"And where are you headed so fast, whelp?" She looked up; and up; and up; into steely gray eyes that contemplated her with a strange spark that she didn't recognize. He grabbed her chin and forced her head to an even sharper angle. "Well, well, well. I think we might have a little thief on our hands, what do you say, Prox?"
     "Looks like it to me, master," Abby heard a man say from somewhere to her left. She tried to look in his direction, but the hand that held her was like iron, and at her slight movement, its grip tightened so much, she knew she�d have a bruise the shape of his hand there the next morning, if she survived that long. "What're we going to do with her, master?" The querulous voice next to her sounded again.
     "Well Proxy, we ought to report her to the police, oughtent we?" He looked at her again, his eyes ruthless. She was vaguely aware that his crony had answered him but was caught in the vicious vortex of his eyes. "Do you know what they do to whelps like you who are caught thieving?"
     Abby, in her horror, was struck dumb. She knew what they did to thieves. Seeing the horror and fear in her eyes, the giant that held her chortled, and she heard his cohort cackle with malicious glee. "Seems that she knows, Proxy old man." Then to her, "Not much chance of getting along in the streets with no hands is there, my sweet?" She tried to shake her head, but his tight grip prevented her from doing so. She settled for a whimper, struggling desperately not to let the hot, fearful tears that were so close to the surface spill over her face.
     Abruptly, he flung her back, and for a split second, she thought he was letting her go free. Then she fell back into a man who was standing behind her. The man grabbed both of her wrists and twisted them behind her back so hard that she thought her arms would surely break. She could now see her first large tormentor clearly, and what she saw frightened even beyond what she already felt. He was unendingly tall, as she had already surmised by the crick in her neck from looking at him. His shoulders were so large that they seemed to her to block out the sun, leaving her in his cold shadow. He was not burly like the blacksmith or butcher, but from the outline of his body under tight-fitting shirt and breeches, his muscles rippled visibly just under his skin with his every movement. He looked lithe, and ready to pounce like a larger version of the alley cats- one that stalked his prey on two legs instead of four.
     She did not see the partner who had spoken before, and deduced that the man who held her captive was actually the man Proux, with the whiny voice. From his voice, she had envisioned a small, weasel-like man, but from the feel of him pressing against her back, and the strength of his grip on her wrists, she realized that he must be much bigger than her first premonition had told her.
     As she finished her lightning-fast appraisal of her captors, she realized that the large man in front of her was likewise appraising her, with a lecherous look in his eyes. "Quite a fine little tidbit we�ve found ourselves here, eh Proxy?" He went on without allowing his crony to respond, "Yes my dear, I believe that we may be able to consider other avenues with which to deal with you."
     She shuddered at the look in his eyes, and for the first time her eyes left her tormentor as she searched wildly for an escape. Desperately she tried to meet the eyes of passers-by, but all hurried past, their eyes on the ground before them, determined not to get involved. Everyone knew that the nobility were all-powerful, especially when it came to the common trash that lined every street in London- the beggars, the pickpockets, the whores. This girl in the grip of two well-to-do gentlemen obviously fell into this category, and the people hurrying by had families to provide for, to go home to. They could not risk getting involved. Abby knew she could not expect help from any direction, and the eyes she turned back to her captor were filled with hopelessness and despair. She slumped in the hands of the man holding her and waited for her sentence.
     The man smiled a cold, hard smile at her. He knew as well as she the hopelessness of her situation. He knew from the look in her eyes that he had won. "My pretty, you could be wined and dined, dressed in all the prettiest silks and satins, sleep in the finest beds, meet the richest men in all of London." Her eyes grew wide as she contemplated riches she had never even dreamed of. "Yes, my pretty, all this could be yours, if you would but give of all the succulent fruits you have to offer." He reached forward and caressed her breast gently with the back of his hand, then grasped it in the palm of his hand, leaving no doubt as to his meaning. She gasped, her eyes once more filled with horror, as he squeezed her breast painfully.
     Suddenly, he stood back and let her go. She realized that the tears she had been holding in were now coursing down her cheeks. They felt hot as the smithy�s fires, so hot, she was sure that they were searing the skin off her face. She almost hoped that they were scarring her face forever so the man would lose interest in her and leave her alone. She knew from his unchanged expression of triumph that the bane she�d hoped fore had not come to pass.
     "Well, girl, what do you say? If that idea is not to your liking, I can call the police right now and my partner and I will be off, right Prox?" The man, already sure of her answer, made as if to summon the police.
     "No!" The exclamation was ripped from her lungs in a panic. The man turned back to her and leaned toward her, his hand caressing her breast again. The feel of it almost made her sick, and she couldn't meet his eyes, but she knew what would happen to her if the police came. She would no longer be able to pick pockets if she had no hands, and she was too old to be an effective beggar. She knew that the only recourse would be to be a common whore. Men didn't pay much for whores without hands.
     "What is your choice, girl? We haven't all day, you know." The man boomed impatiently.
     "Yes, master, I will go with you." She could barely speak the words, and at the moment she ground them out, the triumph in his eyes was complete. He turned and hailed a hack, then lifted her into it. He got in beside her and his partner sat outside, next to the driver.
     "I am Charles, girl, but that is of no consequence to you. You will, first and always, call me Master."

     Abby jerked herself out of her memories and looked around the cozy room as if coming out of a dream and reassuring herself of reality. She did not want to be remembering those times. They had been the worst of her life, and she had worked very hard to put them out of her mind. She had images of scandalously scanty silks, fine food and wine that she never had the appetite for, beatings that left no marks, and man after man doing unspeakable things to her. She remembered one of the men, who had taken a particular fancy to her and going to live in a small cottage as his personal whore. It had not taken many brains to get away from that situation and, finally getting out, she found that not only her captor was hunting her, but also the leader of the ring of thieves she had been part of. That was when she found the ad and had come here to the new world.
     She had thought herself and her daughter safe from evil men, hidden away as they were there in the deep forest. Then, there in the clearing, embracing her only daughter, her only solace in the world, was a man with the face of a man she had never forgotten no matter how hard she had tried. She remembered vividly the feeling of hopelessness and helplessness that she had felt in the arms of her captor and when she freed herself from him, she vowed that she never again would allow herself to feel those feelings. She was strong now, she would save herself.
     She hated the fact that she felt so helpless now. She knew that this new man could be no good. It was not Charles, that much was obvious by his young age, but it was clearly someone who had some close relation to her much-hated master. She wondered if Master was still looking for her, and had a brief flash of fear that he would take her back to the place she had barely survived the first time. Then she remembered the fire that had scarred her so badly and heaved a sigh of relief. The fire had delivered her in many ways. She also knew that if she forbade her daughter to see this man at all that she was likely to lose her only love in the world. She felt so helpless, and she was certain that this new man had brought her to it. She sat back on her bed and contemplated what she must do.