Lord Day and Lady Night

36. Miss Amy Weston, the Wonder of Charitableness

It was truly a heart-breaking story, a tale of woe and wonder, telling of a young woman who had worked ceaselessly to aid the poor, disenfranchised and defenceless people in the London slums.

"...but, recently, gatherin' funds for charity 'as become just about impossible." Amy blinked up at the vicar with big, sad eyes. Too bad she hadn't brought onions with her. A few tears would be just the thing right now. "Most of da London business world 'as bin taken over by a despicable man who, despite being richer dan Croesus, won't give a single penny to charity!"

"No!" The vicar exclaimed in shock, while Karim, for some reason, suddenly had a coughing fit. They were all sitting around the coffee table in a cheerful little room within the vicarage. Jenny was busy balancing her toddlers on her knees, while the others listened to Amy's tale with differing expressions. The vicar seemed to be deeply moved. Patrick, Karim and Titus on the other hand... "How horrible! Who is this despicable individual?"

"P-please, don't make me speak 'is name." Judging the time right, Amy delivered a theatrical shudder that a Covent Garden actress couldn't have pulled off better. "If 'e ever 'eard what I said...It w-would be bad." Mostly, because 'e's yer landlord. Oh, and me best friend's 'usband.

"Don't you worry." Leaning forward, the reverend gently patted the back of her hand. "Just tell us everything you can."

"Yes, Tell us," Patrick said, eyes narrowed. "Even though I know the reason why we're here, of course, I for some reason feel very much interested in hearing this story."

"Of course, gentlemen." Demurely, as befitted a pure maiden, Amy lowered her head in agreement. "I shall tell ye everythin'. It is truly a relief ta be able ta share da burden of dese 'orrible events with strong, reliable men like ye. Da whole of London seems ta be followin' da example of dis 'orrible man. Dere ain't a single penny to be gotten for charity." A hopeful expression spreading over her face—the one she usually gave her more simple-minded clients who believed in their extraordinary equipment—she gazed up at the vicar. "I thought per'aps 'ere, in da country, it would be different. I thought per'aps dat good old Christian values 'ad survived out 'ere far away from da corruption of da big city I detest so much."

She glanced to the side, where Patrick sat, gaping at her, his mouth wide open. She gave him a sad little smile.

"Ye see? Even an experienced man of da world like Lord Patrick is speechless at da depravity of da big city. Thankfully, as a young lady, my life 'as been sheltered so far." She lowered her head even lower, oozing purity. "But dat only makes me wanna 'elp all dose poor souls who are less fortunate."

Jenny, with admirable timing, lowered her head even more demurely than her friend, beating her by at least two inches. "Amen."

The toddler on her left arm nodded energetically. "Agaga!"

Not bad for a two-year-old vicar-in-training.

"Splendid! Splendid!" The vicar clapped, beaming at everyone around. "You seldom find such behaviour in young women nowadays!"

"I," Patrick said, his face as deadpan as a mortuary for cooking pots, "would have to agree. Most young women I have met are very different from these two."

"I couldn't agree more!" The vicar leaned forward excitedly. In his exuberance, he went so far as to commit the extravagance of taking another ginger biscuit from the coffee table they were all seated around. "What, if I may ask, is the name of your charity?"

Amy gave him a beaming smile. "The Pussycat Palace."

"Pffft!"

"What an interesting name!" The vicar exclaimed, while Patrack furiously tried to wipe away the tea he had spewed all over his trousers. "Is there a story behind it?"