Into The Hall Of Vice. Anabelle Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ crime. The poverty-stricken population saw no way to survive without repeatedly plundering victims and therefore stole from each other as much as any fool who roamed without protection and wherewithal. While this particular area had elevated to a modicum of respectability in a broad sense, only a few blocks south a semi-derelict warren of dilapidated houses and open sewers rivalled the worst living conditions in all London.

      More than a little intrigued, he watched as a woman disembarked. This was no place for a refined lady. Her intricately stitched gown and wool pelisse tempted his smile to surface as much as the long scarf wrapped around her head, to shadow her face or add allure. One could never tell. She must be gentry, but hadn’t she any sense? Only a fool arrived in the middle of Seven Dials wearing anything that resembled quality. She would draw more attention than had she disembarked in the nude. That same smile broke free. His swindling days were long behind him, still he could spot an easy mark with surety. What could the lady be about?

      He had no time to consider it further as she aimed directly for the steps where he stood, her face narrowed with a look of determination, her petite figure rigid with purpose.

      ‘May I help you?’ She was a pretty piece of muslin, or at least held the potential to be. Right now her brows were lowered and mouth pinched tight into a grimace, while that unbecoming scarf covered most all other features.

      She raised a delicate gloved hand as if to release him from his offer. ‘No, thank you.’ Her voice was an even-tempered whisper. ‘I’ve come to visit a friend.’

      ‘Miss Devonshire, is it?’ He couldn’t imagine who would wish to speak to Maggie. Even the most well-intended charity folk didn’t venture into this area alone. Maggie was in the practice of helping lost children, those neglected by unprincipled parents who would otherwise be left to loiter and wander were someone like she not to intercept their terrible fate. And while charity had its place, forgotten orphans were not an aristocratic preoccupation by any means.

      In his experience, Quality held themselves above the sad truth of London’s squalor. It was a subject to be discussed in Parliament, not a problem to be solved. What service could this lady seek? ‘Is it a matter of business or pleasure?’

      ‘I suppose it is a bit of both.’ She retreated a step though she kept her head lowered. ‘And no business of yours.’

      Despite her stern set-down, the lady appeared a nervous rabbit, too quick to glance over her shoulder or beyond at the slightest noise, though every motion accentuated her misplaced presence and drew further attention. He watched a suspicious shadow across the street who paid close notice to their interaction. Didn’t the woman know the perils of the area? Did all of higher society live with their heads in the clouds?

      Probably.

      ‘You shouldn’t have come, looking like that to meander through the streets.’ He’d only meant to think the words, yet somehow they’d wound up spoken. In hope of making amends he added, ‘A lady isn’t safe on the streets of Charing Cross.’ He watched and waited, feeling foolish in the altogether.

      ‘And who are you?’ She measured his worth with a glance down her nose, though most of her expression was lost to the offending scarf.

      ‘A friend of the area. I’m familiar with these streets, although any clever fellow knows you can’t parade through this part of London unescorted, dressed in fine-spun attire.’ He motioned with his hand to underscore his warning. ‘It isn’t safe.’

      ‘I’ll thank you kindly to mind your business. Good day.’ She jerked to the left in an effort to pass, slanting a dismissive flick of clear green confidence in his direction. He didn’t move. Her cheeks appeared pinkened by her fluster and when she stepped back in surprise, the sudden motion forced the scarf to drape about her slender shoulders and reveal her face.

      A kick in the gut. It was the only way to describe the impact of the lady’s attention. He’d known pretty before and this woman erased every remembrance in his brain. He stuttered to a stop, his next thought lost while his heart raced to a fast-paced thrum. She wasn’t pretty, she was beautiful. Fair skin, long blonde hair that shimmered in the sunlight despite they stood in one of the dankest areas of London. He swallowed. Twice. ‘You should take heed.’ Misplaced and unexpected protectiveness rallied the words. ‘The world can change in the blink of an eye.’ Or the shove off a carriage step.

      ‘I understood your warning the first time; still, I have a matter of great importance to pursue.’

      She appeared undeterred, though her voice quavered.

      ‘That doesn’t change the circumstances.’ Why the devil would this lovely miss seek Maggie? She couldn’t be looking for one of her own, could she? In his experience, no one searched for the children lost to the street. Quality preferred to believe they didn’t exist, or worse, abandoned them there.

      ‘In that case I have no choice than to return another day.’ Her voice trailed off as her eyes sought his one last moment.

      Green. Yes, her eyes were definitely green, the irises trimmed with a muted gold hue, but green nonetheless. A fetching shade he hadn’t seen before, albeit grass and trees didn’t grow in this part of London.

      ‘I had hoped to find Miss Devonshire at home, but perhaps my goal proved optimistic.’

      In an effort to ease her distress, he signalled towards the street. ‘Allow me to hail you a hackney.’ Her eyes shifted to the building over his shoulder as if she wished to see through the walls. ‘Will you walk with me to the corner?’ He wondered at her decision to arrive in this part of the city unescorted, and worse, to accept a stranger’s invitation. Granted, he could portray anyone given provocation, the Earl of Evesham or Duke of Kent, all or none of the worldly gents who frequented the Underworld, as well as a sly swindler or outspoken newsmonger from the corner.

      ‘I’ve made a mistake. Thank you.’ She turned and walked away as if she strolled through Hyde Park without a worry in the world, her fine leather boots, dangling reticule and embroidered hems all tempting distractions to the seedy undercurrent in the surround.

      He called out in her wake. ‘Pay heed to the shadows for that’s where the darkest secrets hide.’

      ‘Thank you again.’ She shook her head and dismissed his warning without a glance backwards.

      A shift of attention from across the street alerted he wasn’t the only one who watched her progress. ‘Wait.’

      But his warning came too late. A scamp, not unlike the boy he once was, although he’d never nabbed a purse, darted across the roadway and yanked the reticule from the lady’s arm. Her squeal of distress sent an arrow through his heart when he’d only just warned her to be careful and now she’d fallen prey.

      Were he to chase the little thief he would leave the lady unprotected. By the same token, he could hardly play hero if he stood idle while the scamp made off with the goods.

      ‘Stay here.’ He dared a touch to her upper arm. ‘Don’t move away from this house.’

      He set off in a run, hoping the thief had stopped to rifle through the contents and discard the reticule, thus leaving behind a clue. Still, fencing a lady’s purse brought equal coin, so he remained doubtful.

      With his belated reaction and the overcome streets of Charing preventing any telltale path, he quit pursuit before he’d advanced half a block. A few choice curses added to the cacophony of the place he once called СКАЧАТЬ