Ripping Time

Chapter Six

Polly Nichols needed a drink.

It'd been nearly seven hours since her last glass of gin and she was begi

Polly wore cheap, spring-sided men's boots with steel-tipped heels, which might've been worth something to a pawn broker, had she not cut back the uppers to fit her small legs and feet. Worse, without boots, she could not continue to ply her trade. With rain falling nearly every day and an u

But, God, how she needed a drink...

Maybe she could sell her little broken mirror. Any mirror was a valuable commodity in a doss house—which made Polly reluctant to give it up. For a woman in her business, a mirror was an important professional tool. She frowned. What else might she be able to sell? Her pockets were all but empty as she felt through them. The mirror... her comb... and a crackle of paper. The letters! Her fingers trembled slightly as she withdrew the carefully folded sheets of foolscap. That miserable little puff, Morgan, had lied to her about these letters. There was no name on the paper, other than a signature. She suspected she could figure out who the letter-writer was if she could only get the letters translated from Welsh into English. A translation would make Polly a rich woman. But that wouldn't get her a drink right now.

Well, she could always sell some of the letters, couldn't she? With the agreement that as soon as they found out the identity of the author, they would share the spoils between them. Or, if Polly found out quickly enough, she might simply buy them back by saying she'd had them translated and Morgan had lied to her and the letters were worthless. Yes, that was what she would do. Sell three of the four now, to get her gin money, then get them back with a lie and figure out who to blackmail with the whole set of four. But who to convince to buy them in the first place?

It must be someone as desperate for money as herself, to buy into the scheme. But it couldn't be anyone like an ordinary pawn broker. No, it had to be someone she could trust, someone who would trust her. That left one of a few friends she had made on the streets. Which meant she wouldn't be able to get much up front. But then, Polly didn't need much right now, just enough to buy herself a few glasses of gin and a bed for a night or two. She could always get the letters back the moment she had money from her next paying customer, if it came to that.

The decision as to which of her friends to approach was made for her when Polly saw A

Yes, A

"Well, if it isn't A

The other woman was very small, barely five feet tall, but stoutly built, with pallid skin and wide blue eyes and beautiful teeth that Polly, herself, would have given much to be able to flash at a customer when she smiled. A

A

"Oh, I'm good, A

The two women chuckled for a moment. A

"Say, A

The other woman's eyes darkened. "Not good," she said quietly, with a hoarse rasp in her voice. "It's this rain and cold. Makes my lungs ache, so it's hard to breathe." She sounded like it hurt her to breathe.

"I'd imagine a good bit more money would ‘elp, eh? Maybe even enough to take you someplace warm and dry, right out o' London?"

"Daft, are you, love?" A

Polly winked and leaned close. "Well, as it ‘appens I just might be set to come into a small fortune, y'see. And I might be willin' to share it." She showed A

She drew herself up defensively. "An' if it is? Bloke should ‘ave thought of that before ‘e went about dippin' ‘is Hampton into a bloke's arse'ole! Besides, A

A

Polly patted her shoulder. "That's right, A

A