“Course, fer money,” Phoebe said patiently. “Don’t matter if ’e’s ’andsome as the devil ’isself, an’ kind, an’ makes yer laugh, a girl’s still ter eat, and there’s yer protectors wot needs their share.”

“Do you know anyone who slept with Rupert Cardew?”

“Yeah! Told yer! Dunnit meself, couple o’ times.”

Hester squashed the flicker of revulsion. It was stupid. What had she imagined Rupert had done that he knew the street women so well, even cared enough to give money to someone helping them?

“What is his character like?” she said.

“Cripes! Yer in’t thinkin’ o’—”

“No, I’m not,” Hester assured her tartly. “But if I were?”

“Yer in’t!”

“I told you. But why not?”

“ ’Cos ’e’s funny, makes yer laugh till yer burst yer stays, an’ ’e in’t never mean about payin’, but ’e’s got a temper like a cornered rat, ’e ’as.”

“Did he hit you?” Hester felt cold, and there was a churning in the pit of her stomach.

Phoebe opened her eyes wide. “Me? No! But ’e beat the shit out o’ Joe Biggins fer crossin’ ’im up. Not only ’im. Spoiled, I reckon. In’t used ter bein’ told no by anyone, an’ din’t take it kindly. I ’eard say ’e near killed some bleedin’ pimp wot got on the wrong side of ’im. Dunno wot about. Beat one other poor sod once, jus’ another bleedin’ punter wot got up ’is nose. Paid ’im a lot o’ money not ter make a fuss.”

“Why? Do you know?”

Phoebe shrugged pale, smooth shoulders. “No. Could a bin any-thin’. ’Eard it were bad. ’Alf killed the stupid sod. Broke ’is arms an’ ’is face, an’ cracked ’is ’ead. Told yer, ’e’s got a temper like yer wouldn’t credit someone wot acts the gentleman most o’ the time. Treats yer right, like yer worth summink. Please an’ thank yer. On the other ’and, never takes less than his money’s worth neither! ’Ealthy as an ’orse.” She gave a shrug and a smile, woman to woman.

Hester nodded, trying to keep her expression one of mild interest, no more. There were things she would prefer not to have known. It was peculiarly embarrassing. “Does he drink a lot?”

“Pretty fair. Seen worse.”

“Do you know other girls he’s … been with?”

“Dozen or so. Wot’s this about? Wot’s ’e done?”

“He’s accused of killing someone.”

“If it’s a pimp, then I reckon as they’re probably right. Never growed up, that one. Loses ’is ’ead an’ smashes things, like a child wot no one ever walloped when they should ’ave. My pa’d ’ave tanned me backside till I ate standin’ up fer a week if I carried on like ’e does sometimes. Sorry, miss, but yer wanted the truth, an’ that’s it.”