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The stranger was dressed in brown from head to toe, as flat and dull as the tree bark where he’d all but blended in aside from the startling scar on his face. No one could mistake it, a jagged white line from his eye socket to his chin and just as unsettling as the jarring hackney ride. She wasn’t one to speak to strangers, already troubled by her recent pangs of ambiguity, and so she moved away, staring over her shoulder to ensure he did not follow her as she took the steps, dropped the brass knocker and prayed the door would open.
She darted a glance across the roadway but as far as she could tell the man was gone, dissolved into the ever-present murmur of city life. Drawing a deep breath, she dropped the knocker again, more solidified in her purpose and quick to regain the delightful anticipation of seeing Mr Sinclair again. His hypnotic stare was the exact balm needed to soothe her ruffled feathers. But no one answered. Disappointment caused her shoulders to sag and she placed the basket at the foot of the door, uncertain how to proceed.
‘Looking for Sin, are you?’ A lad, no more than ten years at most, approached the bottom stair, his hands busy with a pair of dice tossed into the air in a pretentious game of catch.
‘I am.’ She reclaimed the basket and descended the stoop. ‘Do you know where I might find him?’
The boy straightened his posture, a half-smile tilting his cheeks. ‘For a shilling I do.’
‘Oh dear.’ She should have anticipated the ruffian entrepreneur would place a price on the information. Clearly she’d need to develop more savvy business acuity. She placed the basket at her feet and opened her reticule to extract the coin but she held it tight, unwilling to offer it forward. ‘That depends on the information you share, young man.’
‘You should call me Ace.’
‘I’d rather call you by your given name. I’d wager your mother chose your name with heartfelt consideration so I’ll use it and you’ll answer if you have any hope of receiving payment.’
Thwarted, the lad dropped his grin, clasped his dice in one fist and flipped a peek to the locked doors above them. ‘I’m Thomas and you’ve no chance of catching anyone here now. ’Tis morning and the hell’s been open all night. Sin is sleeping with some bawd by now.’
Unimpressed by the lad’s mimic of swagger far beyond his years and likely obtained from places he should never have frequented, Vivienne waited. He stared at the coin and then, in his first show of boyhood, eyed the basket with earnest longing as he laid one hand across his flat belly.
‘I have raspberry jam and fresh bread, sugar biscuits and sesame cakes if you spend a few minutes telling me what you know, but be warned I have no patience for bouncers or Banbury tales.’ She adopted a strident tone and watched him closely. Indeed, she might be better at this than she originally thought.
‘Aye. I understand.’
They settled in companionable silence, on the lowest step of the stairs leading to the entrance of the gaming hell before she removed the linen napkins and other contents of the basket in an unlikely picnic. She allowed the lad to dine first and when his appetite was satisfied, good heavens he was a bottomless pit, she cleaned up their mess while he regaled her with everything observed as he earned coin at the kerb watching expensive cattle.
‘And Sin won’t want flowers.’ He ended with a sharp nod towards the abandoned bouquet. ‘Men like us don’t like flummery.’ He said this with such disparagement she almost laughed outright.
‘Then what do you suggest, Thomas?’ She stood, ready to take her leave. A part of her felt disconsolate for she hadn’t met Mr Sinclair, yet another brighter part rejoiced to have fed Tom thoroughly.
‘He likes Miss Mirabel well enough.’ He looked her over with wide-eyed assessment. ‘I reckon he could like you too.’
More than a little appalled, Vivienne cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t imply…’ What did she mean by soliciting advice from a streetwise urchin? ‘Very well, Thomas. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance this morning. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’
‘I doubt it.’ He had the dice in the air again, his boyish expression replaced with a contrived expression of cynicism. ‘But you never know.’
Chapter Five (#ulink_7674422d-28d2-55b9-ade9-9b53a6b35a55)
Sinclair unlocked the front door to the Underworld and bent to retrieve a wilted bouquet of daisies left on the top stairs. He tossed it over the side railing with a confused shake of his head. It was hours before opening, but restlessness forced him out of his rooms, across the Thames and here, his home away from home and the one place where he validated his worth. Recent inquiries into the whereabouts of the final man on his list led nowhere. One dead end after another frustrated the hell out of him. Perhaps when he finished the task he would resolve the unrelenting restlessness that plagued his existence.
‘Sin.’
He jerked his focus to the kerb where Ace flailed an arm in an attempt to gain his attention. The lad took the stairs two at time and stood beside him before he could think better of it.
‘Mr Sin.’ The lad huffed the two words with a nod.
‘I told you to call me Max, Ace.’ Twisting the key in the lock, he stepped into the hallway, allowing the boy to follow. Ace was an indulgent distraction. Much like women. Something, anything, to keep his mind from the ever-present insistence of his unfinished tasks.
