Chapter 5

5

1885

Lillian's hands trembled as she laid her speech on the podium. She lifted her eyes and gazed out at the eighty or so women seated in the audience. Most wore colorful day dresses with puffed sleeves and hats with ruffles and ribbons.

Reverend Howell walked into the room and stood at the back, next to a man she didn't recognize. She hadn't spoken to the reverend since visiting his home two days earlier. Had he gone to the Foundling Hospital and spoken to Mrs. Stark? What had he learned about her niece? There was no time to consider those questions now. She must focus her thoughts and give her presentation.

Please, Lord, help me deliver the words you've given to me with strength and conviction.

She pulled in a calming breath and looked out at the audience. "Thank you for your kind invitation. I'm grateful to have this opportunity to speak to you today about the need to improve educational and occupational opportunities for the women of our fair city."

In the front row, two older women exchanged surprised glances, and another woman frowned and whispered something to the lady seated beside her.

Lillian lifted her gaze above their heads and forced herself to continue. "Most of us are blessed to live in comfortable homes surrounded by loving families. We never have to be concerned about our personal safety or wonder if we will have sufficient income to feed and clothe ourselves and our children. But that is not the case for many women in London. Only a few miles from here, there are countless women trapped in painful and difficult circumstances, who feel they have no choice but to follow a dark, degrading path simply to survive."

The stunned expressions of the two older women in the front row nearly buckled Lillian's knees, but she pressed on. "We should not stand by and remain silent when we can follow the example of Jesus, who lifted women from places of obscurity and shame to positions of respectability and honor. His care and actions should inspire us to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. His love and concern should prompt us to work for change and provide opportunities for training and honest work that brings sufficient income. We should be the first to understand the plight of these suffering women and offer practical help."

For the next twenty minutes, Lillian gave an impassioned plea for the cause that was so dear to her heart. A few women listened attentively, their open expressions indicating they caught her vision, but others avoided her gaze and shifted in their seats, making it clear they were uncomfortable with the topic.

Lillian glanced down at her final words, then lifted her eyes and scanned the audience once more. "I hope we can work together to provide practical care and opportunities for women who are seeking respectable employment so they can live healthy, honest, and upright lives. Thank you for your attention."

Silence enveloped the room as she picked up her notes and stepped away from the podium. Finally, one woman clapped, and others joined in, but the level of enthusiasm was not nearly as strong as it had been when she was introduced.

With a pounding heart, she returned to her seat, and the meeting was soon adjourned.

Two young women came forward and greeted her. The first introduced herself as Anne Perrone. "Thank you, Mrs. Freemont. Your talk was so inspiring! It brings to mind a speech I heard recently by Josephine Butler. She leads the women's opposition to the Contagious Disease Act. Have you heard her speak?"

"No, I haven't, but I've read excerpts from several of her speeches."

"She is a remarkable woman of faith and such a devoted campaigner! She's quite controversial, but we love her, don't we, Elizabeth?"

"Oh yes. I've been to several meetings where she was the featured speaker. She always moves me to want to do more."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Freemont." An older woman wearing a black bombazine dress and bonnet stepped forward. "Might I have a word?" Her serious expression and tone sent a warning through Lillian.

"Of course." Lillian turned to the two young women. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your encouragement."

"You're welcome." Anne sent her a warm smile. "Your speech was like a breath of fresh air. I hope we'll hear from you again soon." She looped her arm through Elizabeth's, and the two young women walked away.

Lillian turned toward the older woman, steeling herself for the expected criticism.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "I must say I was quite surprised by your presentation, and from what I observed, so were many of the women in the audience."

Lillian met the woman's gaze, determined to listen respectfully, even if she disagreed.

"It's not often we hear about the needs of poor and working-class women spoken of with such ... clarity."

"It is a delicate topic," Lillian admitted, "but I believe there should be a sense of sisterhood among women that allows us to discuss serious matters like these."

The woman leaned closer. "I believe you're right."

Lillian's eyes widened. "You do?"

