Into The Hall Of Vice. Anabelle Bryant

as layered in filth as the inhabitants. You would not know of such living condition as it should be.’ He huffed a long breath as if by effort he could expel his disdain and ignore the injustice.

      ‘I doubt you can lump them all together in one group. Surely the people there have found themselves in a difficult position and need help more than condemnation.’ She busied herself with the jam pot.

      ‘That is why females, compassionate, kind women, cannot take part in a discussion of reform. You must not think with your heart and delicate nature.’ He gentled his expression though a muscle still ticked in his cheek. ‘The rookeries are filled with filthy degradation, corrupt and man-made, not a situation of circumstance but rather a choice by those who decide to live in dire poverty without bettering themselves.’

      ‘The rookeries?’ She attempted to rationalise the picture her brother painted with his description and the neat row house she’d attempted to visit.

      ‘Named for a type of crow, the rook, a thieving, meddlesome bird that nests in large, noisy colonies stealing food and multiplying. It is why the crammed living conditions of that area are labelled as such. The place is a honeycomb of blind alleys and narrow streets with random cesspools of dilapidated houses not fit for human occupation. Disease and pestilence abound. Somehow the population grows despite the threat to deadly illness and violent crime.’ His jaw tightened in visible disgust.

      ‘So you’ve visited this place? These rookeries?’ A note of new-found esteem on her brother’s behalf laced through the questions.

      ‘Absolutely not.’ He chuckled in a condescending manner. ‘Dear Gemma. You are as your name implies, a gem like no other. I would never visit such a place. My boots are made of the finest leather.’

      It took a full minute for Gemma to mollify her desire to object. The best she could do in the end was temper her comments. ‘Perhaps that is part of the problem. Were more noblemen to visit and offer assistance in development, these rookeries could be improved.’ Still at odds with his vehement response, she sought to offer a rational suggestion.

      ‘Without stronger legislature, all will be for naught. The appalling deprivation and dire poverty will continue. That is why I believe it would be best to level the whole of it. Clear the deplorable conditions and palsied houses. Drive the inhabitants out. A mass eviction of some sort to rid the parasitic from greater London.’

      Gemma inhaled sharply at her brother’s calm delivery. ‘Where would they go? You would evict them from the very place they call home.’ She could hardly eat for the drastic, appalling vision her brother proposed and placed her spoon on the plate as if it burned her fingers. ‘Poverty is an immense social ill and the duty of London who should partake in the improvements.’

      ‘Dear sister, I understand your tender sensibilities but there is no place for apathy in the political process.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Enough of this talk. I don’t know how you drew me into conversation unfit for a lady of high esteem. I suppose I needed to expel a modicum of frustration. The rookeries are bleak and noisome and you are beauty and light. We will change the subject. What will you do with your day?’