Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
‘Is Mrs Charles in?’ Gwen asked.
She stood in the doorway of the chop house, faced again by the man she had seen speaking to the maid.
He had been cleaning a pipe, and now he held the tobacco-covered penknife in his fist, idly waving it about.
He might not have intended to be threatening but now that Gwen was suspicious of him, she was even more nervous in his presence.
He replied in a thick accent that Gwen thought might be from the North. ‘Not here. Leave a message.’
‘I’d rather speak to her myself. It’s a personal matter. Do you know where I might find her?’
‘Try the other place. She might be there.’
‘Might be? Where is this other place?’ Gwen asked.
‘About a mile that way and left at the big crossroad by the pawnbroker’s. It’s called The Rook and Wren.’
He pointed down the long road and Gwen’s shoulders sagged. She still needed to buy some food for dinner and it was a long walk in the wrong direction if Augusta wasn’t there. Nevertheless, she needed to get to the bottom of what was happening.
She set off in the direction that the man had indicated, intending to walk down the next street and turn back on herself.
The streets grew more unkempt the further she walked, with thick clay underfoot, and houses that were crowded in on top of each other.
Scruffy-looking children played in the gutters and the whole area had a feeling of cheerlessness to it.
She crossed over at the pawnbrokers, pausing to catch her breath and look in the window at the pitiable selection of household objects and children’s clothing waiting to be redeemed.
A group of women were chatting on their doorsteps with buckets and mops temporarily discarded.
They nodded to Gwen with slight suspicion.
She nodded back and began walking down the slightly larger road.
The mile she had to walk was nothing compared with her need to discover what Augusta was embroiled in.
She almost missed the premises at first, because unlike the sign advertising the chop house, this one was small and modest. The Rook and Wren coffee house was in a row of buildings that were a mix of houses and shops.
The sign hung above a narrow door next to the red and white pole of the adjacent barber’s shop.
It had one small window and didn’t look like the sort of coffee shop Gwen would enjoy spending any time in.
A gentleman strolled along the road. He was dressed in a greatcoat and top hat and walked with a cane that he flourished.
He was uncharacteristically well dressed for this area, and Gwen wondered if he was the sort of man who would frequent a brothel.
But he didn’t even glance at the coffee house and went into the barber’s instead.
Gwen lingered at the other side of the road.
She spied a bakery, so she went in and joined the long queue where she could keep her eye on the doorway, but saw no evidence of illicit goings on.
She bought herself a currant bun and a tripe pie that would suit Archibald for his dinner.
Two more gentlemen went into the barber’s shop but she had no idea whether that was all they were indulging in.
She was about to leave, when a Brougham pulled up outside. Her neck prickled in recognition. She had been a passenger in that very vehicle. Selina Salisbury alighted and went inside the coffee house.
Gwen paid for her purchases and hurried out. She gave up all pretence of shopping and stood on the street staring. She needed to speak to Augusta, and if Miss Salisbury was there, there would be a witness should anything happen.
Gwen marched over and rapped sharply on the door.
A short, old woman opened the door. Her lined face bore hints of rouge and her grey hair was scraped into a bun.
She was wearing a vermillion dress with a slightly too-low neckline and her large breasts were pushed up, the veins showing through the papery skin.
The effect made her look so much like a caricature of a madam from a penny dreadful, that she couldn’t possibly be the real thing.
‘We are not open for customers.’ She cast a look over Gwen’s sensible, dark blue coat, bonnet and basket. ‘Or missionaries.’
‘I’m not a customer or a missionary,’ Gwen replied indignantly. ‘I’m here to see Mrs Charles and Miss Salisbury. Please tell them Mrs Walters is here.’
It was only when the woman had limped off down the corridor that it occurred to Gwen that, though Selina may be a witness, her allegiance would be to Augusta.
Selina’s casual mention of Augusta’s philanthropic habit of training girls flashed into Gwen’s mind.
She sucked her teeth as that took on a darker significance.
What exactly did she train them in? Gwen had originally assumed it was to equip them for work in domestic service, or possibly in the public-house trade.
But what if Selina had alluded to a more disreputable trade altogether?
And what of Selina herself? Now Gwen thought of it, how exactly could a single woman without a husband afford to keep such a lavish house and a carriage?
