I fished a penny out of my pocket and held it up. With a nod she turned, and I followed her past the three women who were still trying to entice the group of young bucks.

The alley was strewn with old cabbage, discarded pieces of wood, broken gin flagons, and a dismembered rat carcass. The stink of urine and rotting vegetation caught in my throat, making me cough. Lifting her filthy hem, my hostess picked a way to the far corner where the ground had been cleared of refuse but was still damp from use as a privy. She stood at least an inch taller than my own five foot nine and was perhaps ten years younger. Life had whittled her face into gaunt hollows, but behind the grime, her smile was friendly and a pair of rather pretty blue eyes evaluated me.

“Well now,” she said, reaching for my groin. “Let’s see what we have here.”

I pressed myself against the wall of the building, rapidly realizing what a “tug” meant. “Wait!”

She withdrew her hand, squinting at me. “You don’t need to be afeard of Long Sal, my love. I done this afore. I ain’t gonna pull it off.”

“How about a shilling, instead?”

She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. “How would the likes of you have a shillin’?”

I dug my hand into my pocket and withdrew the larger coin. She eyed it, her mouth pursing. “And what would you want for that?”

“Long Sal, is it?” I asked.

“That’s what they call me.” She nodded to the building. “We can go inside, if you want. We got a straw mattress in there.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want that. I want to talk.”

“Ha! You be funnin’ me.”

“No. I am serious.”

She rubbed her mouth, considering this unusual turn of events. “A shillin’, just for talk? About what?”

“There is a club in Bedford Street. In number 2. Do you know of it?”

“Aye,” she said, puzzled. “It’s for the quality. They get girls from here sometimes, but I ain’t never been.”

“Have you heard anything about their activities?”

She crossed her arms. “You talk a lot better than them clothes say you oughta. What’s your game?”

“I am just trying to find out about the club. And you will get a shilling out of it.”

Her eyes found the coin again. Would she talk or not? A shilling was a substantial lure, but maybe her natural distrust would overcome it.

“You are a queer one,” she finally said. “From what I heard they got a taste for the floggin’ and other specials like that. Most times not too bad and the coin is good. Enough to pay for any hurt. I knowed one girl got nearly enough for a year.”

I leaned forward. “So girls come out hurt?”

“Sometimes, but a whole year of food and roof is worth it, ’ey?”