Chapter One
Alec Halsey strode into the cool of the wide marble hall
of St. Neots House, home of his godmother the Duchess of
Romney-St. Neots, and hastily struggled out of greatcoat,
leather riding gloves, sash and sword. He pressed these on
an attending footman and then went up the curved marble
staircase two steps at a time. On the first landing he
paused, as if remembering his manners, and leaned over the
mahogany balustrade. "Neave?" he called out to the
butler, "Tell the Duchess I’ll be with her shortly!"
"Her Grace has guests to nuncheon, sir!" Neave called
up into the dome of the cavernous entrance foyer. "And Miss
Emily is—" Alec Halsey’s head of black curls disappeared
from view and the butler spun around, saw two footmen
juggling the visitor’s belongings between them and pointed
a finger at the youngest, a freckle-faced youth with a mop
of red-hair. "Go after him! He’s not to disturb Miss Emily.
Your job on it, boy."
Alec was in the passageway that led to the rooms
occupied by the Duchess’s granddaughter when quick
breathing at his back made him turn. A young footman came
scrambling towards him much in the fashion of a puppy not
grown into its long legs.
From behind a set of double doors came the sounds of
female chatter and laughter.
"Sir? Please, sir. No!" the young footman pleaded,
coming to a dead stop in front of the tall, loose-limbed
gentleman. "You can’t go in there! Mr. Neave will have
m’job if you do!"
Alec paused, long fingers curled about the door handle,
and stared down at the freckle-faced youth who respectfully
lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet. Something about the
boy was oddly familiar and made him pause. "What’s your
name?"
The footman gave a start. The pleasant drawling voice
wasn’t angry, just curious and it made him glance up warily
to wonder what was the intent behind the gentleman’s
question. But there was no hint of insolence in the kind,
friendly blue eyes that crinkled at the corners; no fancy
airs and affected voice like so many of the visitors to St.
Neots House. Even the clothes this gentleman wore were not
out of the ordinary; no silver lacings, no frothy lace at
his wrists, no diamond buckles in the tongues of his
leather shoes; just good dark cloth, a plain linen cravat
and shoes without high heels. Perhaps he could reason with
him and not have his ears boxed for doing his job. He
swallowed hard and let his gaze wander to the
door, "Beggin’ pardon, sir. Thomas Fisher was what I was
christened but most call me Tam, sir."
"Thomas Fisher," stated Alec, racking his brain for a
memory; he made no immediate connection. He followed the
boy’s gaze to the double doors. "Well, Thomas Fisher: Tam,
I’m going in there with or without your approval. Think me
presentable enough to announce?"
Tam wondered if he was being roasted. There was a look
in those blue eyes he could not make out. If Neave
discovered him in conversation with a visitor, he’d be out
on the streets again. And gentlemen callers, if they were
gentlemen, did not enter a lady’s private apartments; they
certainly didn’t canvass the opinions of footmen. So he set
his jaw hard and put just enough insolence into his voice
to make the gentleman know his place. "Presentable, sir?"
Alec lifted a hand. "I’m not fragile. Out with it. It’s
the hair, isn’t it?" he said, gathering the shoulder length
hair tidily at the nape of his neck and retying the ribbon
that held it in place. "Not enough wax and no powder. Can’t
abide either."
In spite of himself, Tam grinned. "It’s just as you
say, sir. Your shoes will pass inspection. Females don’t
care a whisker for dust on y’shoes, yet they like a
gentleman to be neat. Least that’s what Jenny says. She
can’t abide an ill-fitting wig or one with not enough
powder. Says it ain’t right. But your hair—"
"—is my own. Yes. It’s my one concession to vanity,"
said Alec with a wink and slipped behind the door before
the footman could stop him.
Tam cursed under his breath and dashed after him,
saying as he crossed into the decidedly feminine sitting
room, "Please, sir! Miss Emily is with her dressmaker. She
ain’t receiving visitors and I doubt—"
"Don’t worry, Tam, I’ll vouch for you with Neave."
"—she’ll notice your boots or your hair on account of
the celebrations."
This brought Alec Halsey up short and he turned and
stared at him, puzzled. "Celebrations?"
Tam stepped up to him. "The engagement celebrations,
sir. There’s to be a weekend party here. Here at St. Neots
House."
"Engagement celebrations? Here?"
