"What da 'ell did ye think ye were doing? Do ye 'ave any idea 'ow stupid and dangerous dat was? What if some carriage 'ad rammed inta ye from be'ind? What if ye'd fallen out onto da road? Ye're never, ever ever gonna do somethin' like dat again, do ye understand?"

"Aye, Mum," Flo told her with a smirk.

Amy felt her face flush. And it's not 'cause I'm 'appy about what dat little brat just said! No, definitely not! I'm pissed off! Really pissed off! And 'er callin' me mum definitely doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy inside!

"I should make ye stand in da corner of da room for da next five hours! Or spank ye until yer butt's raw!"

"And what next?" Flo raised an eyebrow. "Some light bondage? A little fir—mmmmmph!"

"Ye!" Covering the little girl's mouth, Amy felt her face flaming, this time for an entirely different reason. "Ye've been listenin' to dose despicable people again!"

Slipping out of her grip, Flo batted her eyelashes up at her. "Ye mean yer friends?"

"Ah...ehem, dat ain't da point!"

"Ye look like ye need a smoke." Reaching into her pocket, Flo held something familiar out to her. "Wanna buy a box of matches? It's on sale today, only thruppen—"

"No, I don't want a box of matches! I wanna know what ye're doing 'ere! Don't ye know what we came 'ere for?"

The cheeky grin abruptly vanished from Flo's face, and she met Amy's eyes. "Aye. We do."

"We," Aggy said, stroking one finger down the knife she was hugging like her favorite toy, "came ta 'elp."

"'ow? By stabbin' people ta death?"

"Ye know," Leona said, exchanging glances with the other girls, "that does sound like a spiffin' idea."

"And ye?" Amy whirled to the remaining two girls. "Did ye come ta ''elp' as well?"

"Did ye really think I'd leave me younger sister be'ind?" Flo shot back, slinging an arm around Jo's shoulders.

Amy's gaze fell on the last one.

"Well..." Nibbling on her lower lip, Grace looked down. "Ye came 'ere. If...if I'd stayed in London, ye'd be so far away. What if dose men came again? What if...if..."

Abruptly, Amy felt her heart soften. Kneeling down, she slid her arms around the girl and squeezed tight.

"Don't ye worry, girl. Ye're safe 'ere. I won't let nothin' 'appen ta ye."

"Does dat mean we can 'elp?" Aggy asked, an eager glint in her eyes, reflected in the blade of her knife.

"No! And stop smilin' at dat knife like some creepy baby vamp from a penny dreadful!"

"But—"

"That's enough." That voice...she knew it. A moment later, Patrick's solid, broad-shouldered figure stepped in between her and the children. His face grim, he knelt down on the ground until he was on eye-level with them. "You might not want to hear it, but Miss Amy is correct. What we are here to do is incredibly dangerous. This is no place for children."

"Neither," Leona said, her voice low and far too somber for a child, "was dat dungeon."

Amy opened her mouth—then realized that she had no rebuttal for that.

Luckily, she didn't have to.

"Weeeheheheh!"

A horse cantered into the courtyard pulling a chaise in which sat a familiar figure in clergy-black.

"Miss Weston! Lord Patrick! Mr Karim!" the vicar called over joyfully. "Fabulous news! I've spoken with the Duke of Arrendyle's steward! He has agreed to bring the matter before the Duke and has told me His Grace will surely be interested in assisting us with our endeavour, and—oh! Who is this? Do we have more visitors?"

"They, um...err..." Amy's eyes flitted over the children, who stubbornly refused to turn invisible on the spot. What the heck was she supposed to say? What would be a believable story?

"My relatives!" Patrick blurted out, stepping forward. "They...they're my relatives! My nieces, to be precise."

Yep. That would be...the exact opposite of believable.

Amy let her eyes slide over the children once again, some tall, some short, one red-haired, three black-haired and one brown, one clutching a plushy and one clutching a kni—

Oh crap!

Hurriedly, Amy jumped forward, shielding the knife from the vicar's view.

"Dey just dropped by ta say 'ello," she hurriedly interjected. "Dey won't stay for lon—"

"Oooh!" An almost criminally cute voice interrupted her, and she was jostled aside to make way for the dynamic duo. Gazing up at the vicar and the house behind him, they batted their deadly eyelashes up at him. "Is dat yer 'ouse, Mister?" Flo piped up. "Sooo pretty!"

