The King's Evil

Molly Mandrake was in her counting house, seated at her desk as she assessed the takings from the night before. Business had been brisk and money rolled in with encouraging ease. Every payment was entered in her ledger. Only a small percentage of the income would go to the girls whose bodies had helped to earn it. They understood that. In taking them into her service, Molly was their benefactress. She had rescued them from cruder establishments where disease and violence could bring an early end to their careers, and she introduced them to clients from the very pinnacle of society. In her opinion, they should be paying her for the privileges she had bestowed on them.

There was a tap on the door and she broke off from her work.

'Come in!'

The door opened and the black manservant entered with a letter.

'This has just arrived for you, Mrs Mandrake,' he said.

'Who sent it?'

'Henry Redmayne. The messenger is awaiting your reply.'

'Why?'

When she read the letter, she understood. Letting out a cry of joy, she reached for some writing paper.

'Give this to the messenger at once,' she said, scribbling away with excitement. 'When you have done that, send Damarosa to me.' 'Damarosa?'

'Tell her that I have some wonderful news for her.'