Tam saw the gentleman’s look of total confusion. It was
obvious these tidings were new to him. "Yes, sir. Haven’t
you been told, sir?"
"I returned yesterday from the Continent. I’ve been
away eight months. An engagement celebration you say.
Whose?"
"Miss Emily’s, sir."
"No!"
"Yes, sir. Miss Emily is engaged to be married."
"When?"
"Pardon, sir?"
"When. When did this happen?"
"Jenny, she’s Miss Emily’s maid—"
"I know who Jenny is!"
Tam lowered his eyes. He’d never seen a face turn as
white as a sheet. He’d heard the expression. The
housekeeper used it quite a bit. He was witness to it now.
Alec Halsey’s angular face had not only drained of natural
color, but under his linen cravat his throat had
constricted. He suddenly looked ill. Tam wondered if he
should fetch up a brandy.
Alec swallowed. "I didn’t mean… It’s just—"
"No need to explain, sir," Tam said quickly, averting
his gaze and shuffling his feet, feeling the gentleman’s
embarrassment. He wished he could help him in some way. He
didn’t care for Miss Emily’s betrothed, despite Jenny’s
opinion that the Earl of Delvin was the handsomest nobleman
in the kingdom. Lord Delvin certainly presented well
dressed in the latest fashionable powdered wig, tight-
shouldered frockcoat of elaborately embroidered silk,
diamonds in his shoe-buckles and yards of frothy lace
gathered up at his wrists and throat, but there was
something about the nobleman that would not wash. Tam
wished he had tangible evidence for this feeling,
particularly when Jenny continually sung the Earl’s
praises. "Jenny told me, sir," he said glumly. "Miss Emily
became engaged three days ago."
"Three days…"
Tam winced at the wretchedness in the deep voice. "I’m—
I’m sorry, sir."
There was a long silence. It was broken by Jenny who
rushed out of her mistress’s bedchamber, saying something
over her shoulder, and ran straight into Tam. She fell back
a pace and put a hand to her hair. "Tam? What are you doing—
Oh!" She saw Alec and dropped a respectful curtsy. "Mr.—Mr.
Halsey? Sir!" Her eyes went very round and she glanced at
Tam, who kept his eyes lowered and his hands behind his
back.
There was a rush of silk petticoats behind her, one or
two voices raised in protest, and then Emily stood there in
all her fair loveliness, straw-blonde curls caught up off
her shoulders with a couple of long pins. She had on a new
gown of patterned silk that was held together with tacking
and needed alteration at the bodice, for it was cut far too
low for the Duchess’s liking.
Madame the French dressmaker was at her elbow, urging
her to come back into the room so she could continue with
her work. Catching sight of a gentleman she gave a French
squeak of alarm. Jenny spun about to shield her mistress
from prying eyes but when Emily saw who it was she forgot
Madame’s pins and threw herself at Alec’s inanimate form.
"You’re home at last! You’ve no idea how much we’ve
missed you. Grandmamma said not a word. Did you two
conspire to surprise me? How like you! Oh, it’s so good to
see you." She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the
bedchamber, oblivious to the fact his mood did not match
her own. "Careful where you step. It’s fitting day today.
Jenny? Jenny! Forget the tea. Bring champagne. Yes.
Champagne. We’re going to celebrate Alec’s return." She
shooed Madame and her assistants away. "I’ll get out of
this wretched thing and then I can give you a proper
welcome home. So, tell me: What do you think of this gown?
Do you approve?"
"The bodice is indecent."
"So Grandmamma says. But it’s the fashion." She
disappeared behind an ornate screen set in one corner of
the sunny room and Madame followed, clucking over her in
broken English. "You’ll be pleased with me. I’ve kept
Phoenix well exercised," Emily called out from behind the
screen. "To the detriment of my horses. I was out on him
this morning. Remember that problem he was having with his
left hock? Well, it’s all better, so you needn’t worry. I
suppose you’ll be taking him back to St. James’s Place?
There!"
When she reappeared, Alec was by the window looking out
on the long sweep of east lawn and not seeing any of it. He
wished himself anywhere but here. He felt suddenly weary.
When she came over to him and playfully tugged his sleeve
he could not bring himself to look at her.
"I’m decently dressed," she said, sitting on the window
seat beside where he stood. "All up to the neck and shoes
on my feet too!" When he made no response to her playful
banter she added conversationally, "How was Paris? Did you
bring me something wonderful? Something to wear? Or
something for this room perhaps? And I must thank you for
the fan you sent at Christmastime. It’s beautiful.