‘Is that what she calls you?’ Ace followed gingerly, the tips of his shoes nearly clipping Sinclair’s heels.
‘Who?’ He stopped at the foot of the stairs and cast a glance downward. ‘Does who call me Max?’
‘The looker with the midnight hair.’ Ace’s anxious voice echoed as they climbed. ‘The one who brought you daisies.’
Having reached the top landing, Sinclair chuckled and placed a palm atop Ace’s head to steer him inside the office. ‘Have you eaten?’ At the lad’s vigorous nod, Sin continued. ‘Take a seat and explain what you’re blathering about.’
‘I know what I saw.’ With a practised glower Ace settled on the couch. ‘This morning she came.’ He nodded his head in the affirmative. ‘The prettiest lady I’ve ever seen. She brought you daisies and a basket full of food although we shared it until nothing was left.’
Interest piqued, Sin hooked his coat on the wall and settled behind his desk. ‘Go on. Describe the lady.’
‘Hair as dark as the night sky with green eyes so bright I thought I dreamed them.’ As if he caught the poetic reference, Ace re-established a sullen expression. ‘But she left when I told her you only come around at night.’ He paused and then said, ‘Paid me two bob, she did.’ He held up the shillings to prove his claim. ‘Fed me ’til I burst.’
‘Indeed.’ Sin knew exactly who’d visited but like most refined ladies, she didn’t realize his livelihood forced him into a nocturnal lifestyle. This also kept him far and away from the social schedule of the titled and entitled, a group he would never be part of and would rather not consider. Regret was a waste of time. ‘Fancy ladies such as she are not for men like us, Ace.’ He dismissed the subject, unwilling to think more on it. The few women who’d occupied his interest for more than a night had endeavoured to take him to heel on a very short leash. He’d had no other choice but to snap the leather.
‘She was very kind.’ The boy’s words sounded wistful. ‘And she smelled good.’
Sin had to stop himself from asking exactly how she’d smelled. Too many details would lead to no good. Thankfully they were interrupted as Ransom scratched the bottom of the door and gave a sharp bark, his signal for a call of nature.
‘Take him out, Ace. Earn your keep.’ He followed the command with a snap of his fingers and watched the two depart. Damn him if he knew why the lady would seek him out. When he’d handed her his calling card he would have bet every pound in his possession she’d discard it right after. Yet she’d come the next day, daisies in hand. Daisies? He laughed. What was she thinking? There was often no telling with gentry. Hadn’t his father’s fickle behaviour convinced him of that? Hadn’t the heinous series of events perpetuated by the earl’s wife proven to Sin the only loyalty to be found was within?
Better to be a self-made man than slave to a keeper. With that conclusion, he flipped open the ledger on his desk and set to work calculating profits.
It was hours after dinner when Vivienne paced the carpet in the sitting room of her bedchamber. Frustration and a fair share of disappointment kept her mind awhirl. Unwilling to lie in bed when sleep evaded her, she’d risen. Experiencing a sudden chill, she glanced to the hearth to see the fire ablaze, then snatched her wrapper from the foot of the bed, tying the silk sash with a deliberate tug.
Her efforts earlier had failed. How foolish to presume a morning call would garner results. Crispin was correct. She knew little about the operations of a gaming hell and that information equalled the knowledge she possessed pertaining to men.
With wry concession she realized Crispin might be of more help than she originally considered, although if she solicited his advice in earnest he would likely become as protective as during their first conversation. Perhaps if he realized how important the issue he would seek to please her. He often favoured her ideas whenever she visited or they found themselves sharing a social event. Crispin would fetch her refreshments or strike up conversation when no one else was about. He was a makeshift brother that way.
Her stomach growled more in objection than agreement. With a shake of her head, she decided to seek a bite to eat in the kitchen and lit a hand candle from the lantern beside her bed, though upon opening the door she startled and almost dropped the light. Her stepfather stood in the hall outside her rooms.
‘Oh.’ She managed to withdraw within a hair’s width of collision and collect herself. ‘I didn’t expect to see you. I thought to get a biscuit in the kitchen. Is everything all right?’ Concern laced her words. It was unusual for him to be here for no reason, both her mother and stepfather’s bedchambers at a distance down the corridor. He too was dressed as if preparing for rest.
‘Everything is well.’ He offered a placating smile. ‘I could not sleep for thinking of something I forgot to give you. I didn’t know if you were awake at this hour but I thought to see if a light shone from under the door.’
Curious, she waited, her mind sorting through an array of responses and finding none suitable. He took the candle from her grasp and motioned that they walk, so she did for lack of a better response, uncomfortable standing still.
