“Who is that?”
“Roberta Woods. She is dedicated to helping women who, for whatever reason, find themselves forced to make their living on the streets. She manages a little establishment in Swanton Lane where she serves meals to women who cannot afford them. She also directs those who want help to a place she calls The Agency.”
“What does it do?”
“The people there give the women training on a new device called a typewriter. Have you heard of such machines?”
He smiled. “My father invented one. He is still working on improvements. He believes it will revolutionize many aspects of industry and business.”
“He’s right.” Louisa suddenly glowed with enthusiasm. “It is a marvelous device. The people at The Agency say that there will soon be a typewriter in every business establishment in the country. Of course, that means that there is a growing need for people who are skilled in operating them.”
“I see. The Agency supplies typists to employers.”
“Yes. Because the skill is rare, many businesses are only too happy to hire trained women for such positions. The people at The Agency tell me that typewriters are opening up a whole new field of respectable employment for females. It is very exciting.”
“I know that career opportunities for women are very limited.”
“Few are ever entirely safe from the threat of finding themselves on the street. Even ladies from the most affluent levels of society turn up in Swanton Lane. Very often they are widows whose husbands left them penniless or in debt. They are forced to sell themselves to buy food and pay for their lodging.”
“I can see that you take a great interest in Roberta Woods’s soup kitchen. How did you learn about it?”
“After I came to live with Emma I took over the business of managing her charities for her. She has provided funding for Miss Woods’s establishment for years. Miss Woods and I have become well acquainted. We share some mutual interests when it comes to exposing gentlemen in Society who take advantage of others.”
He studied her. “What sort of information do you learn at that place?”
She smiled bleakly. “You would be amazed by how much the women of the night know about the men in the Polite World.”
“I have never given the matter much thought, but now that I do, I can see that prostitutes would be an excellent source of information.”
She looked at him. “Swanton Lane was where I learned that Hastings became a frequent customer of Phoenix House several months ago. He now has a weekly appointment there. I am told that he never cancels it for any reason.”
“Interesting.”
Her brows came together. “Don’t you find it odd that a gentleman would have a standing appointment at a brothel?”
“I’m afraid that it is not that unusual, Louisa.”
“Oh.”
He smiled. “If it matters, I can assure you that I do not have such an appointment.”
She reddened. “I never meant to imply anything of the kind, sir.”
He had embarrassed her enough, he thought. “Tell me more about the California Mine Swindle. I recall being impressed by the details that I. M. Phantom provided in the press. How did you learn so much?”
“As Miranda told you, I called upon her the day after I overheard the conversation. I did not really expect her to receive me, let alone trust my word. But to my surprise she not only invited me into her home, she listened to what I had to say. We came up with a plan.”
“What was that?”
“Miranda is nothing if not an excellent actress. When the men contacted her to get her to sign the final papers she acted the part of a naïve female who was only too pleased to have an opportunity to be involved in an investment scheme with two such distinguished gentlemen. I hid behind a service door in the drawing room, listening to every word and making notes.”
“What was your next step?” he asked, fascinated.
“I sent a cable to the editor of the newspaper in the town in California where the gold mine supposedly existed. He was kind enough to reply immediately, saying that there was no mine anywhere in the vicinity. He strongly suspected fraud and urged caution. He also said he would like the details for his paper.”
“That was when you got the idea of becoming a correspondent?”
“Yes,” she said. “I immediately made an appointment with the publisher and editor of the Flying Intelligencer. We met and discussed my offer to write a series of occasional news reports from inside Society, as it were, beginning with the notice of a swindle perpetrated by two very prominent gentlemen.”
“I assume he leaped at the opportunity?”
“Mr. Spraggett did not hesitate for even a second,” she said with a note of pride.
“That does not surprise me.” He contemplated her for a moment longer. “If it is not too personal a question, may I ask what happened to Mr. Bryce?”
“Sadly, he was taken off by a fever shortly after we were wed.”
Smoothly said, he noted, and with just the right touch of regret.
“My condolences, madam.”
“Thank you. It has been a number of years now. The pain of the loss has receded.” She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose and assumed a determined expression. “We must consider how we are going to approach Mr. Thurlow.”
“It would be best if you remained in the carriage while I talked to him.”
“Absolutely not.”
He nodded, accepting the inevitable.
“I had a feeling you would say that.”
18
Halsey Street proved to be a small, cramped passage in a modest part of town. Drenched in fog, it seemed to exist in some separate, isolated world. Louisa studied the scene through the window of the cab. The neighborhood appeared deserted. There were no pedestrians and no traffic.
Anthony ordered the cab to halt, opened the door, vaulted down onto the pavement, and lowered the steps. Louisa adjusted her veil and allowed herself to be handed out of the vehicle.
“Be so good as to wait for us,” Anthony instructed the driver.
“Aye, sir.” The man settled back and took a flask out of one of the pockets of his coat. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to leave.”
Louisa walked with Anthony through the swirling mist to the front door of Thurlow’s lodgings.
Anthony rapped sharply. There was no response.
“That is odd,” Louisa said. “I can understand Mr. Thurlow being out, but one would think that there would be a housekeeper about.”
Anthony studied the heavily draped windows with a speculative expression. “If there is a housekeeper, she may have gone shopping.”
Something in his tone caught her attention. “What are you thinking, sir?”
“That we will obviously have to come back another time.” He took her elbow and started toward the waiting cab. “Come along, Mrs. Bryce. I will take you home.”
“Hah.” She came to a halt, forcing him to stop, too. “Do not think you can fool me so easily, sir. You are plotting to get me out of the way so that you can return here to Halsey Street and break into Mr. Thurlow’s lodgings to have a look around, are you not?”
“You wound me with your lack of trust, madam.”
“I shall do more than wound you if you try to keep me out of this.”
“If you think that I am going to allow you to break into Thurlow’s rooms with me, you are delusional. I will not be responsible for your arrest on burglary charges.”
Pointedly, she looked around the empty lane. “I see no sign of a constable anywhere in the vicinity. We are highly unlikely to be arrested if we are careful. No one will take any notice of us if we go in through the front door. If someone does happen to see us, he or she will simply assume that the occupant has let us inside.”
“The front door is most likely locked, Mrs. Bryce.”