"What do you mean he will not see me?" Montague demanded. "I have been waiting as instructed, by you might I add, for well over the hour. And you have the audacity to only inform me now that he will not see me? You tell the Warden I insist he speak with me. I will not tolerate such blatant disregard for my time and person."

"And I is telling you, the Warden is not available."

"We had an understanding," replied Cedric coldly; "or had you conveniently forgotten our little arrangement Mr Stevens?"

He watched as the rotund, balding man worried his hands together. Montague folded his arms across his chest, his stance radiating that he had no intention of going anywhere.

"You tell the Warden he will see me now."

"But I has already told you, Mr Turnpike is busy."

"Well if that is the case my dear Mr Stevens, I think I shall require you to hand over what is rightfully mine."

The weaselly little man sheepishly looked to his scuffed, beaten boots; mumbling under his breath.

"Mr Stevens?" Montague pressed.

"I ain't got what you gave me. I spent it."

"Well that is a pity indeed. Though entirely not my problem. Now as I see it you can do either one of two things; produce the Warden, or I shall take back what is rightfully mine."

"I told you I ain't got it," Stevens replied, his voice betraying his building alarm. There was something unnerving about the well-dressed gentleman, a restrained calmness he did not trust at all.

"Oh Mr Stevens, do you honestly believe that I shall only except coin in exchange for coin?" He leaned forward, loaming over the nervous man, casually brushing at nothing in particular on his shoulder. "A whole five pounds was it not? I mean really how does a man lose such a sum in one evening?" Montague closed his large leather gloved hand over Mr Stevens shoulder and squeezed tightly. "But no matter, I shall simply need to settle for my pound of flesh, so to speak. All of five of them."

He watched as what little colour still favoured Stevens unhealthy complexion drained even further leaving him all but grey.

"Yer a gentleman, you would never."

"You have no idea what I am, nor the company that I keep. Perhaps in future you will be a little less eager to offer your services when in truth you seem quite unable to deliver what was promised."

He squeezed his thumb further into the hollow of the horrid little mans collar bone. Lord he hoped his bravado would be enough to carry him through. Montague had to stop himself from sighing in relief as he watched the sweat trickle down Stevens face, clearly he feared him.

"Perhaps I could try the Warden just one more time. Tell him it really is important that he see you."

Instantly Montague let the man go, stepping back to lean casually against the wall behind him.

"Now that would indeed be marvellous. Oh and Mr Stevens do run along quickly, for I have other people to see. Not to mention I may know several gentleman most eager to make your acquaintance."

The little man physically shuddered as he left Montague once again standing in the small waiting area adjacent to the main entrance. Once certain he was entirely on his own Montague let out the breath he had been holding, placing his hand on the wall to steady his nerves. Intimidation had never been his strong suite; but that had gone better than even he had envisioned. He grinned to himself, a pound of flesh indeed.

He sat upon the singular wooden chair once more, readying himself for another period of waiting. He hated visiting any type of workhouse; the smells, the noise, the voices, everything about the place put him on edge. He thought of Alice Bingley, an innocent born into such a place only to be sold into a life even more horrid as a mere child. So engrossed in his thoughts was he, Cedric barely noticed the woman approaching him until she was practically upon him.

"Mr Montague? Mr Turnpike will see you in his office. If you will follow me please."

She made no further attempt at conversation, striding forward, her boots echoing with each step upon the stone flooring. She looked a woman perhaps in her late fifties Montague observed. Her greying hair was pulled tightly into a severe bun at the base of her neck, her dress sombre and her expression austere.

He followed her taking in his surroundings: the building was huge, solid brick and grey stone, the air becoming more chilled the further they ventured along the darkened corridors. Suddenly she stopped and gestured for him to go ahead of her through an open door. He did so, entering a room containing only a few chairs and a small wooden desk stacked high with papers. On the opposite wall stood a large set of double doors.

"The Warden will call on you directly if you will take a seat." She walked over the stack of papers, casually glancing over the top few items.

"Thank you, Miss?"

She looked up from the papers, clearly annoyed. "Mrs Hern. I am the matron here at Waterhouse."

"Really how fascinating," Cedric replied trying his best to be as charming to the woman as he was able. "It must be such a rewarding position, doing what one can to help those less fortunate."

"Quite," she replied looking at him coolly. There was something about him she found unsettling. He did not look like the sort of men who usually wished a private meeting with the Warden. She took in his handsome face; clean cut and youthful. Although his face was expressionless, she could see the warmth in his eyes; such a man did not belong in a place like this. She could only hope he was better than the men who often sought out the Turnpikes. But then what else could be the purpose of his visit?

"You are examining me Mrs Hern," Montague spoke gently, unwilling to scare her off quite yet. "Tell me how long have you worked at Waterhouse?"

"Near on thirty two years, been the matron for the last eleven."

