The proprietor had kept the redhead on, but not altogether out of the goodness of his heart. It was his business to cater for every kind of client, providing that client had enough money. There were a number of these more undesirables whom his other girls refused to ‘serve’. The redhead, however, had no such choice; Caleb Crowther had seen to that. No other club would employ her, and she knew no other way of earning a living. Girls such as her often ended up on the streets and from there there was no place else to go but down.

The redhead survived, being used by the worst dregs in society, and filling her time in between by working in the club’s kitchen. Life was hard, and degrading. Over the years she had grown more bitter, eaten up by her hatred of the man who had so drastically altered her life. She had always promised herself that one day her chance to settle the score would show itself. When that happened, she vowed to be ready. She was ready now. At the sight of Caleb Crowther, drunk, floundering and ravaged by the years, her mind was in a fever, planning the revenge for which she had waited so very long! For the moment, the redhead was not quite certain what form that revenge would take. But of one thing she was sure: that man, that monster who had scarred her, would not see the dawn without her having repaid him in full.

‘Do you know him?’ The young man kept his arm round the redhead. He would have preferred a much younger and prettier whore, but on this night she was all he could afford and besides, when they were abed with the lights out, it wasn’t her face that interested him.

‘I did know him… a long time ago,’ she replied thoughtfully, forcing a smile and taking him slowly across the room. ‘Let’s not talk about him, eh?… You’re here for a good time, aren’t you?’ She tousled his hair and winked at his merry brown eyes which were suddenly troubled.

The redhead could not have known how the unexpected appearance of Caleb Crowther had also brought back fearful memories to her young colleague. Memories of being captured by the law one dark night when he was not yet a man. Memories that made him tremble when he recalled the Justice in charge that night; the same Justice whom he had just clapped eyes on and who, though more aged and sodden with booze, was every bit as formidable as he had been those many years before.

‘Come on, let’s see you get your “good time”, darling,’ the redhead urged. She wanted this one over quickly; after which she would be free to retire to her own bed. She needed to be alone; there were things to be sorted, things to be done. She grew excited at the prospect of revenge.

The young man followed. But the urge to gratify his ardour had diminished the moment Caleb Crowther had appeared, bringing back those unpleasant and unwelcome memories. Because with the memories had come the image of a small, ragged figure: a girl with eyes as black as coal, and a heart of gold. A girl he had saved from Justice Caleb Crowther’s clutches, and whom he had grown to love, in a way he could love no other.