"Yes, I do." Her expression warmed. "I should have introduced myself. My name is Marion Levinger. I'm the chairwoman of the league."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Levinger." Lillian offered her hand, and the woman took it.

"I hope you'll consider becoming a member. We need the addition of fresh young voices like yours."

Lillian hardly considered herself young at thirty-one years of age. But before she could reply, Reverend Howell and the man he'd been standing with approached. The reverend greeted Mrs. Levinger, then turned to Lillian. "Well done, Mrs. Freemont. That was an inspiring message."

"Thank you." Knowing he approved eased her tense shoulders.

Mrs. Levinger turned to Reverend Howell. "Mrs. Freemont may have ruffled a few feathers, but I believe her message was just what we needed to hear. I've grown weary of talks about ornamental gardening and how to set a proper table. It's time we heard more about issues plaguing our society and ways we can take action to improve the lives of those less fortunate." Mrs. Levinger thanked Lillian again, then she excused herself and stepped away.

Reverend Howell motioned toward the man next to him. "Mrs. Freemont, this is Mr. Matthew McGivern. He is a journalist with the Pall Mall Gazette ."

Lillian offered her hand. "Mr. McGivern, I'm pleased to meet you."

He gave a slight nod, but he ignored her hand. "Mrs. Freemont."

She let her hand drift to her side and studied him more closely. He looked to be in his early thirties and wore a well-cut black suit. But his cravat was askew, and his white shirt appeared to be wrinkled. His dark brown hair, beard, and moustache were all in need of a trim.

Why had Reverend Howell brought a journalist to hear her speak? She hoped he didn't intend to include her remarks in a newspaper article. It was one thing to give a presentation to a group of women, but it would be an entirely different matter to be quoted in the Gazette , especially about a sensitive topic that was rarely mentioned in polite society.

Reverend Howell looked around, then lowered his voice. "I spoke to the matron at the Foundling Hospital about your niece yesterday afternoon."

Lillian straightened. Should they discuss this matter in front of Mr. McGivern? Her eagerness to learn what Reverend Howell had discovered overshadowed her caution. "What did she say?"

"She confirmed her baptismal name is Mary Graham."

Lillian's pulse jumped. The cleaning woman had been right about that part of the story.

"But when I asked where the infant was buried," Reverend Howell continued, "she checked her records, then became quite flustered and unable to answer. I pressed her, and she stated she'd only been the matron for six months and didn't know why there was no record of the infant's burial."

Lillian's thoughts raced ahead, raising her hopes.

"That lends credence to the story you heard," he continued. "I don't believe your niece died as an infant, as the matron told you." He turned to Mr. McGivern. "And then last night, by the hand of Providence, I remembered a conversation I recently had with Mr. McGivern."

Lillian glanced at Mr. McGivern, uncertain of the connection.

"He's gathering information for a series of articles he plans to write for the Gazette . The more he told me about his investigation of missing young women from the East End, the more certain I felt that he was the man who might help us find your niece."

Lillian turned to Mr. McGivern. "You're searching for young women who've gone missing?"

He nodded, but he looked uncomfortable with the conversation. "It's part of the research I'm doing for a series I'm writing." He motioned toward the stage where Lillian had stood to give her speech. "Like some of the young women you spoke of, we suspect these girls have been abducted and taken by those with evil intentions."

Lillian swallowed, knowing exactly what he meant.

Reverend Howell leaned toward Mr. McGivern. "I sensed the Lord directing me to introduce you to Mrs. Freemont. I'm sure when you consider the young girl's fate if she is not recovered quickly, you'll want to do all you can to assist us in the search."

Mr. McGivern shifted his weight to the other foot, the inner debate obvious in his troubled expression. Finally, he turned to Lillian. "I'm a journalist, not a detective. I can't make any promises."

Her heart lifted. "But you'll help me?"

"I can keep my eyes and ears open and let you know if I learn anything that might be useful."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. McGivern." She reached for his arm. "You don't know how much this means to me."

He lowered his gaze to her hand on his coat sleeve.

Her face warmed, and she slid her hand away.

