“ ’Em as uses the ’ouses ’round ’ere for their pleasures,” he answered her question. “But mostly for ’em in charge o’ the police.” He grimaced, shaking his head a little. “Would you like to be the one what goes and tells the Baltimore family that Mr. Baltimore came ’ere to gratify ’isself, an’ maybe refused to pay what ’e owed, an’ got into a fight with some pimp in a back alley somewhere? But the pimp got the better of’im, an’ killed’im. Maybe ’e didn’t even mean to, but when it was done it were too late, an’ so ’e settled some old score or other by dumpin’ the body at Abel Smith’s?”

She tightened her lips and frowned.

“We all know it’s likely the truth,” he went on. “But knowin’ an’ sayin’ is two different things. Most of all, ’aving other people know is a third different thing, an’ all! Some of which is best not said.”

It made her decision for her. If the truth was what she feared it was—that in some way Baltimore’s death was personal, incurred by his behavior, either as a user of prostitutes or something to do with the railway fraud, because he was the instigator of it, or some other member of his family was—then the police were not going to wish to find either of those answers.

“You are right,” she agreed. “Would you like another piece of toast and jam?”

“That’s very civil of you, miss,” he accepted, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t mind if I do.”

Hester knew she must find an excuse to call on Squeaky Robinson. After Hart had gone and Margaret came in, they spent some time caring for Fanny and Alice, who were both making slow and halting recovery. Then, as the afternoon waned and a decided chill settled in the air, Hester brought in more coals for the fire and considered telling Margaret to go home. The streets were quiet, and Bessie would be there all night.

Margaret sat at the table staring disconsolately at the medicine cabinet she had recently restocked.

“I spoke to Jessop again,” she said, her face tight, contempt hardening the line of her mouth. “My governess used to tell me when I was a child that a good woman can see the human side in anyone, and perceive some virtue in them.” She gave a rueful little shrug. “I used to believe her, probably because I actually liked her. Most girls rebel against their teachers, but she was fun, and interesting. She taught me all sorts of things that were certainly no practical use at all, simply interesting to know. I can’t imagine when I shall ever need to speak German. And she let me climb trees and get apples and plums—as long as I gave her some. She loved plums!”