We made our way swiftly down the laneway and peered around the Bedford Street corner. The quiet, emptier streets of the early hours were giving way to a trickle of barrowmen, cooks, and maids heading toward their morning business in Covent Garden. It would not be hard to slide in among the foot traffic and follow our quarry. I spied Gib and Reed and the cart as they trundled past Dorothy the flower seller.

Dorothy. Now, there was an interesting thought.

“We’ll slip in after these two,” Evan said, tilting his head at a pair of market women who were walking past in loud, animated conversation.

We stepped in behind them, keeping our quarry in sight about twenty yards ahead. As we crossed the corner of Maiden Lane, that interesting thought blossomed into part of the plan.

I stopped beside Dorothy. “Go on ahead, I will be right behind you,” I said to Evan.

“What?” He stopped, caught between staying with me and staying with Gib and Reed as they headed toward King Street.

“Trust me.”

He looked down at the old flower seller and gave a nod. “I’ll wait on the corner for you,” he said, and continued behind the two market women.

I crouched beside Dorothy.

“What you want?” she said, clutching her patched purse. “I’ll scream bloody murder if you touch me coin.”

“No, Dorothy, I do not want your coin. Do you remember two ladies talking to you a few nights back?”

“You know my name?” She watched me warily. “You talkin’ about the ladies who gave me two shillin’s?”

“Yes, that is right. I’m one of them—Lady Augusta—but I’m disguised as a man.” I peeled off part of my whiskers. “See, it is false hair.”

She studied me through narrowed, rheumy eyes. “Well, glory be!” she finally said, wheezing a laugh. “What you doin’ dressed like that?” Then she frowned and looked over at the club. “Ah, to do with that place, ain’t it? I just saw a girl come out in her chemise with a sack on her shoulder. Never seen a mort move so fast. Her in bare feet and half-strangled too.”

Nothing got past Dorothy.

“She was one of the lucky ones,” I said. “She got out. But I think I know what happens to the girls who do not.” I glanced up the road. The cart and Evan were both approaching King Street. Time was of the essence. “I need your help, Dorothy. Will you deliver a message for me? To my sister, the one who gave you the shillings?” I took out a handful of coins and offered them. “This will get you to her—take a hackney—and when you get there, she’ll give you more shillings for the message and your trouble.”

Dorothy considered the proposition. “Your sister is a good ’un—I’ll say that. You know what’s happened to them other girls?”

“I do.”