Grandmamma was quite envious."
Alec turned and looked about the untidy room, at the
deep carpets covered in dressmaking patterns and fabrics,
at the familiar pictures on the patterned-papered walls,
but not at her. Everything was as he remembered it. He had
often come up here. To have tea at the little table by the
window. To hear the latest news of town and to tell her in
return the happenings at the Continental Courts. The look
on Tam’s face! The boy had no idea, had he? He wondered if
Jenny was at this moment giving him a good tongue-lashing.
Jenny came back into the room then, followed by Tam
carrying a tray. He put it down on the small table by the
arrangement of sofa, chaise longue and chairs and glanced
at Alec to find him staring at him in a vacant sort of way.
Jenny saw it too and with a quick word Tam left them alone.
"I brought you a brandy, sir," Jenny said gently.
"No, Jenny. We are going to drink champagne. Aren’t we,
Alec?"
Alec took the brandy glass and drank without tasting.
Emily sipped her champagne thoughtfully. "Will they
give you a post here now? You—You aren’t going away again
so soon, are you?"
"What’s his name?"
Emily blinked at his bluntness. "I beg your pardon?"
"The name of your betrothed," he enunciated
coldly. "What—is—his—name?"
There was a scratch on the outer door and Jenny was
glad to go in answer to it, leaving Emily all alone and
feeling for the first time in her life uneasy with her
grandmother’s godson. She did not understand his coldness.
She thought her own happiness would be sufficient for him
to be happy for her. How many times had he lectured her in
the manner of an elder brother, on the importance of being
guided by her elders but not to be forced into a marriage
she disliked. And she had done precisely that. Perhaps he
needed reassurance? Fortified with a gulp of champagne she
bravely stared up at him and said,
"I want to marry Edward. When he sought my hand in
marriage Grandmamma let it be known that the decision was
mine, that I did not have to accept him if I did not want
to. But," she said in a clearer voice, her happiness giving
her strength, "I do want to marry him. I want to marry him
very much."
"Edward? Edward…" Alec repeated quietly. "That isn’t
much to go on. Who is this fellow?"
"We had only met on a few occasions, and those at
public gatherings, but I knew straight away that if he did
ask me I would accept him," Emily continued, because Alec
looked wholly unconvinced. "Grandmamma is very happy for
me, especially so because I am to marry an earl." She
looked down at the bubbles of champagne, adding
nervously, "Not that that circumstance means much to you—"
"It doesn’t. I don’t care for title," he
stated. "Edward, Earl of what?"
"—but it matters to Grandmamma," Emily said firmly,
finishing the sentence despite being close to tears. She
wished Jenny would return. She didn’t know for how much
longer she could sit here with Alec looking for all the
world as if her engagement was the worse news he had ever
heard in his life. "Edward warned me you’d take it badly,"
she confessed naively. "But I assured him you would only
want for my happiness. And you do want me to be happy,
don’t you, Alec?" she asked in a small voice. "Regardless
of the ill feeling between the two of you, I hope you’ll
see that he wants to make me happy. He is very solicitous
and caring and, oh—everything a girl could ask for in a
husband. I know you’ve been estranged since small boys. You
could very well be strangers, not brothers at all…"
He stopped listening the moment he realized she was
engaged to his elder brother. If he was shocked into
senselessness to discover she was engaged to be married, he
was now beyond rational thought knowing that the man who
had robbed him of her was his own brother; this, not the
first time his brother had interfered in Alec’s life.
Six years ago Delvin had put a stop to Alec’s
engagement to Selina Vesey. A second son with a thousand a
year wasn’t entitled to marry an heiress, whatever his
brilliant prospects in the Foreign Department. When his
elder brother, who was also head of the family, publicly
voiced his opposition to such an unequal match Alec’s fate
was sealed. Alec not only endured the humiliation of having
his suit rejected by Selina’s father but was forced to
stand by while the love of his life was married off to
George Jamison-Lewis, who had ten thousand a year, grandson
of a Duke and one of his brother’s cronies.
Alec never expected to fully recover from his
disappointment but time helped close the wound. And just
when he had convinced himself that in asking Emily to marry
him he would finally be moving his life forward, his
brother’s timely interference had robbed him once more of
personal happiness. What was he to do?