"Our 'ouse was pretty, too..." Jo mumbled, lowering her head.

"Was?" Concern spreading over the vicar's face, he bent down towards her. "What do you mean, little lady?"

Crap! Dose bloody little tricksters!

"She doesn't mean anythin'!" Amy exclaimed. "She—"

"Da...da fire..." Jo sobbed. "Smoke...flames...it's all gone now. All gone! And mother...mother is..."

"Oh, you poor dears!" Hugging the two little girls, a tear trickled down the vicar's cheek. An actual tear! "Don't tell me you lost your home! And Lord Patrick offered to take you in?"

Patrick cleared his throat. "Well, actually—"

"A-aye." Insert sad, sympathy-inducing sniffle here. Amazed, Amy watched the show. Why bother going to a Covent Garden theatre when you could just have a free show? "We've bin stayin' at 'is place for da last few days, but now 'e 'ad ta come 'ere and we...we..."

"Oh, you poor little darlings! Of course you can all stay here! Lord Patrick has come to help the poor and disenfranchised, how could I possibly turn away his young relatives from my door? Jenny! Jenny, have the maid prepare another bedroom! We have more guests!"

The children were rushed over towards the house and, just before they were maneuvered inside, Flo turned to send Amy a triumphant grin.

Little brat!

Then the door closed behind them.

Amy exchanged a look with Patrick.

"Perhaps we could try to persuade them," Patrick said. "If we could send them back..."

"I suggest you give up and surrender," Karim pronounced in the tone of an experienced warrior. "Resistance in the face of a superior enemy is not valor, but mere foolishness."

Amy exchanged looks with Patrick again. "'ow about we carry in da luggage?"

***

Flo was truly a devious little bugger. The moment she got into the house, she zeroed in on the vicar as the weakest link in the chain. Dialing up her cuteness factor to two hundred percent, she told him a magnificently crafted sob story about the oh-so-unfortunate orphans who had lost their entire family except for dear Uncle Patrick, and quickly laid claim to the most comfy bedroom in the house. By the time she was done, the cook and maids were cooing all over the five of them, and if, occasionally, small items disappeared from the house, nobody seemed to notice.

"Aren't they sweet?" the vicar smiled down at the five.

"Yes...sweet." Jenny smiled at her husband, the same way a lady lion would smile at Mr Lion for saying a T-Rex was cute. Reaching out, she grabbed the silver spoon that was about to disappear into Jo's sleeve. "Very sweet indeed."

Then she grabbed Amy by the arm and dragged her around the corner, out of hearing distance.

"What da everlovin' devil's crap are dey doing 'ere?" she hissed.

"Don't tell me," Amy said, giving her friend a serious look, as she thoughtfully placed her fingers against her temples. "I'm really intuitive about stuff like dis. Ye're...a little upset with me?"

"No shit! What da 'ell are dey," she jabbed her hand at Flo and Jo, who was sitting on the vicar's lap and happily emptying his pockets, "doing 'ere?"

"Ehem." Beside Amy, Patrick cleared his throat. "They're my nieces, who had to come here because—"

"Oh shut it, Lord Lousylies! I've known dose girls since dey were dis high! Dose little rugrats 'ave tried ta pickpocket and scam me more times dan I can count!"

"And 'ow many is dat?" Amy asked with intrigue. "Last time we met, ye were up ta fifteen."

Giving her a dirty look, Jenny punched her shoulder. Ah, best friends. They were always so loving and kind.

"Seriously!" Jenny hissed. "What are we gonna do?"

Amy considered the matter for a moment—until her mind finally conceived a brilliant plan.

"All right, here's what we're gonna do: we dump everythin' on yer husband and get da 'ell out of 'ere."

Jenny thought about it for a moment—then grinned. "Ye're a genius!"

"Ehem, ladies..." Lord Patrick cleared his throat, sending them a reproving look. "I do not think that it would be an honourable thing to do to—"

"None of dose little buggers know about our plans," Amy cut him off.

"So if we go ta Cora now..." Jenny continued.

"...we can make preparations and move in on 'arrington before dose rugrats even know what's 'appening."

"And me 'usband will serve as da bait ta distract dem," Jenny finished with an evil chuckle.