He pulled a small notebook and pencil from his coat pocket. "Give me a description of the girl."

"Alice, or I suppose she would go by the name Mary Graham, is eight years old. She has blue eyes and long blond hair she wears in curls. I've never seen her, but the old woman at the Foundling Hospital described her as being very pretty."

"When did she go missing?"

"It's been at least nine days now."

Mr. McGivern closed his notebook. "That's not much to go on."

Lillian tensed. She had to convince him. "Maybe not, but with the Lord's guidance, and your practical knowledge as a journalist, I believe we can find her. How do you suggest we start?"

He sent her a puzzled look. "There is no we ."

"But I want to help. She's my niece and my responsibility."

He shook his head. "I work alone."

Reverend Howell turned to Lillian. "On our way here, I was telling Mr. McGivern about Mercy House—a home for young women who've come out of brothels, workhouses, or prison. It gives them a safe place to learn a new occupation and have a fresh start as they rebuild their lives. Perhaps the women there might be able to tell you where young girls like your niece end up. That seems like a good place to begin the search."

"That's an excellent idea." Lillian turned to Mr. McGivern. "When do you plan to go?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Wonderful. Shall I meet you there at one o'clock?"

His expression darkened. "I said, I work alone."

Reverend Howell lifted a finger. "Mr. McGivern, I think you might want to reconsider. I believe the women at Mercy House will be much more willing to speak to Mrs. Freemont than they will to you."

Mr. McGivern frowned. "I know how to conduct an interview."

"I'm sure you do, but these women have been mistreated by men. They may be reticent to give you the information you're seeking for your article or tell you anything that would help in the search for Mrs. Freemont's niece."

Lillian met Mr. McGivern's gaze. "As you heard in my speech, I'm quite sympathetic to the issues these women face. I think I could persuade them to talk to me."

Mr. McGivern's serious expression did not change, but he gave a slight nod. "Very well. You may come. That's a rough area of town—not one a lady like you should travel through alone." Reluctance weighed his every word. "Where shall I call for you at twelve thirty?"

Lillian took her card from her reticule and handed it to him. Her fingers touched his, sending a jolt of awareness through her.

His gaze darted to hers, then just as quickly he looked down at the card.

She suppressed the sensation and lifted her chin. "I live in Eaton Square. That's in Belgravia."

"I know where Eaton Square is." His mouth twisted as he looked her over. "Wear plain clothing, something simple. No jewelry or fancy hat."

She blinked. "Why should it matter how I dress?"

He motioned toward her. "Because dressed as you are today, you'd stand out like a red rose in a rubbish heap. We want to blend in, not draw attention to ourselves."

Her face flamed. "Very well. I'll dress suitably and be ready at twelve thirty."

He gave a brusque nod, then turned and walked away.

A tremor traveled through her as she watched him go. Why was Mr. McGivern so gruff and unsociable? Reverend Howell had rather cornered him with the request to help her search for her niece, but that didn't seem reason enough to account for his disapproving attitude toward her.

Matthew strode down the steps and out the door, muttering under his breath. How had he let them talk him into taking a wealthy, well-dressed woman to a rescue home in White Chapel? It was foolish, if not downright dangerous. But he certainly wouldn't recommend she go there alone. That could lead to disaster.

It was the thought of another defenseless young girl gone missing that had made him finally agree to escort Mrs. Freemont to Mercy House. Why didn't the woman's husband go with her? Then he recalled Reverend Howell had told him she was a widow.

He frowned, pondering the situation. He ought not judge her for being wealthy and attractive. She couldn't help being born into the upper class. What would she think of him if she knew his background? He'd worked hard to put his past behind him, and he'd risen to a respectable position at the Gazette . Still, he would never be Mrs. Freemont's equal. The thought irked him, and he pushed it away.

Was there a connection between her niece's disappearance from the Foundling Hospital and the missing girls from White Chapel? Those girls were fourteen to sixteen years of age, while her niece was only eight. He suspected the older girls had been unwillingly taken into brothels. Was the same true of the younger girl?

