“I’ll go to him,” came the placating voice of red-headed Rosy. “He’ll be getting impatient.”

“And you’ve a business to run,” Nan said, her eyes never leaving her sister’s.

Bea looked as if she would protest, but there were two men stumbling in the door now, happily drunk and asking Bargate Bettie which of the whores had time for them tonight. When she turned to greet them, Nan took Cecilia’s hand and went swiftly back up the stairs and to the little corner room.

She barred the door and sat on the floor. She stared at the lamp flame until it blinded her, wishing it could blot out the knowledge of her sister’s treachery.

Chapter Thirteen

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When asked if she had nowhere else to go, little Cecilia said she was orphaned. She came from a village not far from Lincoln, but there had been no one to take her in when her mother died. She had come to town to look for work, and found it here in the brothel. Nan sat silently through the child’s explanations that she knew she should be grateful, and was. Bettie kept a good house and never beat her, and she didn’t want to be disobedient. She was sorry, she said. Over and over again, she said she was sorry that she was too frightened to do her duty, until Nan could bear it no more.

“Don’t you never be sorry for it.” She was surprised by the sob that almost escaped her. She felt scraped-out and hollow, incapable of so much feeling. “Don’t you never let no one say it’s your duty. Nor will I let it be your fate.”

She bade the girl lie down and sleep now, and sent Fuss to curl up beside her. She had to look away from them, because the sight almost caused the sob inside her to come loose again. When asked if she wanted Nan to find her a new place, somewhere she might do hard but respectable work, Cecilia had readily agreed.

Nan stared at the battered door of the room for hours, trying to think of a suitable place that would accept the child. Somewhere safe and protected. But every thought skittered away from her, impossible to hold on to. Her mind was a wasteland. There was only this door and the night. There was only waiting for the morn, when she must open the door to face her sister.

A footfall made her heart jump. She drew her dagger and looked quickly to Fuss, who was so deep in sleep he did not even twitch when a soft voice called, “Do you wake?”

She stretched out a staying hand in Fuss’ direction in case he should wake, and opened the door a crack. It was Rosy, her red hair reflecting the light from the candle she held.