except your word that someday, if your help can turn someone's life around, you will give it."
"Were you that lad?" Jenny asked curiously.
Clever child. Ignoring the question, he gave her the flask again. "Have more brandy. Your teeth are still chattering."
She took another swallow, managing this one without coughing. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the home of a man who works for me. He will look out for you until you're ready to be on your own."
"Does he know... what I am?"
"He knows that you've been in a brothel, but that is what you did, not what you are." Peregrine's voice was edged. "Remember that."
"I'll try to." She handed back the flask. "Will he expect me to... ?" Her distaste made it
clear what she meant.
"No, he won't." He gave a faint smile. "Unlike me, he's the honorable sort."
Wisely she didn't comment.
* * *
Benjamin Slade's substantial town house was on a quiet street in Westminster. It took only one knock to bring him to the door. "I'm glad to see you made it here safely," Slade said as he let them in. "Come into my study. We can talk there."
The study was comfortably furnished in a masculine style, with oak paneling and leather-covered chairs. Slade had been working as he waited, for the room was well lit and the desk strewn with papers. As he closed the door behind them, Peregrine said, "Mr. Slade, meet Miss Miller."
Jenny gave him a startled glance. "No one's ever called me Miss Miller before."
"You will become accustomed to it," Benjamin said. His gray eyes widened as he saw his new houseguest in the light. Peregrine's message had prepared him for Jenny's presence, but not for her ethereal beauty. After a moment he remembered his manners. Gesturing to a pot warming over a spirit lamp, he asked, "Would you like some tea, Miss Miller?"
When she nodded, he poured her a cup as if she were a duchess. "If you are hungry, have some cakes. Or if you would like something more, I can see what's in the kitchen."
"Oh, no thank you, Mr. Slade, this will do very well," she said nervously as she sat down and stirred her tea.
Peregrine watched the ritual with amusement. The British used tea to renew inner strength the same way other societies used God. Apparently tea was as effective as religion, for Jenny's strained white face was taking on color as her natural resilience reasserted itself.
"I'll help myself to something stronger if you don't object, Benjamin," he remarked. With his host's nod of permission, he poured himself a small glass of brandy. Taking a seat, he continued, "I didn't mention it in my note, but the man you are investigating is the one who introduced me to the house where Jenny was working."
He pulled a folded paper from the inner pocket of his coat. "Here are several other establishments for you to look into. Addresses, specialties, the names the madams use. Jenny was in the house at the top of the list."
The lawyer sat down and poured tea for himself. "I thought there must be some connection between the investigation and your finding Miss Miller." Cold anger showed on his face as he scanned the page, and under his breath he muttered, "Despicable."
"Merely merchants catering to sins as old as time," Peregrine said cynically. After a swallow of brandy, he added, "It would be very interesting to know if Mrs. Kent is the true owner of that house."
"She isn't," Jenny said through a mouthful of cake.
Both men's heads turned toward the girl. Peregrine asked, "You know who the real owner is?"
She swallowed the last of the cake. "Aye, a rich bloke, the sort who acts like he wouldn't know what a whore was if he found her in his teacup."
Peregrine glanced at Slade and saw that the lawyer shared his excitement. Perhaps a vital witness had dropped into their hands. "Can you describe him more fully?"
"He's maybe fifty, but takes care of himself. Light brown hair, so gray doesn't show in it much." She glanced from one man to the other. "About midway in height between you and Mr. Slade, not fat but well fed."
"You'd recognize him again if you saw him?"
Her delicate features hardened, and she did not look the least childlike. "I'd recognize him all right," she said softly. "He was the first man who ever took me, and he wasn't very gentle about it. Even though he preferred real virgins, he came to me regularly as well. He was one of the nasty ones."
"How do you know this man is the owner, not a customer?" This time it was Slade who asked.
"I used to hear things around the house," she said vaguely.
Peregrine suspected that the girl had become an expert at sneaking and eavesdropping. It was a means of survival he understood perfectly. "Do you remember what was said?"
"Couple of times I heard him talking to Mrs. Kent about the amount of money the house was bringing in. Once it wasn't enough, and he was sort of threatening her, polite-like, saying maybe she was keeping too much for herself. Made my skin crawl." Then, with satisfaction, she added, "Must've made her skin crawl, too, because she was kind of quiet for the next few days."
"Do you know the man's name?" Peregrine asked.
She shook her head. "Not his real name. He made Mrs. Kent and me and the other girls call him 'Master.'"
The only thing that kept Peregrine from giving an exultant war whoop was the likelihood that the neighbors would summon a constable. He had thought it was a mild impulse of charity that had led him to offer aid to Jenny Miller, but a much deeper instinct must have prompted him. "There is a chance that someday the owner will be arrested for his crimes. If that happens, would you be able to identify him, perhaps testify in court? If you do, I will guarantee that neither he nor Mrs. Kent will harm you."