He lifted his hand and signaled a hansom cab, then directed the driver to take him to the offices of the Pall Mall Gazette . It was time to run this new lead past his editor, W. T. Stead.

Twenty minutes later, he climbed down from the cab and paid the driver. With determined steps, he passed the others working in the newsroom and rapped on the editor's door.

"Come in," Stead called in a booming voice.

Matthew pushed open the door and entered the office. The editor, sitting behind his large desk, looked up at him. His cravat was untied, and his bushy silver moustache and beard nearly covered the bottom of his face.

Matthew crossed and stood in front of his desk. "I've come upon an unexpected twist in the search for those missing girls."

Stead pushed his thick glasses up his nose, his eyes bright. "What kind of twist?"

The editor listened with a deepening frown as Matthew relayed his conversation with Reverend Howell and Mrs. Freemont. "I'm surprised to hear it. The Foundling Hospital is a respected charity."

"The cleaning woman told Mrs. Freemont her niece is not the first ‘pretty young girl' to disappear. She suspects the girl was taken to work belowstairs at a brothel."

Stead's face turned ruddy. "To use a child like that—it's a crime, a despicable crime."

"Do you think Mrs. Freemont should go to the police?"

"They've been little help to the others who are seeking their missing daughters. There's not enough information to solve those cases, at least that's what they say."

"Perhaps they don't want them solved. Maybe they've been paid off, and they're protecting someone. It wouldn't be the first time we've come across corruption among their ranks."

Stead crossed his arms, glowering as he looked out the window. "It's a wretched business. We must keep pursuing this and expose whoever is behind it."

"Reverend Howell suggested I go to a rescue home in White Chapel and interview women there. He thought they might know something about the missing girls or where that younger girl was taken. Mrs. Freemont wants to go along." He shook his head. "She and Reverend Howell think the women might be more willing to speak to her than to me."

"Yes, that's a good idea. Feed Mrs. Freemont the questions you want answered, then listen well and record those young women's stories."

Matthew shook his head. "I don't like the idea of taking Mrs. Freemont to White Chapel."

Stead chuckled. "If she's as plucky as you say, I think it's a good idea." He paused, thinking. "Find out what took those women to that kind of life and what convinced them to leave it behind. Were some of them taken from their families and forced into it? That will add a human-interest element to the articles and raise readers' sympathy."

Matthew nodded. The Pall Mall Gazette was a leader in the new form of investigative journalism. Their goal was to present the truth in a way that swayed public opinion and pushed for change in government policy. Stead had trained Matthew to dig deep and interview as many people as possible.

"We want to shape the articles to stir an outcry and force lawmakers to raise the age of consent. Then the police—at least the ones who are honest—will have the authority to arrest those despicable men who entrap unsuspecting young girls and ruin their lives."

Energy surged through Matthew. Stead was a crusader, and he had passed that zeal on to Matthew.

Stead rapped his knuckles on the desk. "I say follow this lead, see where it takes you, and make the most of it. We need more information if we're going to write a series that will make people sit up, take notice, and bring about changes."

Lillian slid into the seat of the hansom cab and brushed her hand down the skirt of her plain navy blue day dress. She'd taken Mr. McGivern's recommendation and dressed simply, leaving all her jewelry at home except for the locket with her husband's photograph. She'd slipped it under the bodice of her dress, well out of view. The weather was warm and sunny, so she didn't need a coat, but she had donned a small straw hat with a navy ribbon around the crown. As she was dressed today, she could be mistaken for a teacher or a woman who worked in a shop, rather than a wealthy widow from Eaton Square.

She glanced across at Mr. McGivern. He'd said nothing about her choice of clothing and only offered a brief greeting when he'd come to collect her. He gazed out the side window, focused on his own thoughts. He appeared to be wearing the same black suit and waistcoat he'd worn the day before. But this time his cravat was well tied, and his shirt looked freshly pressed. He might be considered a handsome man with his high forehead, long straight nose, and deep-set blue eyes, if only he would drop his brooding expression and smile occasionally.

