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When she had eaten, Peaches went out into the yard and kicked things until they broke. She needed a gin. She needed gallons of gin. 

Fat chance of it in this swell’s bit of town, and she hadn’t been lying to Hedge about needing to set out Teddy’s linen. She knocked her periwig off her head and stomped on it, leaving it where it could rot for all she cared. 

“Teddy, you...” 

But there were not words vile enough for what she wanted to call him. 

Hadn’t she always known that she would lose him? Hadn’t that always been her refrain? But, oh, Forthenby had made her soft, had made her feel so very secure. Despite everything in the last two weeks, she had become so very sure of him. 

What difference does it make? She forced the words through her mind, each one taking a separate push of thought. 

Hadn’t they always fucked about, both of them? So what difference was it going to make if some simpering petticoat with a pretty face wound up sharing Forthenby with him? Swells like Teddy didn’t even sleep in the same rooms as their wives. 

But if he fucks her? If he feels that he has to fuck her, and she hates him...

Christ, but she needed gin. 

Peaches opened the yard gate and slunk out into the streets. 

Outside the Watch were prowling about, calling the hours. It took a lot in her not to tense up at their shouts, the way she had done in those well-lost days, when her cunt and her shiv were all that kept her safe from a poor-house or an empty stomach.

It took a lot in her not to feel a shred of guilt at their shouting, for hadn’t it been the Watch who’d put Dickie in for it?

A mess, such a bloody mess.

The ways of the law abiding and respectable were like the cant the sailors brought back from the Caribbean, foreign and strange, made stranger by snatches of things she understood. She had met cold, ruthless bastards of Hedge’s stripe before, and every last one of them would have solved the situation by sending bully boys to knock out a few of Thornton’s white, white teeth, or would have made his powder damp on the sly, or had him dumped with a wide, red smile in the River Fleet. 

Any of those would have solved things. 

No-one Peaches had ever had to deal with before would have called the Watch - that was the sort of thing you left undone. 

She shoved her hands in her pockets and did not scream. For all she loved the freedom of britches, her livery was like a cage, from the bloody silly buckled shoes to the flouncy nonsense of the jacket with its the high, stiff collar. She could feel the time of night wrapping itself round her and remembered walking home from house calls on this side of town all alone, hiding all the aches and tiredness as she and the girls poked fun at the swells they’d just seen, and walked wary over the gold in their purses. 

Or, if she really needed the money, she might have made the same choice as the bawd half hidden across the road, and hung back, hitching up her skirts and pushing up her breasts in the hope of catching a gent on his way back from some hell or other. It was late, and the pickings weren’t the finest, but if your rent was late, or you had debts owing, it was worth it. Sometimes even the servants in the fine houses had paid pretty good coin. 

Still, it surprised her to hear the low whistle, the call in a language so much like Peaches’ very own, “Nice evening for it, sir.”

Hands still in pockets, she shifted about the wrapped pair of stockings which she kept packed against her cunt in case of emergency. Without really thinking about it, she had already taken stock of the quality of the cloth, of the teeth in the girl’s mouth. All good stuff, which meant this weren’t your usual case of buttock and file. If this was a roll, it was the more elaborate kind, with six or seven toughs somewhere to back it up. 

She cracked a wicked little grin she stolen outright from Teddy’s repertoire, and swanked her hips. “Nice evening for what?”

“That depends what you’ve got in mind, sir.”

“How about a kiss. How much for a kiss?”

“Thruppence for a kiss,” said the girl, hitching up her skirts. Peaches heard the thick rustle of taffeta and brocade. The hairstyle was fashionable too, and though the jewels were certainly paste, they looked the part. Under a forgiving light and with her décolletage veiled with a fan, she’d pass for a lady of fashion and reasonable family. 

And she was charging well over the odds. 

But it appeared that Peaches was playing the swell just now, and that meant no haggling in the street, so she just waited for the girl to get close and slipped a hand about her waist, drawing her close. Peaches was tall, and could look down, like a proper gent would, pulling the whore against her own tight-bound chest and kissing hard and with a bit of passion.

The girl pulled back, mock-coy. “You got soft lips and a forward tongue, you have. And you such a young fellow.”

Peaches brushed her cheek, the white powder there, painted beauty spot, let her thumb find the v of the breasts. “So they say. And what do I call you, sweet-heart?”

“Issabeau,” she said, with a little pout. “That’s French, sir, like my poor mother was.” 

Peaches had used the name herself, at times. It was one of those she and the other girls had passed between them when they fancied something exotic and were pretty sure they were gulling someone as green as grass. With a sudden, vertiginous sense, Peaches realised that she probably knew this girl, although the light was too poor to be certain.

All the same, her breath was sweet with chewed lemon balm and her chest had heaved against Peaches own. 
 
“I’m Henry,” she said, still stroking the contrast between the braiding on the neckline of the dress, and the yielding, plump flesh of Issabeau’s dugs, “have you got a room we can go to?”

