Page 19 of The Marriage Method

“We don’t save people,” Nell said. “We give orphan girls the education they need to effect a better future for themselves—and for all women.”

“Don’t mean a girl of fourteen had any desire to be part of it. Not if she could run off and make her own way.”

“You’re wrong. Miss Brent wanted to come to the Academy. She has a unique potential, one well suited to our aims. I corresponded with the matron at the workhouse about her myself. It was I who arranged for her to come to us.”

“You feel responsible?”

“I am responsible. The matron put her in a third-class railway carriage in Surrey on Monday morning at my request. Miss Brent was to change trains at Shoreditch. We can trace her as far as that, but no further. Something appears to have happened to her here. Miss Corvus suspects it’s the same thing that happens to many a pretty lass who ventures into London unaccompanied.”

Miss Jean’s countenance grew serious. She comprehended Nell’s meaning.

Disturbing reports abounded of sinister madams preying on pretty village girls who traveled into town to find domestic work. They coaxed them from the rail stations with tea and cake, and promises of respectable employment. The next thing the poor girl knew she was ensconced in a brothel somewhere, her life—and her innocence—effectively at an end.

“You thinking she fell victim to some procurer?” Miss Jean asked. “Here, in the East End?”

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Nell said.

“Aye,” Miss Jean replied darkly. “It is.” A troubled frown clouded her brow. “Madams is hard people. And some of the hardest are hereabouts.”

“You sew for them?”

“I sew for all sorts.”

“And have you heard anything of a new girl being brought in? A girl who may have come unwillingly?”

Miss Jean’s expression shuttered. “I’ve heard nothing.”

Nell wasn’t without sympathy. But it wasn’t Miss Jean she was responsible for. It was Flora Brent. Whatever else happened, the girl must be found.

“I don’t ask you to put yourself in peril,” Nell said. “I only ask that you point me to some of these brothels where the madams are known to employ such tactics.”

“And you aim to go there? With that face?” She gave Nell an incredulous look. “They’d snap you up faster than one of them foolish country lasses.”

“Oh no,” Nell said. “I won’t be going myself. I must return to the school this afternoon. I’d be grateful if I had names and addresses to convey to Miss Corvus. She’ll send someone to make further inquiries without delay.”

“Names, that’s all?” Miss Jean repeated.

“That’s all,” Nell assured her.

At length, Miss Jean gave a reluctant nod. “All right, then. If you’re set on it, you may as well start with Mrs. Pritchard.”

5

It was three o’clock when Nell’s train reached Waltham Station. She hired a hackney to take her the remainder of the way. Not half an hour later, the driver set her and her bags down outside the pair of black wrought iron gates that guarded the grounds of the bleak stone manor house beyond.

A profound sense of relief settled over her.

Perhaps she was a coward. A frightened fledgling returning to its nest prematurely. In that moment, she didn’t care. Whatever crisis had brought her back, all she wanted now was the safety and familiarity of the only place she’d ever called home, and the only people she’d ever known as family.

She had little enough memories of the years before. Of the small, hidden house in the country where she’d been lodged in the care of two elderly servants. The shameful secret of a fine, expensively perfumed lady who sometimes came to visit her—all silken gowns, pale powdered skin, and the singular fragrance of jasmine, tuberose, and honey. Her mother, Nell supposed.

But that had ended long ago. The elegant lady had eventually stopped coming, and one day, a short while afterward, those same aged servants had brought Nell’s nearly five-year-old self to these very gates. She’d been clutching a toy loom in her hands, the only remnant of the life she was leaving behind. There had been fear—which she well recalled—and copious tears, too. But now…

There was only the Academy.

Alas, Nell had no key to let herself in. On any other occasion, she might have easily picked the lock. She and her Academy sisters were well-versed in such skills, just as Miss Jean had intimated. But Nell didn’t feel equal to clever feats at present. She was too weary. Too dashed anxious. Instead, she waited like the veriest visitor, until one of the junior teachers emerged from the house to admit her.

But it wasn’t a junior teacher.