His gaze slid to hers.

Her face warmed, and she looked away.

He took his small notebook from his suitcoat pocket. "I have a few questions I'd like you to ask the women."

She'd already formed her own list of questions last night after praying about their visit to Mercy House. Should she abandon those in favor of Mr. McGivern's list? After all, he was a journalist, and she was not. "What would you like me to ask?"

"Begin by questioning them about their background and why they were drawn into ... the kind of life they were living. Then ask what makes them want to leave that life behind."

She sent him a surprised glance. "The answers to those questions seem obvious. I'm sure most of them felt that they had no choice if they wanted to survive, and now that they do have a choice, they're eager to begin new lives."

"Mrs. Freemont." He tipped his head, looking at her as though he thought she was quite na?ve. "Their choices and the reasons behind them may not be as simple as you think."

She bristled. "There is no need to be condescending."

He straightened. "That was not my intention."

"I was under the impression the purpose of our visit was to gain information about my niece and the other missing girls."

"It is, but I also want to learn more about the women's personal stories as background for the articles I'm writing."

"Well, I don't believe beginning with such difficult questions is the best way to gain their trust or prompt them to tell us more."

He sent her a pointed look. "The only reason I agreed you could accompany me today was because Reverend Howell believes your presence will encourage the women to give us the information we need. You may ask some of the opening questions, but I will conduct the rest of the interviews."

Irritation flashed through her, and she was about to protest when the cab rolled to a stop. The driver hopped down and opened the door. Matthew stepped out, but rather than turning and offering her his hand, he looked up and scanned the row of buildings. The driver shot him a glance, then held out his hand to Lillian. She took hold and stepped down.

Matthew glanced over his shoulder. "Ready?"

"Yes." She swallowed the rest of what she would've liked to say and followed him up the steps.

He knocked on the door, and a young woman with a cheerful smile answered. She wore a light green dress with ruffles at the neck and hem. Her red curly hair was tied back with a white ribbon. Lillian guessed she was no more than fourteen or fifteen. Surely she wasn't a resident of Mercy House, was she?

"I'm Mr. Matthew McGivern. I believe Mrs. Charles is expecting me."

Lillian looked his way, waiting for him to offer her name, but he didn't. Had he never been taught how to treat a lady, or was he trying to make it clear he was not happy she had accompanied him?

"Please, come in." The girl pulled the door open wider, and they stepped inside. She led them into the sitting room. "Have a seat. I'll let Mrs. Charles know you're here."

Lillian sat in a high-backed chair by the front window, while Mr. McGivern remained standing and glanced around the room. She could almost see the wheels in his mind turning as he took in the modest furniture, full bookcases, and paintings on the wall. Would he include a description of this room in his article?

A slight, middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks and light brown hair threaded with silver walked in. She held out her hand to Lillian. "Welcome to Mercy House. I'm Mrs. Charles."

She rose. "I'm Mrs. Lillian Freemont." She motioned to Mr. McGivern. "And this is Mr. Matthew McGivern. We're friends of Reverend Howell." Lillian wasn't sure if she should mention Mr. McGivern's position with the Gazette .

He nodded to Mrs. Charles. "Thank you for seeing us. Reverend Howell told us a little about Mercy House. I'd like to ask you a few questions, and then interview some of the women."

She gave a hesitant nod. "Reverend Howell sent a note. He said you're associated with Mr. Stead at the Pall Mall Gazette ."

"Yes, Mr. Stead is my editor. He'd like me to include information about Mercy House in a series of articles I'm writing."

Mrs. Charles pressed her lips together, looking as though she was trying to decide how to respond. "We are proud of our girls and the way they are rebuilding their lives, but I must insist they not be named in your article." She lowered her voice. "It's for their own safety."

Mr. McGivern's eyebrows rose. "Of course, if you feel that's best."

"I do. Some of our girls escaped dangerous situations, and their privacy and protection are of the utmost importance."

Lillian studied Mrs. Charles. What exactly did she mean? Why would the women be in danger?