“No need for a room when the night’s so quiet.”

Issabeau’s hand slipped between her legs, cupped the stocking concealed there, and made a little squeeze. She pouted, “Nothing for me?”

“I’m sure I can find something if we get ourselves somewhere a bit private.”

The body writhed against her, sickly sweet with perfume Peaches hadn’t smelled in far too long. “There’s a nice courtyard back here. Private, like. No noise from the street, and no chance of the Watch stopping by,” and her hands continued to work between Peaches’ legs, rucking up the stocking no end. 

And pushing it against her clit.

Peaches groaned. 

But she recognised the rule – not bringing a strange gent back to your digs. It was a sensible rule, and she’d stuck to it herself, but she wasn’t exactly equipped for a knees-trembler against a wall. 

“I know somewhere we can get a room,” she said, “and I’ll lay down a sov, if you’re willing.”

There was a pause, a freezing of the hands. That was too much. 

“A sov?”

“If you’re willing.”

“What are you wanting?”

Peaches touched Issabeau’s hair, lamenting her own. It was well styled, and she was careful not to muss it.

“Just a little conversation,” she said, “a few kisses.” She pried her fingertips just down between the top of the dress and the hot skin of Issabeau’s back to make her meaning clear.

The girl was stiff, suspicious, and Peaches could not blame her. She fell back, not wanting to push it, “Or,” she said, pulling back “I’ll give you your thruppence, for the kiss.”

Issabeau glanced at her, and made a decision, “Alright. Where’s this room?”

Together, she took them to a discreet sort of place which Teddy had used when he’d been strapped for cash. “Hope I’m not taking you out of your way,” she said, as they were getting close, which made the girl look at her a bit funny. “It’s only up here,” she said, more gruff.

Issabeau walked up the stairs behind her, looking like she was beginning to regret this. All the same, she seemed to know the place, and calmly Peaches pay for the hour. 

Together, they went up. 

No sooner was the door closed and the lamp lit, than Issabeau had her against the wall, hand running over her chest, between her legs with an urgency that spoke of a desire to get home and to bed. 

Peaches took her pleasure, feeling a bit wicked, caressing shoulders, feigning absolute calm as she recognised in Issabeau an old friend, who usually went by the less exotic Pink Letty and who, now she thought about it, owed her two and fourpence.

None of this stopped her tugging open the laces of Issabeau’s dress and stays, showing out the fine, white skin of her, the generous breasts, wide hips, and the darker hair under her arms. Peaches ran her tongue over the trembling skin, and felt the heat of it go to shivers in the cold room. Meanwhile, Letty was yanking open the buttons of Peaches’ britches, reaching in, keen to get the job done.

“You won’t find nothing in there, Letty” Peaches said, at last, in her own voice. “Or not that sort of thing at least.”

Letty jumped backwards to hear the flat, clipped tones of the street come out of her swell. Her face showed first fear, then a slow dawning realisation. “Peaches Waghorn,” she said, “As I live and breathe.”

“Wotcher.”

“What a prank to play on a girl. I hope your coin’s good for this, because I ain’t covering it.”

She laughed at that. “My coin’s alright.”

“Well, then you can pay the going rate if you want a tumble. And a bit extra for the fright what you gave me.”

“Tell truth, Letty, I’m dying for a gin.”

Letty shrugged. “Why’d you pay for an hour ‘ere, then? You always was a bleeding fool. And why’s you got up like a swell, anyway?”

 “Hardly a swell. I’ll have you know. I’m in service, now.”

“Bollocks you are. And that’s Forthenby, that is. That coin’s as good as a swell’s to me most days.”

Well, that was interesting. 

“Who is it from Forthenby what comes visiting you?”

Letty smirked. “Says he’s the butler, he does.”

“Old geezer?”

“What d’you take me for? This one’s a young man, and pretty too. Nice firm cock on him.”

“What my height?” she said, “but fairer?”

“That’s the one.”

“Lucas.” Well, of all the dark horses. 

“Told me his name was Crispin,” she said, “and that he’ll make an honest woman of me, when he’s got his savings.”

“Well, don’t you go breaking his heart. He’s good worker and I like having him about.”

“Ooh, ain’t you got hoity, Lady Muckety Muck.”

“Shut your mouth, Issabeau, or do something useful with it.”

“Ain’t we the swell?” she pouted. “But I’ll see that sov before I do anything of the kind.” Then, more serious, “Glad to see you well, though. Thought Rick had done for you, when all that came out.” 

“I got friends in high places.”

“Then what you doing in service? And got up like a lad?”

Peaches shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

“Hold up. Forthenby. That’s Backgammon Teddy, ain’t it?” Letty let out a long sigh of despair. 

“Oh, you ain’t still sweet on that boy, are you? And after he brought Sharp Rick down on you?” She shook her head. “My girl, I hope you’re robbing him blind.”