"Ladies!" Lord Patrick reiterated. "It would not be befitting of an honourable gentleman—"

"Well," Amy cut him off and grabbed his arm, smirking up at him, "good thing dere's da two of dishonourable wenches, den, ain't it?"

To judge by the expression on His Lordship's noble face, he did not entirely share that particular opinion. But since Amy didn't give a flying fig, She just dragged him off towards the carriage. She didn't notice how Jenny following behind them, her eyes focused on the both of them with a wicked grin on her face.

***

Lord Patrick Day had thought he would never receive a larger, more jaw-dropping surprise than finding Amy's lady-of-the-night friend as the reverend's wife in the village vicarage. That was until he arrived at the home of the second one.

"Pray tell me," he asked, his voice toneless and aloof, "are you actually serious?"

"What's da matter?" Amy batted her eyelashes at him in a way that made him want to grab her and...and... "Never seen a lord's manor before? It's okay if ye're not accustomed to such luxury, we'll get ye used to it slowly."

"Thank you so very much," His Lordship told her, while considering if being shaken like a ragdoll was included within the service the woman owed him for his daily payment. When he first heard of a certain lady of the night's "friends", he had imagined God only knows what kind of hovel. A den of depravity. A haven of horror. And now...

He gazed up at the palatial mansion in the distance, surrounded by a magnificent park that was at least twenty square miles large. How did he know it was twenty square miles? Because his own was fifteen, and this one was bleeding bigger!

On the wall surrounding the property, next to the massive iron gate, was fixed a shiny metal plate, proclaiming to the world:

Wetherston Manor

"Explain this to me, please," he requested. "In short, easily comprehensible sentences."

"Well..." An infernally infuriating grin spread over her face, and she was just about to start, when suddenly, a shout cut her off.

"Oy! Is dat...it is! It's ye! Come 'ere, ye bloody wench!"

A figure had just stepped out of the gate. An instant later, it turned into a blurr and rushed towards them. Instinctively, Lord Patrick moved to protect the lady in his company—only for said lady to shoulder him aside and rush past him.

"Cora!"

"Amy, ye ugly witch! Is da reason why ye didn't show yer face around 'ere for so long 'cause it's full of warts?"

"Look who's talkin', Mrs Flabby McMotherfat!"

"Oy! Dat's all just da paddin' of me dress!"

"Sure it is. Mind me checkin'...?"

Grinning, the well-endowed woman slapped Amy's hands away. "Fingers off! I ain't for rent no more!"

Amy gave an innocent smile. "Who said I was gonna pay?"

"And ye!" Whirling towards her other friend, she stabbed a finger towards her other friend.

"I ain't gonna pay either," the virtuous vicar's wife said, folding her arms above her bulging belly.

"As if I'd want ye to, ye bloated balloon! Why didn't ye tell me she was comin'?"

"'cause I didn't know either, ye bloody block'ead!"

"Block'ead? Ye just wait till I tickle ye ta death, ye...!"

"Oy! Oy, dat's unfaahahahaha...!"

Lord Patrick Day watched the reunion from a safe distance. After considering for a long moment, he decided he thought it wise not to intervene. Being part of a public scene involving a noble lady, a vicar's wife and, a ehem...lady of Amy's profession was not something he was particularly eager for. He preferred his memory without permanent scars and his name unblackened.

"Ehem...why don't we go inside and discuss matters further there? I'm sure there it would be much easier to, um...exuberantly celebrate your reunion."

"Inside? Oh, forget about dat!" Grinning, the newcomer, whom, despite severe difficulties, he would apparently have to think of as "Lady Wetherston", waved her hand dismissively. "Dat place is stuffed full of John's friends. 'e's busy showing off da amazing abilities of our little genius, who at da age of one month can already dribble saliva and scream 'is lungs out."

"And I'm sure," Amy said, scrutinizing Lady Wetherston's broad grin, "dat ye're completely above such unjustified pride."

"Aye. Completely."

Lord Patrick probably was not very experienced in reading young mothers' expressions, so he most likely imagined the adoring stars sparkling in her eyes.

"Let's go!" The noble Lady Wetherston slapped her friend on the back like a drunken sailor. "Yer visit is worth celebrating!"

"Don't be so sure about dat," Amy told her, her expression darkening. "We've got stuff ta talk about."

"We do?" Lady Wetherston's eyes narrowed.