Mrs. Charles sat on the sofa. "Please sit down."

Lillian resumed her seat.

Mr. McGivern sat on the opposite end of the sofa and opened his notebook. "How long has Mercy House been in existence?"

"We opened our door twenty-one years ago, under the patronage of Mrs. Adelaide Grimsley. She was one of the most influential women in England at the time." She leaned toward Mr. McGivern. "And one of the wealthiest. She funded several charitable causes, but she always took a personal interest in all the girls who came to Mercy House. When she passed away, she left an endowment that continues to care for our needs."

Matthew jotted a few lines in his notebook. "What are the ages of the women at Mercy House?

"We accept girls who are fourteen to twenty-one."

Lillian looked up in surprise. She had expected the women would be older.

"What brings them to Mercy House?" Mr. McGivern asked.

"Some of the girls come to us from workhouses, others from prison. A few are orphans who were living on the street. Others are escaping abusive situations."

A pang shot through Lillian's heart. She had suffered the loss of her husband, daughter, and parents, but she'd always had a safe home and more-than-sufficient income to meet her needs. What heartache these girls had experienced, and at such young ages.

"The girls must be recommended by their parish priest, the prison matrons, or another person of influence who believes they have potential and willingness to learn the skills needed to make a new life."

"How many girls reside at Mercy House?" Lillian asked.

Matthew shot her a look. He obviously didn't want her to speak yet, but she sensed a connection with Mrs. Charles and had questions she wanted to ask.

Mrs. Charles sent Lillian a gracious smile. "We have room for fifteen. I wish we had more space. There are so many who need a caring home and training for proper work."

Lillian nodded. "How long do they stay with you?"

"Most are here for at least a year. Some are not able to read or write when they come. It takes time for them to learn those basic skills. Most will go into service, but a few have gifts or talents that allow them to find other positions." She sighed. "But the greater challenge they face is overcoming their painful memories and putting their suffering behind them."

Lillian nodded, sympathy tightening her throat.

"I'd like to speak to the girls now." Mr. McGivern flipped to a new page in his notebook. "One at a time, if you please."

Mrs. Charles studied him for a moment with a slight frown. "I'm not sure they would be comfortable on their own with you. Perhaps if I stay with them, they would be willing to speak to you." She rose and left the room.

Lillian sat quietly while Mr. McGivern wrote several more lines in his notebook.

Mrs. Charles soon returned with a dark-haired girl who looked about sixteen. "This is ... you may call her Rose. This is Mr. McGivern and Mrs. Freemont."

The girl sent them a shy look and offered a slight curtsy. "Good day, sir, ma'am."

Matthew nodded to Lillian to begin.

Lillian smiled. "We're pleased to meet you, Rose. Mr. McGivern is seeking information for a series of articles he's writing for the newspaper. We're also searching for my eight-year-old niece, who has gone missing from the Foundling Hospital. We're hoping you might be able to help us learn more about life in London for girls who are facing ... difficult circumstances."

Rose darted a glance at Mr. McGivern, then looked back at Lillian. "Who's gone missing?"

"My niece, Mary Graham, was in residence at the Foundling Hospital until just a few days ago, but she disappeared, and no one seems to know what happened to her."

Rose's eyes clouded. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am."

"She's very pretty with blond hair and blue eyes, and some people believe she might have been taken to work belowstairs at a brothel."

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh, that sounds awful."

"Yes, it does. And we want to do all we can to find her as quickly as possible," Lillian continued. "Before you came to Mercy House, did you work at a brothel?"

Rose quickly shook her head. "No, ma'am. The police nabbed me for begging on the street too many times. They saw a man giving me money and thought I was a fallen woman, but it wasn't true. I never fell that low. Still, they locked me up for more than a year before I came to Mercy House."

Lillian offered a sympathetic nod. "I'm very sorry you were falsely accused. That's a great injustice."

Rose sighed. "It's not just me. Two of the other girls here were locked up for begging. That's all we did, but they don't believe us, no matter what we say."

