Robert hadn't visited Pearl yet, since he had been conveniently busy with his studies and with pretending his entire family didn't exist. But when the incendiary article had forced itself under his eyes by means of a concerned (read: gossip-hungry) friend from back in Whitby, Robert could no longer pretend not to know what was going on at home. Or rather, outside of the home, which was exactly the problem. 

He had taken the first train home, had spent some time trying to figure out in which part of the bloody slum (that was, Whitby town) Pearl lived, and when he had found it, he rapped his knuckles on the door with such force that they bruised. He held the newspaper in the other hand.