‘I sorted through some of your mother’s belongings earlier today and found an ornate keepsake box. I didn’t know it was in her possession nor did I attempt to open it and view the contents. The locked box had no key with it. I thought perhaps you would know of its importance.’
He stopped before his bedchamber door and emotion, unbidden and tremulous, flooded her. The mention of her mother triggered a plethora of memories, but it wasn’t that which caused her disquiet. She possessed the key to the box safely kept. Mother had given it to her once the illness proved unstoppable. Until this moment, she’d forgotten the little key tucked away inside her jewellery case. Still, why couldn’t this discussion have waited until morning?
‘Would you like to come into my sitting room? I can show you what I found.’ He touched the door and slanted it open though she took a decided step backward.
‘Why don’t you bring it down to breakfast in the morning? I’m more fatigued than I originally believed.’ Her heart hammered with alarm. It was unseemly and improper for her to enter her stepfather’s bedchamber. Still he grieved as she and likely did not realize the impropriety of what he suggested, anxious to solve the riddle of this new discovery.
‘You’re no longer hungry?’ His brows lowered with concern. ‘I can summon a servant to make you a tray.’
‘No.’ Her answer clipped his final word. ‘I wouldn’t think to wake anyone at this hour. I’ll be fine until morning.’ She retrieved the candle as he offered it forward. ‘Goodnight then, stepfather.’ She almost jumped when he placed his hand on her forearm.
‘Goodnight, dear Vivienne. Sleep well.’ He turned and entered his bedchamber, the door closing with a loud click that echoed in her ears.
The faint rays of morning yawned across the sky as Sinclair waited. Exhausted from a hectic night, he rolled his head in search of relief from tense muscles and lack of sleep. With the same predictability that labelled the seasonal population flow within London, the hell had erupted in disturbance last night. Some quick-tongued sharper with too much blunt and not enough common sense accused a regular patron of cheating. Fisticuffs followed, those who’d over-imbibed or mourned the loss of their pocket readily joined the fray and it took Cole and Luke’s additional efforts to re-establish order.
Sin touched his brow where a broken bottle had left a deep gash. He was the only one of the three who came away with an injury, but then it was he who threw himself into the fight with fervour. Cole worked to remove instigators and onlookers, herding the working girls into another room and collecting all monies left on the felt. Luke climbed atop the vingt-et-un table and cocked a pistol. That quieted the room with alacrity.
Now, acting on the message he’d received with inconvenient timing, he waited for Wilson to appear, the paid informant unusually late. With a heavy sigh, Sin leaned against the brick wall. Fatigue demanded attention. Bloody hell he was tired. Tired of too many things. Of chasing revenge. And feeling too much and by result feeling too little. Tired of the restlessness that coursed through his veins in kind to the blood that provided life. Would he always feel this way? A bastard with no ties or family, no roots from which to grow?
A young boy skittered by in a familiar scene, the lad on his way to retrieve dailies to be sold on the corner for pennies, in hope of buying food. Sinclair had money. More money than he could ever spend, but except for a wolfhound and a few friends, what else could he claim? He grunted, somewhat amused, and recalled Ace’s description of yesterday’s visitor. Vivienne. How different her life must be. High-born, established in society and nurtured by a loving family. Able to give of her heart by working for the poor.
Why had she visited him?
And what did she want?
He inhaled, the fetid scent of the docks causing him to exhale just as quickly. In his peripheral vision someone approached through the shadows to his left. His fingers curled into a fist, sore from their use last night; but no, it was Wilson aligned near the wall, a casual pose that spoke of two friends admiring daybreak rather than an informant reporting his find.
‘Morning.’
‘Aye.’ The man shifted and flitted a glance to make eye contact before returning his attention to the horizon. ‘Pimms is on the run, anxious to leave London. I’ve got no leads on his whereabouts as of yet but the talk is he’ll settle low and hide in Cheapside for a spell. I’ll find him and be on watch. He’ll surface sooner than later.’
‘He may have heard of Ludlow’s demise or perhaps his own cagey conscience is too much to tolerate.’ Sinclair punctuated the statement with a foul curse. ‘I want you to find him, that’s all. Pimms is to pay a higher price than the other two.’
‘Worse than death?’ Wilson pushed from the wall, prepared to step away.
‘That I promise.’ Sinclair’s vow could not be mistaken.
‘Tell me everything.’ Sophie grasped Vivienne’s hands and with an anxious tug pulled her into the Daventry music room. ‘And do hurry before Crispin arrives and spoils our fun.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ She settled on the chaise beside the pianoforte and folded her hands in her lap. ‘I did visit the Underworld, but the door was locked tight, the building closed.’
‘Oh, how dreadful and disappointing.’ Sophie acknowledged the news with a frown, though her expression transformed before Vivienne could reply. ‘I took it upon myself to accept an invitation for us to Lady Chutterly’s dinner party. It promises to be delightful and with Crispin as escort it will be just like old times.’