"Such a span of time. The things you must have seen, working in such a place." He paused watching her expression, "The secrets you must have witnessed. I am sure there is nothing that gets past you."

"What is it you are insinuating sir? Just exactly what are you..."

They were interrupted by one of the large wooden doors being thrown open followed by the appearance of a large red headed man.

"I am Frank Turnpike, Warden here at Waterhouse. I hear you wish to have a meeting with me, Mr?

"Montague. I must thank you for granting me a moment of your time as I am but in Scarborough for only a few days and the matter is most pressing."

The tall burley man stepped aside, indication that Cedric should pass through into his office. Casting a final glance towards Mrs Hern, he allowed Mr Turnpike to close the door behind him.

The office, if one could call it that, was full of half drank bottles, empty tumblers, furniture that had seen better days and cigar ash upon every surface.

"Take a seat," Turnpike gestured to the ratty arm chair across from his large laden high desk. Turnpike rummaged through the mess, picking up a half smoked cigar and leaning forward, lit the half burnt stub upon an open candle flame. He took several slow puffs before offering it to Montague, which he declined.

"Now what is it I can do for you? Can tell by your get up this ain't just a social call."

"No indeed, I am here on behalf of my client."

"Thought as much. Let me guess, is your client in the business of purchasing? Got a few lovely new admissions recently, entirely fresh. And I can keep them unspoilt, for the right price."

Montague stared at the man blankly, doing all in his power to keep his temper at bay.

"Not interested in the goods I have on offer eh? Tsk tsk, your master has been a naughty boy. Must be a deposit your master is after."

"I have no master," Montague replied hastily before the Warden could tell him anything else he did not wish to hear. "I am here on a legal matter on behalf of one of my clients. I was hoping you could share with me some information with regards to a previous charge left in the care of the workhouse and the outcome of her child which was born within these very walls. It was likely in the days when your father was in charge. Am I correct in assuming your father held the position of Warden back in 1775?"

Turnpike stiffened in his chair. "Now look ere, I don't know who you think you are coming in ere asking questions. But I ain't got no information to give you or anyone else you send. It was you wasn't it, sent that bow street runner to my door but not last week. And I will tell you what I would of told him: I ain't giving you nothing.

"Now see here Mr Turnpike, be reasonable. You have not even heard my request and I am more than willing to pay for the information I wish to obtain."

The Warden laughed low, stubbing his cigar upon the desk. "You think I need money from the likes of you? Some toff coming into my kingdom? You ain't in London anymore, you ain't got no power here. If your going to ask me the same questions that yer Mr Michaels was asking around town, I would save your breath and watch yer back. No one likes a snitch round here."

"But I have not even asked you a single question upon the detail which I seek. What do you know of Alfred Bingley or more importantly his father Mr Matthew Bingley?"

Upon hearing the names confirmed the Warden stood. "Let me make myself clear. You will hear nothing from me. I suggest you leave at once before I am forced to remove you."

"I can see this has been a waste of my time. I would thank you, however you deserve no such admission."

"Get the frig out of my workhouse before I call my men. And I swear to God if I see your face again you will be sorry."


Montague poured himself a large glass of brandy, a reward he neither deserved nor particularly desired. The day had been nothing but a disappointment. He had gained no new information. He had wasted hours at the workhouse only to be met by the vile Frank Turnpike. Oh course the man had not wished to talk of past indiscretions, it was clear the son had taken the reigns of his father's side business. Montague considered going to the local magistrate but what was the point? Surely he would already know about the goings on at the workhouse. Lord it had likely been going on for over thirty years. A worst notion entered Cedric's mind; the magistrate likely turned a blind eye because such an admission suited him. Montague shuddered at such a thought, before downing half his glass.

He had ordered supper to be brought to his rooms. He did not wish to admit it, but Frank Turnpikes threats had shaken him. He would be a fool to poke an angry bear. He still had other people on his list worth a visit.

He undid his cravat and was just about to dispose of his waistcoat when he heard a knock upon his chamber door. He was in no mood to dine so early, but knew he would regret it later if he did not accept the tray now. He opened the door and paused in surprise.

"Let me in then before someone should see."

He stepped back allowing the woman to enter, closing the door hastily behind her.

"How on earth did you know I was here?" Montague asked.

"I had one of the old inmates follow you. We allow them out on Tuesday afternoons, no one would think anything of it. Do not look so worried I can trust him completely."

"Yes but can I say the same thing of you?"

Mrs Hern lowered the scarf from her head. "May I?" she asked inclining her head towards the unstopped brandy decanter.

Montague gestured for her to take a seat before handing her a fresh glass of the amber liquid.

"They do not know I am here. No one must know, do you understand?"

"They?"

"The Turnpikes. Benjamin may no longer be the Warden but it is he who rules the workhouse no doubt about that. Frank does just as his pa tells him."