Was her money made through the proceeds of pimping, or – and Gwen’s cheeks grew warm at the thought – was she a higher class of prostitute?
When she had been sampling the tincture at her house, had she been in fact with a client?
Gwen’s face burned at the thought that she had sat sipping tea and blissfully unaware of prostitution going on above her head.
As the questions vied for attention, Gwen wished she had accepted Jenny’s offer to come with her.
She had been foolish to come alone. Sending a message to Danny telling him where she had gone wouldn’t be much use if she was already locked in a cellar or killed.
She fanned herself nervously and looked around.
The small tables in the coffee shop were laid for service, but everything looked a little faded, as if it was rarely used.
The woman returned and beckoned Gwen to follow.
She was led to a small parlour at the rear of the building and noticed as she walked that there was an adjoining door, which must lead into the barber’s next door.
The hairs on her arms rose. If there was prostitution happening here, then a man who would not want to be seen could enter through the barber’s and walk straight in without being seen from the street, then leave the same way.
She eyed the door nervously, wondering if she would be able to escape that way if necessary.
Selina and Augusta were sharing a pot of coffee and a pile of sticky cakes that looked like the ones in the bakery opposite. Neither rose to greet Gwen, but both nodded politely.
Augusta spoke. ‘Mrs Walters, how unexpected. My man informed me of the good news that you will continue to work for me, and on my premises, too. He said that you were too busy to visit and tell me yourself, but I’m glad you have changed your mind.
Please, take a seat, and I will ring for a fresh pot of coffee. ’
‘No, thank you. I’m only passing,’ Gwen said.
Augusta smirked and Selina coughed daintily.
‘This is not an area that people only pass,’ Augusta said.
‘No, that’s true,’ Gwen admitted. She folded her arms and glanced around nervously.
‘Is there a reason for your visit?’ Selina prompted, raising her brows.
Gwen took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She could hardly come out and accuse a well-reputed woman or Augusta of being pimps, but Augusta would appreciate honesty rather than subterfuge and there was a way she could broach the subject.
‘I have come to tell you that I have heard disturbing rumours regarding the conduct of Mr Craig.’
‘Really?’ Augusta’s eyes narrowed. ‘Please elaborate.’
Gwen blushed at the thought of mentioning such an indelicate matter, but there seemed to be no other way of finding out.
‘I believe he has been propositioning young women and enticing them into depravity under false pretences.’
Augusta’s eyes bored into Gwen, pinning her to the spot. When it seemed she would never break free, Augusta turned to Selina, who was sitting placidly watching the exchange. Something unreadable passed between them, then Augusta turned back to Gwen.
‘Do you have proof of this?’
Gwen swallowed, wishing she had accepted a cup of coffee as her mouth had dried completely. That neither woman appeared shocked, indicated they were already aware of his activities.
‘I saw him one evening speaking to someone in service where an acquaintance lives. The girl then left her employment and hasn’t been seen since.’
Augusta smiled thinly. It was without humour or pleasure, merely a triumphant upturn of her thin lips.
‘That’s not proof. Not that he was connected with her departure, and definitely not that it was enticement. Thank you for your concern, however, and I shall speak with him. Are you sure you won’t take coffee before you go?’
She picked up her own cup and saucer, clear dismissal in her voice.
Gwen stood awkwardly for a moment before walking to the door.
She took hold of the handle but couldn’t bring herself to leave.
She turned back and looked at the two women, who both raised their brows in synchronisation, almost as if they had practised.
Despite her assurances to Jenny that she wouldn’t accuse Augusta of anything, Gwen couldn’t rest until she’d confirmed it.
‘Did you know about what he does?’
Augusta’s eyelids flickered, prompting Gwen to continue.
‘Please, Augusta, tell me the truth. Are you involved in prostitution? The establishment that you want to rival your husband’s – does it just sell opium, or does it also trade in women?’
Augusta placed her cup back on the table.
‘What would you do if I told you it did? Go to the police? The newspapers? Sever our association?’ Augusta stood and walked slowly over to Gwen, never taking her eyes off her. Gwen shrank back a little, feeling like a mouse being assessed for the kill by a particularly nasty cat.