Peregrine sighed. London was full of girls like this one. Many were in worse straits, selling their scrawny bodies in doorways, prey to any man who wanted them, hoping for a coin in return. They were like the sands of the sea, endless, unnumbered, living and dying like mayflies.
His early life had been a ruthless course in survival, and he had quickly learned that compassion was a dangerous luxury. He had seen every possible degree of degradation and suffering, and knew better than to waste his time with rescue or reform. If he chose, he could help this girl, but what was the point of saving one little whore? It would make no difference to that vast, endless, tragic horde of broken children.
But as Jenny stared at him with great stark eyes, he knew that it would make a difference to her.
Usually Peregrine was deliberate in his actions, capable of infinite patience when necessary. But sometimes he felt a powerful, irrational impulse, and when he did, he always obeyed it.
He felt such an impulse now. While he was no savior, it was not against his principles to lend a hand if doing so would not interfere with his other goals. And he owed someone a good deed. "I don't want you for a mistress," he said brusquely. "But if you really want to leave, I can give you a place to stay and help you find a job that will support you."
Jenny's breath caught, as if she had not believed that he would respond to her plea. "Oh, I want to leave," she whispered, "I surely do. But she'll never let me just walk out of here."
Peregrine thought a moment. He could probably buy the girl's freedom if he wanted to, but stealing her away from Mrs. Kent would be both cheaper and more satisfying. Besides, he preferred stealth as a matter of general policy.
"Is this always your room?" After she nodded, he continued, "I'll come tomorrow night, between two and three o'clock in the morning. I'll throw pebbles against the glass. If you are alone and ready to leave, open the window and I'll throw up a rope."
"I'm not sure I can lift the sash," she said uncertainly. "It's painted shut."
He stood and went to the window. When he pushed aside the layers of heavy, opaque draperies, he saw that she was right. Probably the window had not been opened in years, possibly decades. Taking the concealed knife from his boot, he slid the blade around the edge of the window frame, then tried to lift the lower sash. His arms strained until he feared that the glass might shatter. Then the sash suddenly broke free and surged upward with a raucous, grating noise.
Leaning out, Peregrine saw that a dark, noisome alley separated the brothel from the building next door. All the brothel's windows were heavily curtained, so it was unlikely that anyone would look out and see that an inmate was escaping. He counted windows so that he would know the correct one when he returned, then he had Jenny lower and raise the stiff sash to be sure she could manage it alone.
Anxiously she said, "If I'm not alone when you get here, will you wait for me?"
"For half an hour or so. If you still can't leave, I'll come back the next night, and the night after if necessary. The rope I toss up will have knots every foot and a half or so. Do you think you will be able to climb down without a problem?"
"I'll manage," she said tersely.
Deciding that he had been with the girl long enough to make it seem that he'd done what was expected, Peregrine crossed to the door. "I'll go now. I assume that you will make the sheets look convincing so that your mistress won't be suspicious of what has happened—or rather, what hasn't happened?"
Jenny gave him an indignant glance. "Of course I will. I know a lot more about this kind of thing than you seem to."
"I defer to your greater experience," he said, amused. Then his slight smile faded. "You are sure you want to leave? You know nothing of me. I might be a worse monster than Mrs. Kent."
She shrugged. "Aye, you might be. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. There's no future for me here, and I may never have another chance like this."
"You're a brave girl."
"Or a stupid one," she answered with cockney tartness. In the subdued light she looked like a child ready to be put to bed by her nurse, but the expression on her small face was thoroughly adult.
Peregrine was glad that he had obeyed his impulse. The girl was intelligent and resilient, and she deserved a chance to forge a better life for herself. He guessed that she would make good use of her opportunity.
* * *
Later that night, after a sated, self-satisfied Weldon had dropped his guest off at the Clarendon Hotel, Peregrine sat up until he had recorded all the details of his night's tour. The names and addresses would prove useful to Benjamin Slade's investigations.