Poppy tried a smile on her. “My name is Camille. What is yours?”
The woman put a hand to her face and massaged her temple. “I am Bettina. Madame asked me to show you around. Hurry and finish your soup. I have to be downstairs and dressed by half ten.”
“All right,” said Poppy, eager to find out what she could. “Will you keep me company while I eat? Tell me about this place.”
Bettina shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell. It is a whorehouse, only a little fancier than most, mayhaps.”
“But you must have met many important and famous men,” Poppy pressed. “Like the one who is visiting tonight. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Famous men?” Bettina laughed scornfully. “They all looks the same to me — like a couple of silver pieces.” She frowned and flipped her blond hair back. “You must be new to this b