Before he knew what he was about he found himself half
way down the curved staircase, full of purpose, to do what,
he had no idea. He just knew he had to get out of St. Neots
House, to escape from a thousand memories locked within its
walls, and to get away from Emily. He had to find a place
where he could think calmly and rationally. Failing that,
he would find a place where he need not think at all…
A lady in black mourning crepe had just ascended the
staircase and it was inevitable that they would collide;
such was the width of her hooped petticoats and Alec’s
blind determination to quit St. Neots House. The lady’s
quick thinking saved her from taking a tumble. She grabbed
the banister rail with a gloved hand, while the other clung
to the gentleman’s sleeve; a small party taking leave in
the foyer below breathed a collective sigh of relief.
It was not until the woman’s body fell hard against him
and he instinctively caught her that Alec realized he had
run full force into someone coming up the staircase. He
held her hard against his chest, their hearts thudding as
one as he waited for them both to be steady on their feet.
In the brief moment she was in his arms he breathed in the
pleasing flowery scent of her hair and inexplicably felt a
stab of nostalgia. He knew her identity at once. Instantly
he released her with a curt apology for crushing the silk
of her petticoats, and would have passed her then but she
unintentionally moved in the same direction, and again they
blocked each other’s path. The woman’s quiet apology
finally lifted Alec’s gaze to her face.
She was one step below him and had gathered up her
billowing petticoats, positioning herself with her straight
back up against the mahogany balustrade to let him pass.
Yet, Alec remained as if fixed to the marble step. He
stared at her, as if at an apparition for he had not been
within ten feet of her in six years. He never dreamed of
seeing her in mourning, though in the darkest days of his
despair he had wished it upon her time and again. But not
here, not now, not on this of all days. Large dark eyes
full of sorrow stared up at him and he turned his head
away, color flooding his close-shaven cheeks.
"Did Emily tell you her news, Mr. Halsey?" Selina
Jamison-Lewis asked quietly, the blood drumming so loudly
in her ears at this unexpected encounter that she couldn’t
keep the tremble out of her voice. "Her engagement it—it
came as a surprise to all of us."
Alec’s blue eyes stared pointedly at her mourning gown
before again meeting her eyes. "No doubt an ill-timed and
disappointing announcement for you, Madam…?"
Selina’s lips parted but she did not trust herself to
speak and so stood mute as he made her a short bow and went
on his way, her blush as red as the young footman’s hair
who rudely bumped her shoulder in his pursuit of Alec
Halsey.
Alec ignored the knot of persons leave taking by the
door and pushed through the ministering footmen without a
word or a look. When the butler stepped forward with his
greatcoat he demanded his sword and put out a hand for his
gloves. Neave said something to him, but he wasn’t
listening. A bejeweled hand touched his arm. It was his
godmother. But Alec angrily shrugged off the Duchess of
Romney-St. Neots as he snatched his sash and sword from a
footman, over setting the Duchess who stumbled backwards to
be caught at the elbow by her butler. Five footmen rushed
to her aid. An old man with gray-grizzled hair stepped
forward, but it was the Earl of Delvin who took matters
into his own hands.
The Earl poked his brother in the kidney with the end
of his Malacca cane.
"You’re in a hurry, Second," Delvin drawled. "Can’t go
bargin’ about other people’s houses knocking ’em willy-
nilly. It’s not done. Not done at all. Dear Mrs. Jamison-
Lewis could’ve broken her neck on the stairs just now, and
you of all people certainly wouldn’t want to see the
beautiful young widow join her dearly departed so soon,
would you? For a diplomatist you certainly show a marked
lack of man—"
It needed only that. Alec snatched at the cane and
threw it away from him before pushing his brother up
against the nearest wall, a hand about the layers of lace
at his throat, long fingers pushing the Earl’s chin up
until he was forced to look Alec directly in the eye. No
match for his younger brother’s rage of strength, Delvin
offered little resistance.
"You cold-hearted blood sucker," Alec spat in his
face. "I wish to God you were no brother of mine!"
The Earl attempted a moment of bravado. "You’re a fool,
Second," he hissed viciously. "Time you learned your place:
no female wants second best."
"If they want you then they’re not worth the having,"
Alec sneered, fingers convulsing about his brother’s throat
until the Earl spluttered for breath and clawed at his
strong hand.
