Free Belle by Lesley Pearse Page A

compromise.
    She had never, and would never, offer a child to anyone. Men had often asked her to find them one, but she had always showed such men the door, making them quite aware what she thought of such sick practices.
    Now that Belle was missing and maybe on the verge of being molested by a brute, she realized how stupid she’d been not to have foreseen something like this. How could she have imagined she could keep Belle safe when she lived in a brothel?
    ‘You were right, I should’ve sent her away to a boarding school,’ Annie said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘It was stupid to keep her here with me.’
    Annie knew exactly why she hadn’t sent Belle away. It was because she was the one good thing in her life, in truth her only reason for living. She had felt that by keeping her close she could prevent any harm ever coming to her daughter.
    She looked at Mog with tear-filled eyes. ‘Even if this hadn’t happened, sooner or later she would’ve become aware what was going on.’
    ‘Stop blaming yourself and start thinking who we can get to help us.’ Mog took no pleasure in being right about sending Belle away. Besides, although she’d pushed for it, she had felt nothing but relief when Annie refused to do it. Belle was so precious to her that even a day without her was too long.
    ‘What’s the name of that man that was sweet on Millie? The youngish one with the red cheeks. Wasn’t he some kind of investigator?’
    Annie frowned. ‘Noah Bayliss! I think you’re right. Millie said he wrote for a newspaper too. But how will we find him?’
    ‘We can start by looking in the house book,’ Mog said. ‘I know they all put false names, but Noah weren’t what you’d call a regular gaming man, he might have put his real address.’

Chapter Six
    A rapping at his door penetrated Noah’s deep slumber and made him open his eyes cautiously. He couldn’t see anything; the heavy curtains were drawn. ‘What is it?’ he called out feebly, for he’d drunk a great deal the previous night.
    ‘There’s a lady to see you,’ Mrs Dumas, his landlady, called back. ‘She said she was sorry to call so early, but she wanted to catch you afore you went to work.’
    ‘I haven’t got any work today,’ Noah murmured. ‘What’s this in connection with?’ he asked in a louder voice.
    ‘She said it was Millie.’
    Noah was suddenly wide awake. He knew only one Millie, and although he couldn’t imagine why anyone would be calling on him here about her, he was intrigued. ‘I’ll be right down,’ he called as he threw back the bedcovers.
    Noah Bayliss was thirty-one, unmarried and living a somewhat precarious life financially because although he was both a freelance journalist and an investigator for an insurance company, neither paid very much or even offered work on a regular basis. Journalism was Noah’s real love; he dreamed constantly of getting the big scoop, so that The Times would offer him a permanent position on their staff. Often he projected that daydream even further to becoming editor of the paper. But to his disappointment he was never sent to cover exciting or important news stories like a sensational trial or an inquest. Mostly he only got ordered to report on very dull council meetings, or other news stories that would be given less than an inch of space at the back of the paper.
    Even claiming he was an investigator for insurance companies was something of an exaggeration. Mostly he was just sent along to see claimants in their own home and report back anything which could be suspicious. He usually had to call after a death to see the grieving widow or widower. He hadn’t as yet met anyone where there was the slightest whiff of poison, a push down the stairs or anything which might point to the death being other than a natural one, though he couldn’t help but hope that one day he might.
    He washed his face in cold water from the jug on the washstand, slipped on a clean shirt and rescued his