‘I’ll find her, Anna,’ he promised. ‘You stay here in case she makes it back without me.’ Then he ran.
There was no-one at the Town house as he pushed through the front door, up the stairs to find his pistols and his knives. He went down again three at a time and out into the square to find a cab. ‘The docks,’ he snapped at the toughest, biggest driver he could see. ‘Double your fare if you get me there fast.’ He wedged himself in a corner and began to load the firearms. If Phyllida was harmed, someone was going to suffer.
She knew roughly where to go, somewhere in the maze of alleys and courts wedged between Butchers Row, Pillory Lane and New Street where the noise and smells of Smithfield Market did battle with the stench of human waste, overstuffed graveyards and tanneries. She had stumbled though this area once before, shaking and sore, horrified at what had happened, her fingers cramped around the coins Harry Buck had given her.
It was only later that Phyllida realised that she had been lucky, that Buck had kept his word and used her for that one occasion only and had not simply turned the key in the door and kept her captive to use again and again.
A plump girl with a red shawl, her breasts uncovered almost to the point of indecency, looked a likely person to ask. ‘Can you tell me the way to Harry Buck’s house?’
‘What, looking for a job, are you?’ The girl ran a scornful eye over Phyllida’s drab gown and brown cloak. ‘Prime bit of crack you are, I don’t think.’
‘Heard ‘e needs a cook.’ She flattened her vowels, dropped her aitches. ‘I’m a good cook.’
‘Yeah? Well, his cunny warren’s just up there.’ The whore jerked her head in the direction of Smithfield. ‘The best house, that is.’
‘Thank you.’ Phyllida made her reluctant feet move. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this, but she had to do something before Buck told the world that the Earl of Fransham’s sister was a common whore.
The nausea came back when she saw the house, three storeys of respectable-looking brick turned black by years of soot and grime. The front door was clean, though. Red, glossy and flanked by torchère holders that would blazon its presence to all those seeking it.
Phyllida climbed the steps and banged on the knocker. A panel slid back, a broken-nosed face scrutinised her. She stared back, recognising one of Buck’s regular bodyguards. ‘Mr Buck asked me to meet him here,’ she said.
‘’E did, did ‘e? You must ‘ave some interesting tricks if he wants you.’ The panel slammed shut and then, with the sound of bolts being drawn, the door opened. ‘Come on in then, the boss is along ‘ere.’
He peered at her as he opened a door on the first floor. ‘You’re that dealing woman, ain’t yer?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed as she hesitated on the threshold, summoning enough courage to step into Harry Buck’s lair. ‘I’m a dealer.’ Not a whore.
‘What’s that?’ Buck demanded sharply as she walked in. ‘What you say, Jem?’
‘It’s that dealer woman from the warehouse, guv’nor. You know, bought the Chinese stuff when that Indian geezer got lippy with you.’
‘Nah, this is a bit of laced mutton, this is.’
Phyllida looked up from the swirling patterns of the Turkey carpet and saw Buck lounging in a chair beside a wide desk.
‘What you doing all got up like a dowd, darlin’? You wasn’t looking quite so drab last night, off to dinner with your smart friends.’
The bruiser closed the door behind her. Phyllida straightened her spine and looked Buck in the eye. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how he made her feel. But the memories kept swirling back like thick, putrid fog to cloud her brain.
You’re a pretty one. Think I’ll break you in meself. Don’t see why I can’t have a treat now and again. Thick fingers, unwashed body. Pain and shame.
‘I am here. What do you want to close your mouth?’
‘Money, darlin’, like I said.’
‘How much?’
‘Hundred.’
She could find that easily enough. But it wouldn’t end there, she knew. ‘And that will be that? You will keep your mouth shut?’
‘Don’t be a silly girl. I’ll want that every month. If you ain’t got it, you can come ‘ere and work for it on yer back. You pay or you work and I stay quiet.’ He leered at her. ‘You was a scrawny little thing back then, but I remember those eyes, all big and round, just like when you looked at me in the warehouse. That mark like a heart on your tit. I’ve a good memory, I ‘ave. So I had you followed and thought about it ‘til I remembered who you was.’
‘Blackmail is a serious crime.’ And blackmailers were never satisfied—she knew that. Buck would never go away.
‘Send me to the nubbing cleat, it would,’ Buck agreed, baring his teeth in a grin. ‘But who’re you going to tell?’
No one, was the answer to that. She needed time to think now she knew what he was demanding, time to find some kind of lever that would counteract his threats. Could she find out something to threaten him with, blackmail him in return? But Harry Buck had probably committed every crime and sin in the book and he was still out on the streets. No one seemed able to touch him.