small bundle, wrapped in brown paper. He lunged forward, snatching it from her. Inside was a large piece of crusty bread, several slabs of cheese, an apple, grapes, two chocolate pastries, and a mincemeat pie. He groaned at the treasure inside, tore a large piece of bread free, and settled into his meal. Constance leaned against the wall of the carriage, letting the rhythm of the road drown out her companions loud chewing, and thought about the man she’d heard called Ali.
Chapter Six
Despite the late hour of her return to the tavern, Constance was up with the sun. She made her way downstairs to find Henry Poole’s rusty red head bobbing behind the bar. He was in early as well, making good work of washing up the last remaining glasses from the night before. He assured her he was in to take inventory for the next order of spirits, but Constance caught the way he looked at Charlotte over the bar, and Charlotte – a tall strawberry blonde with hair so curly it created a halo around her face a good half meter wide - didn’t hide the returned smiles she shot his way. Constance imagined the budding romance of a brothel barkeep and a rosy cheeked whore, and the frighteningly Ginger haired babies they would produce should they have an accident. She couldn’t help, but smile. Her jovial mood didn’t stop her from scolding Henry when he became distracted from her order of a Full English or breakfast.
“Don’t be yelling at him. You haven’t paid fer yer breakfast in three days!”
Constance startled at the sound of Berty’s voice, turning to find her coming down the stairs fully dressed and ready to start the day.
“Well, he didn’t ask for my coin, so I didn’t offer,” Constance said, smirking in mischievous admission. Henry Poole shot her a playful glare and set the plate of bacon, eggs, beans and toast on the bar before her.
“Don’t you be getting me in trouble, lass!” He hissed, but grabbed her fingers and gave them a squeeze before returning to his post down the bar, just across from Charlotte.
“You’re up early.”
Constance stifled on a bite of egg and toast, nodding to avoid being rude. She swallowed before she spoke. “Woke up with the sun, it seems.”
“Well, it ain’t that early. Still, ain’t seen you downstairs before noon in a long time.”
Constance smiled, dipping her toast into the baked beans. “I keep rather late nights.”
She winked at Berty and took a big bite. Berty flapped a rag at her and disappeared into the back of the tavern, slipping down to the cellar for something.
The door to the tavern gave its familiar chime and all the girls turned to see who’d come in at such an early hour. Constance swallowed hard at the sight of the man.
She recognized him from many months earlier. He wasn’t a John or a gangster coming to threaten Berty and get chased into the streets by their in house Irishman – this man was a detective with the London Police.
“Good mornin,’ ladies.”
The girls chimed in with somewhat lackluster greetings. Not a one of them was wholeheartedly trusting of the police. Still, this man wasn’t a street copper, looking to haul in girls and their customers to make an example of them. This was a detective, and those usually only came around when someone turned up dead.
“Can I help you, sir?” Henry offered from behind the bar.
The man took off his hat and gave Constance a quick nod before answering. “I do hope so, sir. Would you mind horribly if I asked some of the girls a few questions?”
Henry snorted. “If ye can, lad. If ye can.”
The man gave another nod and turned to Constance, who still sat hunched over her breakfast. She quickly found herself without an appetite. He raised her brows at her, a silent request. Constance gave him a nod.
“Mornin, dear. Do you mind if I have a seat, then?”
“No, go right ahead.”
The man sat beside her, shifting onto his bar stool as he set his hat on the bar. He
Chapter Six
Despite the late hour of her return to the tavern, Constance was up with the sun. She made her way downstairs to find Henry Poole’s rusty red head bobbing behind the bar. He was in early as well, making good work of washing up the last remaining glasses from the night before. He assured her he was in to take inventory for the next order of spirits, but Constance caught the way he looked at Charlotte over the bar, and Charlotte – a tall strawberry blonde with hair so curly it created a halo around her face a good half meter wide - didn’t hide the returned smiles she shot his way. Constance imagined the budding romance of a brothel barkeep and a rosy cheeked whore, and the frighteningly Ginger haired babies they would produce should they have an accident. She couldn’t help, but smile. Her jovial mood didn’t stop her from scolding Henry when he became distracted from her order of a Full English or breakfast.
“Don’t be yelling at him. You haven’t paid fer yer breakfast in three days!”
Constance startled at the sound of Berty’s voice, turning to find her coming down the stairs fully dressed and ready to start the day.
“Well, he didn’t ask for my coin, so I didn’t offer,” Constance said, smirking in mischievous admission. Henry Poole shot her a playful glare and set the plate of bacon, eggs, beans and toast on the bar before her.
“Don’t you be getting me in trouble, lass!” He hissed, but grabbed her fingers and gave them a squeeze before returning to his post down the bar, just across from Charlotte.
“You’re up early.”
Constance stifled on a bite of egg and toast, nodding to avoid being rude. She swallowed before she spoke. “Woke up with the sun, it seems.”
“Well, it ain’t that early. Still, ain’t seen you downstairs before noon in a long time.”
Constance smiled, dipping her toast into the baked beans. “I keep rather late nights.”
She winked at Berty and took a big bite. Berty flapped a rag at her and disappeared into the back of the tavern, slipping down to the cellar for something.
The door to the tavern gave its familiar chime and all the girls turned to see who’d come in at such an early hour. Constance swallowed hard at the sight of the man.
She recognized him from many months earlier. He wasn’t a John or a gangster coming to threaten Berty and get chased into the streets by their in house Irishman – this man was a detective with the London Police.
“Good mornin,’ ladies.”
The girls chimed in with somewhat lackluster greetings. Not a one of them was wholeheartedly trusting of the police. Still, this man wasn’t a street copper, looking to haul in girls and their customers to make an example of them. This was a detective, and those usually only came around when someone turned up dead.
“Can I help you, sir?” Henry offered from behind the bar.
The man took off his hat and gave Constance a quick nod before answering. “I do hope so, sir. Would you mind horribly if I asked some of the girls a few questions?”
Henry snorted. “If ye can, lad. If ye can.”
The man gave another nod and turned to Constance, who still sat hunched over her breakfast. She quickly found herself without an appetite. He raised her brows at her, a silent request. Constance gave him a nod.
“Mornin, dear. Do you mind if I have a seat, then?”
“No, go right ahead.”
The man sat beside her, shifting onto his bar stool as he set his hat on the bar. He
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