A cluster of open-mouthed footmen stared at the two
gentlemen struggling by the open front door. As mesmerized
as his fellows, the butler stood rooted to the spot until
the Duchess demanded that someone do something to break up
the fight. With an imperious snap of his fingers, Neave
scattered the footmen. It was left to the grizzled haired
old man to step in and put a stop to the one-sided fight
between his nephews.
"Alec! Stop!" growled Plantagenet Halsey. "Let him be!"
Delvin was released at once and fell to his silken
knees, gasping great gulps of air into his deprived lungs.
He quickly picked himself up and attempted to regain his
arrogant bravado by brushing the sleeves of his velvet
frockcoat and straightening the lace at his wrists as if he
had been touched by something unclean. Alec stared at him
with contempt, hands balled into fists of frustrated rage.
He saw the butler with eyes suitably lowered, and standing
beside him the freckled-faced footman who had introduced
himself as Tam. And when he glanced at his uncle, he saw so
much unspoken sadness in the old blue eyes that Alec turned
away from him with impatience. A glance up at the staircase
and there was Selina still on the step where he had left
her. God, what had he done to deserve her silent witness?
His humiliation complete, Alec made the Duchess a curt bow
and strode from the house.
Tam followed Alec to town. He took a horse from the
stables while the stable hands were busy with the Earl of
Delvin’s carriage horses. No one thought to question him.
He was astride the animal and at full gallop down the
gravel drive before one of his fellow footmen came to fetch
him to answer to Neave.
The ride was not easy, nor was it a simple matter of
following as close as he dare without being seen. Alec
never looked back. He rode his mount as if his life
depended upon it, oblivious to the horse and rider that
fell in behind him and stayed close all the way to Hyde
Park corner.
The closer to town and the open fields and hamlets
turned into the newer suburbs of the wealthy merchant
princes and town residences of the aristocracy. Then the
openness of the new squares narrowed to filthy streets
congested with the continuous rumble of carriages, single
horsemen, and carts laden with merchandise for markets in
the city. Town criers competed to be heard with the sellers
of oranges and apples, flowers, household-wares and freshly-
cooked oysters, all shouting out in their sing-song voices
the excellent value and superior quality of their
merchandise.
Once they hit the congestion of town traffic Alec’s
pace slackened. Tam still needed to keep his wits so as not
to lose sight of his man. He could easily disappear up a
side street never to be seen again. Where would that leave
Tam? As it was, he knew he could never return to St. Neots
House. Neave would make certain of that. His future now lay
in Alec Halsey’s hands. And if he didn’t keep close to him,
find out where he lived, there would be no opportunity to
plead his case.
London was not new to Tam. In fact, he found it
strangely exhilarating to be once again amongst the noise
and the dirt, but he was careful to keep an undistracted
eye on Alec Halsey’s straight back, just up ahead of him,
and who now dismounted in the cobbled yard of The Rose in
Drury Lane: an establishment frequented by prostitutes and
low life wanting nothing better to do than brawl with one
another.
When Alec stepped back onto the street, it was late
afternoon, and he was not alone. Three rough-looking men
were at his back. Dressed in ill-fitting, coarse-clothed
frockcoats and darned stockings splattered with town muck
they jostled one another, as if sharing a private joke as
they followed Alec on foot in the direction of the Covent
Garden markets. Tam, who had been dozing in a filthy corner
of the stable yard trying for all the world to look as if
he belonged there, scrambled up and went after them; the
horse he had taken from the St. Neots’ stables left in the
care of a toothless ostler.
It was at Covent Garden that Tam lost sight of Alec and
his companions. Leaving The Rose, he ran up the road until
he was only a few yards behind his quarry. Alec seemed in
no hurry. He sauntered along the footpath, hands thrust
deep in the pockets of his riding frock, while his new-
found friends continued on with their banal banter, any
remark made to Alec met with monosyllabic responses. Tam
had a difficult time hanging back and was glad when they
came to the edge of the market square. There were vegetable
and fruit sellers, flower stalls, wagons and carts jostling
with one another for space, and everywhere the smell of the
country mingled with the soot and grime of the city. The
noise was deafening.
Tam dodged in and around laden wagons, tripped on a
cobbled street uneven and slick with rotting vegetables,
and picked himself up to find he was the center of
attention for a number of young ragged scamps, laughing at
his expense. He shooed them off, brushed himself down and
momentarily forgot his purpose catching the smell of hot
pies and sweet fruit. He was suddenly ravenous and
remembered he had not eaten since before dawn, and then
only a fist of bread and chunk of cheese. Food was out of
the question. He had no money.
