Without explaining the mysterious comment, Margaret opened the door. A distraught gentleman stood on her stoop, struggling to support the weight of a younger man - his son - who was drunk and bloodied. Margaret quickly ushered the men inside and called for her workers. Once she determined the blood was not his own, her staff took the inebriated young man into a water closet, where they removed his soiled clothing and began bathing him.
Meanwhile, Margaret sat in the parlor with his panic-stricken father, as he explained, “In recent months, my son became involved with a prostitute who allowed herself to become pregnant. She must have been deranged, because when he visited her tonight, she claimed the baby was his and demanded that he wed her. When my son told her he had no intention of marrying a whore and rearing her bastard child, the girl became livid.” The man grimaced, his words slowing as if difficult to utter.
Margaret feared the worst.
“The trollop attacked my son and he was forced to defend himself. He slapped the girl hard and unfortunately, her head struck a table as she fell.” The older man choked out, “My son tried to render aid but the fall killed her. When he realized she was beyond help, my son fled. He hid in our barn so as not to upset his mother and then he sent a trusted servant to fetch me.”
“And you brought him directly to me?”
He nodded. “You have a good reputation for handling matters requiring discretion. I want to hire you to remove the evidence of the dreadful encounter from my son’s clothing and dispose of the harlot’s body.”
Margaret understood the father’s concern. After all, such a grave mistake with a woman of ill-repute could bring shame and ruin to the family name. Still, she was struck by the man’s lack of compassion for the poor, wretched girl who had died.
“The cost for such services would be substantial.”
The gentleman handed her a small sack filled with gold coins. “I’ll pay twice this amount if you can manage to keep this unfortunate situation from coming to light.”
The young man joined them in the parlor. Clean and wearing a robe, it was hard to imagine he was the same person who arrived at the house in such a dreadful state less than an hour ago. He glanced with envy at the glass of whiskey in his father’s hand, but accepted the cup of coffee offered to him. Margaret obtained precise directions to the girl’s room.
“It would be best if you both remain here and rest while I assess the situation and determine if the girl’s body has been discovered.”
Honor wasn’t sure if she was invisible or simply being ignored by everyone, but she followed Margaret as she instructed her workers to pack a basket of herbs and bandages and then called for her driver.
Honor was impressed by the way Margaret’s mind flew, as she considered her alternatives. Slowly it dawned on her that Margaret was no longer speaking out loud. Rather, she was allowing Honor to read her thoughts. Fascinated; Honor paid closer attention.
“Until I know what I’m dealing with, it would be dangerous for any of my workers to go to the girl’s room, least they become suspects in the crime. If I am seen there, it might raise some eyebrows, but I would never be suspected of such wrongdoing.”
As she walked to the waiting carriage, Margaret explained to a concerned worker, “The young man was so drunk, it’s possible he believes she is dead, when she is merely stunned.”
As they clamored along in the carriage, Honor longed for her warm, safe bed at the Belleview Biltmore. A sense of foreboding danced on her nerves as she contemplated the unfolding events.
As if she could hear Honor’s unspoken concerns, Margaret laid out their plan of action. “If the girl isn’t injured too badly, she will most likely be willing to move to another town and give the baby up to an orphanage in exchange for a tidy sum of money, thereby closing the matter. On the other hand, if the girl is dead and her body had not yet been discovered, I’ll look through her room to determine if she is in contact with her family. If so, I’ll position her body at the bottom of a flight of stairs and slip money into her pocket, to pay for her funeral and any other expenses she might have left unpaid. On the other hand, if the girl is dead and appears to be alone in the world, I’ll arrange for her body to be buried quietly.”
The brothel was dark and still; closed for the night. She instructed her driver to wait outside and crept to the back door, carrying her supplies.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Honor followed as Margaret stepped inside. The offensive odor—a mixture of smoke, alcohol, sex and perspiration - turned Honor’s stomach, but Margaret didn’t seem to notice. She lit a small candle and slipped down the corridor to the room number the young man had provided. She entered without knocking and closed the door. After locating and lighting a gas lamp on the wall, Margaret blew out her candle and gazed around, stunned by the destruction.
The man had obviously lied to her and to his father, regarding the amount of rage he had unleashed upon the poor girl. Blood smears and spatters seemed to cover the tiny room, leaving trails across the bed, the floor and even the walls. Margaret could tell the girl had tried to fend off his savage beating. An especially dark pool of blood in the corner of the room appeared to mark the spot where the girl had succumbed, but there was no body. Confused, she searched beneath the bed, but the girl wasn’t there, either. Margaret stood, trying to think. Suddenly she felt someone watching her and whirled to find a frightened girl in a nightshirt, staring at her from the now open doorway. Thick, dark braids framed the girl’s gaunt, freckled face and her mouth hung open in amazement, revealing crooked teeth.
It was hard for Honor to tell which of them was the most startled. Margaret smoothed her dress to regain her composure and then, with far more authority in her voice than she actually felt, asked “Who are you, child? Do you know what took place here earlier this evening?”
The girl stammered, “Josie. My name is Josie.” She pointed a trembling finger toward the bloody corner. “After her man left, I found Hannah curled up on the floor, in real bad shape. I was a-feared he was comin’ back, so I drug her to my room. I expect she’ll be meetin’ her maker before daylight.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “But at least he ain’t never gonna hurt her no more.” Margaret followed Josie into her room, with Honor continuing to shadow along behind her.
Margaret and Honor were appalled by the sight of the battered girl. Margaret wasted no time. She knelt and examined her wounds. Hannah’s face was bleeding and grossly distorted by swelling. The entire length of her body seemed to be covered with cuts and abrasions she suffered during the beating. Her skin was as pale as the linens upon which she rested. When Honor noticed the pool of blood between Hannah’s legs, she exchanged a knowing glance with Margaret. The baby was gone.
“This was not a momentary loss of control,” Margaret hissed. “That bastard meant to beat this girl to death for becoming pregnant with his child.”
Josie nodded her agreement. “Boss Man shoulda’ stopped this, but he was passed out drunk again.”
Margaret sniffed, her distain for the brothel proprietor evident. She turned to Josie. “Run, girl. Tell my driver to fetch my physician at once.”
Margaret opened the basket of bandages and silently began wrapping Hannah’s injuries. Honor watched, thoroughly puzzled. “What connection could I possibly have to these people?” she pondered. Then, remembering Margaret’s promise that she would eventually understand everything, Honor refocused her attention on the details of this memory.