and clubbed by bobbies the artists depicted as monstrous ogres. The public had been outraged. It seemed unlikely, so soon after such a large dose of bad press, the police would dare repeat their error.
“No, not the police.” Amanda’s voice shook and her grip on Louise’s hand tightened painfully. “On the far side of the stage. Oh, God, it’s him!”
“Who?” Louise scanned the crowd, unable to pick out a familiar face.
“Darvey. The pimp who . . . Don’t you remember? I hope he doesn’t see me.”
It took Louise a moment to recall why that name should be important. But the sheer terror in Amanda’s eyes soon brought it back to her. Roger Darvey—the bawd under whose fist Amanda had labored before she’d escaped to a better life.
“Surely he won’t recognize you now. Dressed as you are and all these years later.”
“I pray not. Oh please no, he’s coming this way.” Amanda danced in place, wild with agitation, hemmed in by the packed crowd but ready to bolt.
Louise held her firm, hoping to calm her. Running through this mob of women, standing shoulder to shoulder as they cheered Mrs. Fawcett, would be impossible. And the disturbance created by Amanda’s frantic dash would only draw the pimp’s attention to her, if he hadn’t already seen her.
“He can’t have noticed you from this far away, among all these other women. Anyway, why would he still be looking for you? Or even care where you’ve gone.”
Amanda’s pretty face contorted, her eyes fever bright with frenzy. “He punishes those who cross him,” she hissed. “I seen him kick a woman to death.”
“Amanda, please listen—”
“His pride, don’t you see?” her friend whispered urgently, lips an inch from Louise’s ear. “I was the girl who got away. Makes him look bad.” When Louise pulled away to look in Amanda’s eyes, tears had filled them.
“Quiet now,” Louise soothed. “Be brave. Keep your head down. He’ll pass by and be gone soon.” She watched the man move slowly through the crowd, shoulders hunched, head lowered, as if intent on private thoughts. He wasn’t even looking their way.
Some of the tension in Amanda’s face smoothed away. But her gaze never left the man in the patched jacket and battered top hat. She let out a breath, relaxed her death grip on Louise. “Thank you,” she whispered. “How many girls on the street find a princess to befriend them? To dig them out of the gutters. That’s why we’re here. So girls like me won’t have to—”
“Hush!” Louise warned.
At first it seemed to her that Darvey was rudely cutting through the middle of the crowd, solely to display his annoyance with the women’s presence. She’d seen similar behavior from men who ordinarily had better manners. Darvey’s downturned eyes were hard and angry and spiteful, as if he resented every single female standing there and demanding what, by right, ought to be hers. Moving faster now, he shoved one woman after another out of his way, making no attempt to excuse himself.
Louise felt her lips begin to turn up in a relieved smile, believing he’d missed them entirely, but then his ground-anchored gaze flicked upward, just once, directly at Amanda. She saw the shadow of a leer on his pulpy lips.
“Come this way,” Louise said. There was no time for explanation.
Amanda followed her glance to where Darvey was pressing forward, more quickly now, his trajectory having shifted directly toward them. A deathlike rigor seized Amanda’s lovely features. She let out a terrified shriek.
Hand in hand, they squeezed through a dense knot of women in dark-colored, severe dresses. They might have moved faster through a vat of molasses, whereas Darvey had the advantage of his size and willingness to knock to the ground anyone who stood in his way.
Louise looked back over her shoulder. He was gaining on them.
She cast around frantically for the bobbies she’d seen earlier. But if they were still anywhere within this part of the park, she could no longer see them through the wall of bodies. As they left Hyde Park by way of Cumberland Gate and burst into Oxford Street, Louise glanced around at the gated houses and shops with their CLOSED signs. They’d all locked down, in case things got out of hand and the ladies should suddenly take it into their heads to loot a butcher shop or hattery. She hastily calculated distances to safe havens. Neither Buckingham nor Kensington Palace were close enough to reach before Darvey fell upon them.
Amanda must have been thinking