Jenny's light blue eyes glowed. "Even if you didn't protect me, I'd do it. I'll do anything to hurt that bastard! He's the sort who'd rather die than have people know what he's really like, so a trial would be worse than a flogging." She gave a wicked laugh. "And I can identify him right enough. I can give a description that will make a judge blush."
"Good girl. It probably won't come to that, but I'm glad you're willing." Peregrine doubted that Weldon would ever be brought to trial for his crimes—there were so many other interesting possibilities for his enemy's destruction—but if it came to that, Jenny would be invaluable. "In the meantime, you need to rest and prepare for a new life. Mr. Slade will see that you get a new wardrobe, for one thing."
"Good," she said vehemently. "Then I can burn the clothing she made me wear.''
He suppressed a smile. Jenny was definitely a kindred spirit. For all her look of spun-sugar fragility, she would make a dangerous and implacable enemy. "You said last night that you would like to become a lady's maid. If that is your choice, perhaps an experienced maid can be hired to teach you what you need to know. Would that be possible, Benjamin?"
The lawyer nodded. "I see no problem. After you're trained, it shouldn't be hard to find you a decent job."
Jenny turned her face away to conceal her embarrassing tears. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thanks ever so much."
Her rescuer stood, dark and enigmatic. "Don't give me too much credit. You'll do all the hard work yourself." As he donned his hat, he said, "If you need to speak to me, Mr. Slade knows how to find me. Sleep well, Jenny."
She watched as he bade farewell to his employee and left. He was a strange one and no mistake. When she'd first seen him, with his devil's green eyes that looked right through her, she'd been right worried. Even after what he'd done for her, he made her nervous, though that wasn't the same as being scared.
When Mr. Slade returned, Jenny said, "Where does Mr. Peregrine come from? When I first saw him, I thought maybe he was Irish, until he opened his mouth, but I never heard an accent like his. Not that it's much of an accent," she qualified, "but he doesn't speak like anyone I've ever heard."
"He's Prince Peregrine, and he comes from a wild place in Asia that most people have never heard of," the lawyer answered. He cocked his head on one side. "You speak very well yourself. Better than..." He stopped.
"Better than you'd expect a whore to talk?" she supplied helpfully.
He flushed. "Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you, but..." He ran an exasperated hand through his thinning hair.
"No insult to say I'm a whore, I was one," she said, taking pity on his embarrassment. "Was. Never again."
He gave her a half smile. "You're an unusual young woman."
"I talk better than any other girl that was ever in the house, and I can read and write, too," Jenny said proudly. "When I was little, there was an old lady who lived in the building next door. Miss Crane was a teacher, but she'd come down in the world, which is why she lived in my neighborhood. I used to run errands for her and clean her rooms when her rheumatism was acting up. In
return, she taught me things. She liked teaching, and I liked learning. She had lots of books, and she let me read them at her place, where it was quiet."
"Is Miss Crane still alive?"
"No, she died in her sleep one night. After she was gone, Pap sold me. I think maybe it was her that stopped him from doing it sooner. He was sort of scared of her."
The lawyer shook his head, bemused. "Once I thought that my life was a hard one, but I see that I didn't know what I was talking about. While you are my guest, use the library whenever you like." As she struggled to suppress a yawn, he added, "Time for bed, Miss Miller. Come along now."
Her eyes narrowed. Even though Peregrine—fancy him being a prince!—had said Mr. Slade wouldn't try to bull her, it sounded suspiciously like he expected her to warm his bed.
Uncannily, he guessed what was in her mind. "You'll sleep alone, tonight and every other night. From now on, you're Miss Miller, a respectable young cousin of mine who has fallen on hard times, and is staying with me until a situation can be found."
He hesitated a moment, then sat at his desk and pulled a strongbox out of a lower drawer. After unlocking it, he took out several bills before putting it away. Jenny's eyes widened when he handed her the money. It was twenty whole pounds, enough to live on for months. Confused, she looked up at him. "If you don't want me to sleep with you, why are you giving me money?"
"So you won't feel trapped here," he said. His gray eyes were so kind that she wanted to cry again. "I hope you won't run away, both for your own sake and in case we need you to build a case against the man you called 'Master,' but I want you to know that you're not a prisoner."
Her gaze went to the drawer where he'd put the strongbox. "Aren't you afraid that I might run away with your money now that I know where it is?"
He raised his brows. "Should I be afraid?"
She swallowed hard, then shook her head. Quickly she bent over to slip the bills into her small bundle, not wanting him to see her face. She didn't know why he trusted her, but since he did, she'd die rather than take a coal from one of his scuttles.