Lillian swallowed hard. "You've been through some very difficult circumstances. I hope your time at Mercy House will help you put those experiences behind you."

Rose's expression lightened. "Yes, ma'am. This is a good place. I'm learning to be a cook. I can bake bread and puddings. I'll be going out to work soon."

Lillian smiled. "That's wonderful. I'm sure you'll find a good position. There is always a need for skilled cooks."

"I hope so, ma'am. Begging on the street is no life for anyone."

Lillian shifted her gaze to Mr. McGivern.

He returned a slight nod, then looked at Rose. "Have you seen or heard about any young girls who have gone missing?"

Rose's brow creased. "There's lots of girls in White Chapel who disappear. Most were living on the street, begging—and I'm sorry to say, stealing—just to get enough food to eat. Some might have been arrested or got sick and died. It's a hard life."

"Why were those girls living on the street?" he asked.

"Some had no home because their mum and dad died. Others, like me, ran away 'cause it was so bad they don't want to go home."

Lillian's throat tightened as she listened. How had the poor girl survived such a painful life?

Mr. McGivern wrote in his notebook, then looked up. "Thank you, Rose. I think that's all the questions I have for you."

The girl dipped a brief curtsy and left the room.

Mrs. Charles brought in the next girl and introduced her as Amy. She was a slight blond with pale skin and silver-blue eyes. Lillian guessed she might be fifteen, but it was hard to be certain of her age. As soon as she entered, she froze and stared at them as though she thought they would eat her alive.

Mrs. Charles laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Amy has only been with us for about a week, but she is doing very well."

Lillian smiled, hoping to put the girl at ease. "Hello, Amy. Thank you for meeting with us. Mr. McGivern is a journalist with the Pall Mall Gazette . We're looking for information that will help us find some young girls who've gone missing."

Amy's gaze darted from Lillian to Mrs. Charles.

"We believe my niece, Mary Graham, may have been taken by men who are seeking girls to work in brothels. Have you heard of that happening?"

Amy's eyes widened, and the faint color in her face seemed to drain away. Her throat worked, and she finally said, "Yes, ma'am."

Lillian's pulse jumped.

Mr. McGivern leaned forward. "Tell us what you know." His voice sounded loud and insistent compared to Lillian's.

Amy shrunk back and covered her face with her hands.

Mrs. Charles rose and placed her arm around Amy's shoulders. "It's all right, dear."

"You don't need to be afraid, Amy," Lillian said in a gentle tone. "We are your friends. Nothing you say will cause you any trouble. We're only asking you these questions to help us find my niece and take her out of a dangerous place. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

Amy slowly lowered her hands, revealing tearstained cheeks.

Mrs. Charles shook her head. "I'm afraid this is too upsetting for her. No more questions."

The girl swiped her cheeks with a trembling hand. "No, I want to help them find that girl."

Relief swelled in Lillian's chest. "Thank you, Amy. Why don't you start by telling us your story?"

Amy sniffed and nodded. "I'm the oldest, with eight brothers and sisters. My mum died when I was twelve, and my dad spent most of his earnings at the gin shop. We were hungry all the time. Things got bad with Dad drinking and fighting every night. One day, a man told my dad he needed a maid to work at his house. Dad told me to go with him, so I went. I wasn't afraid to work, and I thought at least I'd have enough to eat. But he didn't want a maid. He took me to the Golden Swan. I was only fourteen. I didn't know anything about men, but I soon learned." She lowered her head. "I only stayed there two weeks, then I ran away. But I got caught, and they put me in prison."

Lillian's heart twisted. What terrible suffering she'd experienced at such a tender age. How would she ever recover from such dreadful treatment?

Mr. McGivern's pencil hovered over his notebook, his gaze riveted on Amy. "Were there any girls younger than you working at the Golden Swan?"

"Not with the men, but they had some little girls belowstairs, cleaning, washing up, and doing laundry. They do that work until they're old enough to work upstairs."

Lillian clenched her jaw, then closed her eyes and forced down the bile rising in her throat.

Lord, help us find Alice before it's too late!