‘That’s wonderful. Thank you. I hope Lady Chutterly will not think poorly that you’ve included me in your response.’ Any opportunity to escape the dreary loneliness of Nettlecombe seemed a good one.
‘She dare not. I’ve attended her daughter’s appalling violin recitals for three years in a row without a word of complaint. She owes me a great deal more than a friendly favour.’
‘Sophie, bite your tongue.’ Vivienne admired her friend’s frank truthfulness though at times her candour broke all rules of etiquette. ‘Will you forever say what’s on your mind without a thought first?’
‘To you, yes.’ Sophie gave an emphatic nod. ‘I’ve always believed honesty to be the best policy.’
‘Honesty is the most noble of all qualities and I do not lie.’ Crispin entered with a broad smile aimed at Sophie then proceeded directly to Vivienne where he sketched a bow and raised her ungloved hand to his mouth in august greeting.
‘To what do I owe such grandiose welcome?’ She reclaimed her hand and looked up as Crispin answered.
‘Vivienne…’ he paused as if by saying her name all was right in his world ‘…whenever you visit Daventry House it is a day deserving of celebration.’
Vivienne’s face heated and she touched her cheek as she eyed Sophie across the room. Her friend didn’t miss the notice.
‘Brother, you’re over the top.’ Sophie sent him a withering glare. ‘Your teasing and theatrics are best preserved for when some female catches your eye and you wish to steal her attention. Here your flirtatious nonsense is distracting, especially when we discuss items of importance.’
‘And what is the latest on dit? Lord Dander’s flaming defeat while playing Snapdragon last evening? Lady Thuglin’s inability to dance a quadrille without appearing a distressed chicken?’ His interest volleyed between the two ladies.
‘You’re incorrigible.’ Vivienne cupped her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle, but it proved to no avail. Laugher leaked out and Crispin’s grin widened.
‘Thank you. I accept your lovely compliment.’ He took a seat directly across from her in an overstuffed chair. ‘So what to do, ladies? I suggest we play Rhymes with Rose. The weather is dull and with our commitment to the Chutterlys later this evening, a relaxing afternoon would serve us well.’
‘I’m terrible at that game and you know it.’ Sophie sat beside Vivienne, seemingly in agreement with her brother’s suggestion of amusement despite voicing a complaint.
‘I shall endeavour to offer you the choicest lines, dear sister, and besides it is a silly game, meaningless, nothing more.’ He waved a hand as if he dismissed her objection.
Crispin may have been speaking to Sophie but Vivienne noticed how he watched her the entire time. She fidgeted under his scrutiny. ‘Then let’s begin.’ She’d start anything to break the intensity of his interest.
As he moved to the edge of the cushion he wore a thoughtful expression. Several ticks of the clock passed before he began. ‘I fell asleep last night in a heavenly doze.’
‘You were so tired you wore your evening clothes,’ Sophie added and turned to face Vivienne in wait of the next line of rhyme.
‘You relaxed on your bed in elegant repose.’
‘Well done.’ Crispin winked and she giggled despite herself. Sophie chastised them for the interruption.
‘I dreamed of a lady as pretty as a rose.’ He spoke the line with the solemnity of a poet reciting a sonnet.
‘With eyes the colour of pistachios.’ Sophie waggled a finger in Vivienne’s direction.
‘I don’t think this is how the game goes.’
Engrossed, Crispin embraced the idea. ‘And the loveliest darling upturned nose.’
‘Hair blacker than plumage on crows.’ Sophie’s grimaced with the awkward comparison.
Vivienne raised her palms in surrender. ‘There’s no stopping you now, I suppose.’
‘And in my dream, I wrote her prose.’
‘Promising dedication for all tomorrows.’ Sophie sighed.
‘Paying homage to the beauty of her fine elbows.’ Sophie let out a graceless snort and pushed gently on Vivienne’s shoulder with the line, but the jocularity of the ridiculous game was exactly why she enjoyed visiting Daventry House. How easily she forgot her concerns and became lost in jovial friendship.
When next Crispin spoke, his voice dropped low, his eyes clear as he pierced her with his gaze. ‘Wondering if his fondness truly shows.’
‘Debating the right time to disclose.’
‘Thankful for your friendship that I chose.’ Vivienne offered a gentle smile.
‘Deciding the right time to propose.’ His words were an indistinct murmur.
‘I can’t think of anything to say.’ Sophie stood in a flutter of skirts. ‘All the good rhymes are gone. Let’s play something else.’
‘If you will excuse me.’ Crispin didn’t speak again and left the room directly.
‘Sophie.’ Vivienne rose from the chaise and met Sophie near the window, their faces mirroring an expression of concern.