"I must confess I am rather confused by you seeking me out. I did not get the impression earlier that in you I could expect to find a willing informer."

"Well how was I to know who you were? You could be just as bad as the rest of them. You left young Frank in quite the rage, overheard him talking to his pa not long after. Mentioned that Mr Michaels from last week repeatedly so he did. Said you wanted to know about Matthew Bingley."

"And what if I do," Montague asked carefully, eyeing the woman opposite him with some suspicion. "What is it you wish to tell me? Or should I be asking how much such information shall cost?"

"Why do you want to know about the Bingley's? Tell me why you are asking questions about a dead man."

"I am acting as legal council on behalf of my client, the nature of such business I am not privy to divulge. I am merely trying to understand the background of a certain individual who was born within the walls of Waterhouse."

"Alice Price."

"I am sorry, what do you mean? I never said of whom I was seeking."

"I overheard that man Mr Michaels asking questions outside the workhouse. I remembered the names he mentioned. I knew Alice Price and Alice Smyth. Both were born in the work house. Alice Price was a good few years older than little Alice, she helped care for her as a babe. Took to her like she was her own sibling. Close as sisters the two were. Pretty little thing, the darkest eyes you had ever seen and hair the colour of ebony. As soon as I heard the names Matthew Bingley I knew you could only be looking for Alice Price. Must be well over twenty years since I last saw the girl."

"May I ask how you knew such a thing?"

The older woman paused, a pained expression upon her face. "I am no Saint, Mr Montague. I got my own family to feed and my own way to make in this world; but that does not mean I do not regret how men run this world. I do what I can, I try and keep the young'uns safe. Started myself in the infirmary, wasn't much older than eighteen when I got the job. I had just had my eldest and I was glad of the work. I did not know then what I know now. Old Turnpike would admit the mistresses of wealthy men in order for them to give birth in secret. The children would sometimes be taken away but many were just left to the workhouse. The woman were either left to work or taken back once deemed fit to be of use once more. Gone on for years."

"Yes, I guessed as much, but that is not their only side hustle is it Mrs Hern?"

"No sir. They have supplied many a young girl when a master or establishment comes looking. The Turnpikes have quite the reputation when it comes to supply meeting demand for such a thing."

"And you calmly stand by and allow such a depraved act to continue to happen?"

"Now steady on, what choice do I have? I try and watch over them best I can when they are under my roof but you do not go against the Turnpikes. They have everyone in town lining their pockets."

"Then why not report such behaviour? I have been contemplating seeking out the magistrate myself to raise my concerns."

She laughed bitterly, taking a sip from her brandy glass. "Judge Patterson would never bite the hand which feeds him. It is not just young girls that appeal to his taste."

Montague sighed upon hearing confirmation of a thought be himself was already beginning to see as truth. In a small town such as this, near on everyone would have something to gain, or lose by exposing the corruption within the workhouse.

"Tell me what you know of Matthew Bingley?"

"He was a horrid man. Wicked temper. He owned the brothel down on Hampton Lane. Did'nae run the place himself, but everyone knew it was his. Set himself up from his father's haberdashery. Used to take his favourite girls to work in the shop for him. But you must already know this, or why else would you be asking about Alice Price? Everyone knew to stay away from his favourite girls. Poor Alice never stood a chance really. His poor wife, knew exactly what sort of man she had for a husband, rarely showed her face in town. I din'nae know what hold he had over old Turnpike, but he had something on him. Never seen Benjamin or Frank scared of anyone except Matthew and his son."

"His son?"

"Alfred Bingley. He's been running his father's shop for years, long before his father passed. Has several more I think, but tis not where his wealth comes from nowadays if you know what I mean. Owns several so called boarding houses around town. More savvy than his father, more discreet."

Montague quickly flicked through the pages of his small black notebook. "Would one of these establishments happen to be run by a Mrs Yates?"

"She runs the house on Chapel Street, I can not confirm if the place belongs to him." Raising from her chair, Mrs Hern began to fix her scarf once more. "I really should be leaving. I have already shared far more than I intended to tell. Stay away from the workhouse. Frank never makes empty threats, make no mistake he has eyes and ears everywhere."

"Wait please, before you leave one final question. What happened to Alice Price? Did Matthew Bingley purchase her directly from the workhouse? I must know?"

"You are asking me to recall particulars from over twenty years ago. All I know is she was a pretty girl and suddenly she was no longer in my care. I know none of the details."

"Please think, it really is of the utmost importance."

"I am sorry but I have told you everything I know. The only reason I knew she must be one of Bingley's girls was I had heard people talk of pretty young lass now working in his shop. I knew it could only be her for little Alice Smyth was soon taken to work alongside her. That is the reason I can recall the two of them so clearly, she never would leave her little sister behind."