A/N: I'm currently doing NaNo, and my manuscript—a rewrite of Mortality—will actually not be published here on FFN. But I might post snippets from time to time such as this, and see what you guys think of them, because now I'm pushing in different directions...

I don't expect you guys to totally understand what's going on in this scene, because this is a story that has a lot of flashbacks, and stuff is revealed piece by piece over time. But... ah, yeah, feedback would still be appreciated! Pretty please?

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and the Doyle estate is very close to owning nothing, too. :D

==The Woman==

There were many places in London in which respectable women, even of the working class, should never venture. But for the woman sitting at the bar in one of the seedier pubs she knew, respectability was the last thing on her mind. Not that she had to worry about her reputation, in her worn suit and bowler hat and fake moustache.

In a man's world, pretending to be a man gave her a certain degree of freedom she couldn't otherwise have.

She took a drag from her cigarette and sighed. Skulking aimlessly around taverns wasn't going to fix her problems; she needed to get off her backside and on her feet again. Oh, come off it. How much bad luck does a person need to run up before they're entitled to a respite?

A sudden commotion jolted her out of her sulking. A man shouting at a girl, in one of the corners of the establishment. She couldn't make out what he was saying above the din of the place, but he was gesticulating wildly, and the girl was cowering… And there was the blow, across the face.

The woman dressed as a man surged to her feet and strode towards the pair. The girl was now crying, and as the woman got closer, she could make out the words. "Ned, please, Oi don' want to!"

The man struck her again. "Yew'll want to if I say! We need the money, an' I've already made the deal!"

"No, Ned, please!"

The man brought his hand back for another blow, but it never fell. The woman's grip around his wrist was as unforgiving as a shackle. The girl gasped. The man cursed and turned around to face Irene. "Wot the 'ell d'yew think yew're doin'?!"

"Acting like a decent human being," the woman said coldly, belying the fire blazing in her gut, "which is more than I can say for you or anyone else in this sorry dump."

"Leggo of me!" The man's—Ned's—eyes were red-rimmed, his face flushed; he'd clearly had far more liquor than she had.

"Leave this girl alone and I will."

Ned turned back to his prey. "Oh, didja finally git yewrself a man?" There was something very ugly in his tone. "That why yew're not wantin' t'work with His Lordship?"

Terror shone in the girl's eyes. "Oi swear, Oi ain't never seen 'im afore!"

The woman's grip tightened, and Ned cried out. Standing at five foot eleven, she towered over Ned, and leaned in to hiss, "I have nothing to do with this poor girl, and I think you shouldn't, anymore, either. Leave her alone."

"The 'ell Oi will! She's mine! She's my sister!" Ned gave a mighty pull, then, to free himself, and the woman clenched her free fist, driving a left hook into the man's stomach. He doubled over, and she kneed him for good measure, letting go of his wrist and watching in satisfaction as he crumpled to the floor.

She looked up then at his poor sister, who was watching with wide, pale eyes. The woman held out her hand to the girl, who couldn't have been much older than twenty. "Come with me."

The girl hung back, afraid.

The woman sighed in frustration. "Come on! Do you want to stay with that—" she nodded at the figure on the floor—"for the rest of your life?!"

"Oi…"

"I shan't hurt you, I promise." The woman reached out and grabbed the girl's hand, pulling her to the door, the other patrons giving them a wide berth. This was hardly the first time they'd seen this person dressed as a man land a couple of blows on another bloke, and they weren't about to interfere. She had a justified reputation for being brutal, and better still, very few blamed her for it.

"Who are yew?"

The woman waited until they were outside, turned to her, and whispered, "Not a man." Louder: "What's your name?"

"T-Tess." The girl probably thought her companion mad.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the woman said feelingly as she led the girl to a better street so they could catch a cab. Three blocks away from the pub, she let her Estuary accent slip. "I'm trying to help you. What did Ned want you to do?"

Tess didn't even blink at the change in inflection. "'E was gonna s-sell me services to His Lordship. S-said our family needed the money. We are poor folks, mum."

The woman held down her suddenly boiling rage with effort. "Nothing justifies slavery, Tess. Who's this Lordship you speak of?"

"Him what owns the buildin' we live in, mum. That's wot we all call 'im."

"What did His Lordship want with you?" The woman thought she knew, but she wanted to hear her theory confirmed, even if it sickened her.

Tess faltered. "Well… I… I'm pretty, mum."

The woman had to take a deep breath. An outburst will not aid you. You can't do anything about the brother. Help the sister. "Tess, you know that's illegal, right? Selling you to this man to be his…"

"Whore," Tess supplied quietly. "Sure it is, mum. But why would that make any difference?"

"You could go to the police."

"They wouldn't 'elp the likes of me, mum. Wot would Oi go to them, for?"

It was true—unless the brother had written proof of his despicable bargain, the woman couldn't think of a single thing the police could do about the situation. Not with the law as it stood now.

She turned to the girl. "Come home with me," she said softly. "I can help you. I've helped other girls like you, girls with bad families, bad husbands. Just come. You don't have to go back."

Tess shook her head, a glimmer of pride in her eyes for the first time. "Oi won't take no charity, mum."

"Oh, it's not charity." The woman arched an eyebrow. "I'd expect you to work and earn your keep. But I think your dignity would be better served in performing the duties of a maid rather than becoming one in name only."

Tess reddened. "Yewr 'usband won' mind?"

The woman stopped short. "...my husband has no say in how I live my life, Tess. He lost that right."

The girl's eyes widened. "'Ow?"

"I know you love me, Godfrey. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But I need you to look me in the eye, and tell me that you regret what you've done."

"...darling… I do love you."

"...I know. But that isn't enough."

"He sold his soul to the devil, Tess," she said quietly, and whistled to catch the approaching cab—"and he didn't regret doing it. Are you coming?"

The cab rolled up to halt before them, and she watched fear and hope fight for dominance in Tess's too-thin features. Poor girl—she had probably never done anything so brave in her life, escaping her family like this. After a few seconds, she nodded slowly. "Yes, mum."

The woman smiled, and helped her up into the cab. Once they had set off, she turned to the girl and said, "Please, Tess: call me Irene."