Lachley steadied the small woman easily. “There, now, I didn’t mean to terrify you. Steady.”
She peered up at him, face pinched from the shock. “Oh, it’s you,” she breathed out, “you give me such a fright!” She smiled happily, then, and touched her bonnet. “See? I got me that bonnet, just like you said. Innit a fine one?”
“Very fine. Very becoming. Velvet-trim, isn’t it? A lovely bonnet. I trust you have the letters we discussed earlier?”
A crafty smile stole across the woman’s face. “I’ve got one of ‘em, so I ‘ave.”
Only Maybrick saw the flicker of murderous wrath cross Lachley’s face. Then he was smiling down at her again. “One of them? But, my dear, there were four! Mr. Eddy really is most anxious to obtain the full set.”
“Course ‘e is, an’ I don’t blame ‘im none, I don’t, but y’see, I only ‘ad the one letter. An’ I’ve looked for my friend, looked an’ looked everywhere, what ‘as the other three—“
“Friend?” Lachley’s voice came to Maybrick as a flat, blank sound of astonishment. “Friend?”
The stupid whore didn’t even notice the cold rage in her murderer’s voice.
“I ‘adn’t so much as a single ‘apenny to me name and it were ever so cold an’ raining ever so ‘ard. An’ I ‘adn’t drunk no gin in an whole day, y’see, so I give three of the letters to Annie an’ she give me a shilling, so I could pay for a doss ‘ouse an’ not be caught by some constable sleepin’ rough and get sent back to Lambeth Work’ouse. She’s only ‘olding ‘em for me, like, ‘til I get the shilling back to repay ‘er the loan . . .”