Margaret brought more hot water and clean cloths, and Hester began to work as gently as she could. Kitty barely winced when Hester touched the graze, cleaning away the blood, which was now dried, and exposing the raw, torn edges of the skin. As always, Hester did not ask how it happened. Pimps quite often disciplined their women if they thought they were not working hard enough, or were keeping back too big a part of their earnings. Vicious fights between one woman and another happened now and again, mostly over territory. It was best not to appear inquisitive, and anyway, the knowledge would be of no use to her. All the wounded were treated much the same, however their hurts were incurred.

When Hester had done all she could for Kitty, and given her a cup of strong, sweet tea laced with a very small drop of whiskey, Kitty thanked her and went back out into the night, pulling her shawl tighter around her. They saw her go across the square, head high, and disappear into the black shadow of the prison to the north.

“I dunno.” Nell shook her head. “She shouldn’t be out on the street. In’t fer ’er sort, poor bitch!”

There was nothing useful to say. A hundred different circumstances took women into prostitution, often only to supplement a too-meager income from something else. But it all stemmed from the eternal struggle for money.

Nell looked at her. “You keep a still tongue, don’t yer! Ta, missus. I’ll be seein’ yer again, I ’spec’.” She squinted a little at Hester, regarding her with wry kindness. “If I can ’elp yer sometime…” She left the sentence unfinished, shrugging very slightly. Nodding to Margaret, she went out as well, closing the door quietly behind her.

Hester caught Margaret’s eye and saw the flash of humor and pity in her expression. There was no need for words; they had already said all there was to say.