His Lordship decided right then and there, no matter what this lady's origins might have been, her brain was definitely among the upper class.

"Come on." Gesturing, Lady Wetherston strode ahead. "I know a nice place we can talk."

Amy and Titus followed right away. Lord Patrick, however, did not immediately do so. Cautiously, he glanced sideways at Karim, who, he noticed, had taken a precautionary step backwards.

"Should we go to said....'nice place'?"

"From the moment we embarked on this endeavour," the bodyguard stated, "we knew it was fraught with deadly danger."

"True." Lord Patrick nodded solemnly. Sometimes, true men had to face danger for the greater good of mankind.

"Let us go."

"Agreed."

***

A few minutes later, all six of them were settled around a small table in the back room of a simple, but comfortable, inn. Outside, the drizzle had subsided and sunshine was falling through the window, painting beautiful patterns on the walls. Pretty curtains, decorative flowers on the table...the place was very comfortable and relaxed.

Amy looked around.

Or at least it would be, if not for da expression on da faces of da people present.

"Now." Cora, leaned over the table with an expression of an east end gang boss. "Spill!"

"All right."

Once again, Amy swiftly summarized the events of the last weeks, skimming over what they had found in some of the worst places they'd visited. She didn't really think she could go into much detail without regurgitating the meal the waiter had served them earlier. By the time she was finished, Cora's face was pale, and her eyes shining like daggers.

"Is what ye just told me true?"

"Absolutely."

Reaching out, Cora grabbed a bell sitting on the table beside her and rang. A moment later, a waiter rushed into the room and bowed.

"Yes, Lady Wetherston? How may I be of service?"

"Send someone to the manor and inform the steward that, for the time being, my son is not to leave the grounds, not even in the company of his father. At least three footmen are to guard him at all times."

"Y-yes, Lady Wetherston!"

"Oh, and..."

"Yes?"

"Send someone to da vicarage and 'ave da vicar, 'is children and 'is wife invited to da manor. It's time ta 'ave Jenny stayin' with me for a while. I 'aven't seen my friend in such a long time."

"Err...isn't she sitting right next to you, Lady We—?"

Cora raised an eyebrow, and he abruptly cut off.

Wow. Amy silently applauded. That was...badarse. Simply badarse. And Amy ought to know. She had seen a lot of bad arsess in her time.

"Right away, Lady Wetherston!" The waiter bowed hurriedly. "I'm on the way, Lady Wetherston!"

The waiter rushed out of the room, and Amy couldn't keep a grin from spreading all over her face.

"Should I bow and call ye Yer Majesty?"

Cora flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Yer Ladyship will suffice."

"Very well, den, Yer Ladyship. What are we gonna do?"

"Do?" Jenny growled before Cora could get a chance to voice her opinion. "We're gonna get our 'ands on dat son of a bachelor and skewer his boll—"

Just then, the door to the room opened, and a beaming reverend strode inside.

"You were saying?" Titus enquired with the innocent smile of a curious child directed at Jenny, the virtuous vicar's wife. "Skewer his boll—aaaaargh!"

"Oops, my foot slipped," Jenny said and turned towards her husband, answering his beaming smile with one of her own. "Honey! What are ye doing 'ere? Did da waiter already find ye? 'e must 'ave run fast."

"Waiter?" The vicar blinked. "What waiter? No, I came here because of Duke Arrendyle."

Instantly, the temperature in the room plunged to freezing point. The vicar, bless him, didn't even seem to notice.

"What about," Patrick, who had kept himself in the background this entire time, asked, his voice like the steel blade of a duelling sword, "Lord Arrendyle?"

"He's sent sent word!" The vicar's smile widened. "He's agreed!"

"Agreed? You mean—"

Without another word, the vicar pulled out a white, gold-trimmed card with elegant cursive writing.

GREAT CHARITY BALL

Your esteemed company is requested at Brockworth Castle, Ancestral Seat of the Dukes of Arrendyle, on Wednesday Evening, at nine o'clock.

We hope for your generous support during this event in favour of homeless children.

"You see?" The vicar beamed all over his face again. "I told you, His Grace the duke has always had a great interest in lonely, helpless children."

"I bet 'e 'as." Eyes glittering, Amy took the card. "Let's make sure to...reward his interest, shall we?"

"His generosity," Patrick said, his voice chilly, "shall be returned tenfold."