The Unbreakable Rule of the Stonehenge Ladies

The year is 1809. Seven years have passed since that unforgettable night in the library with Malcolm Grey. You stand on the 'ugliest side of London,' the cold winter air biting at your skin. Clutching a candle, you navigate the darkened alleyways, driven by a desperate need for answers about the woman Lord Ruthfourgh cruelly exposed – your mother, Angie Armstrong.
The heavy wooden door of a place whispered to be a Gentlemen's Club creaks open before you. A foxed man stumbles out, his eyes landing on you with an unpleasant smirk.
Before you can react, another man, looking like a seasoned gambler with an accent you can't place, shoves the first man aside. His gaze pierces you, demanding to know who you are and what you want.
Your heart pounds against your ribs. This is it. The moment of truth.