Yet, as he continued along the street thinking of his
empty stomach, the markets now behind him, the thought of a
hot pie became suddenly repellent. He had lost Alec Halsey
in the crowd. He stopped in the middle of the footpath
wondering what to do and was shoved this way and that by
pedestrians going about their business. A tradesman pushing
a cart shouted at him but Tam neither saw or heard the man.
He turned and retraced his steps to the corner where he had
taken the fall and started a search of the side streets and
alleyways. He ran almost to the Strand, out of breath and
an ache in his side. There was no sign of the man and his
companions. Again he returned to the corner where he had
fallen and this time crouched on his haunches in the
doorway of a disused warehouse that had its lower windows
boarded up.
He tried not to panic. There was possibly only an hour
before dusk. Already the light was dimming. Although he
knew the area well he did not like the thought of spending
the night without food and shelter. That Alec Halsey might
have fallen foul of the three men from the Rose did not
bear thinking about. The gentleman wore a sword and by the
width of his shoulders and the muscle in his calves he
looked well able to take care of himself in a mill. Still,
three on one were not good odds in anyone’s books. And as
Tam stared vacantly at the row of buildings diagonally
opposite, at the coming and going of carriages and sedan
chairs and men on foot, he wondered how it was possible for
four men to vanish so completely. He watched the activity
in the street for a long time before realizing the answer
stared him in the face. His quarry had gone into one of
those buildings. One building stood out from all the others.
Its entrance was set back off the street under an
elegant portico and could be easily overlooked by the busy
pedestrian. Tam crossed the street to better view the
entrance. A doorman was in attendance. It must be a private
club of sorts because the gentlemen being admitted were not
of the class or position to frequent the area for any other
purpose. If Alec had disappeared behind those doors,
perhaps to be rid of his companions, then Tam would
possibly have a long wait ahead of him. He curled up in a
doorway across the street, kept his eyes fixed on the
club’s entrance, and waited.
He was kicked awake by a night watchman carrying a
lantern in one hand and a cudgel in the other, who demanded
to know his business and was prepared to dispense his
particular form of justice if Tam did not give a good
account of himself. Tam explained he was waiting for a
gentleman who was in the building across the street and
added for good measure that he had a most important message
to give him. The doorman had refused him entry and told him
to wait outside. At this the night watchman let out a great
peal of laughter and nudged Tam with his cudgel, but did so
in a friendly fashion.
"Yer young fool! A’course he ain’t goin’ to let in the
likes of you! Not less you got six guineas." This made him
laugh harder.
"I don’t understand," said Tam politely, scampering to
his feet and adding ‘sir’ for good measure because he was
wary of night watchmen’s cudgels.
The man wiped dry his eyes with the back of a grimy
hand and shook his head. He pointed his cudgel at the
building, its entrance now illuminated with
flambeaux. "That, my lad, is a brothel. A very ’igh class
brothel it is, too. Called a fancy name: Turkish Bath.
That’s what."
"Turkish Bath," repeated Tam.
"That’s right. Six guineas’ll get yer supper, a bathe
in them Turkish baths, and a ’igh class ’arlot," the night
watchman said knowledgeably, although he had never been
inside such an establishment and never would. "Now, m’lad,
yer best be pushin’ along. Can’t stand out ’ere all night
and I got me duties to do. Take yer message round his ’ouse
and give it to the porter."
"I-I can’t. I was told to deliver it here."
"How d’yer know ’e’s still in there? You’ve been
asleep."
Tam’s shoulders slumped. The man peered keenly at him,
holding high his lantern. The boy looked genuinely unhappy
and he noticed he was wearing livery so his story was
probably true. He pocketed the cudgel. "This message. It
ain’t from ’is missus, is it?"
Tam shook his head.
The night watchman rubbed his stubbled chin.
"What’s ’e look like, this gentleman?"
Tam gave the man a description of Alec.
"Tall gent who wears his own ’air?" the night watchman
repeated with surprise. "And yer say ’e’s a gentleman?
The ’air will give ’im away sure enough. Stay ’ere."
He crossed the street to be met at the front steps of
the Turkish Bath by one of the doormen. The doorman peered
into the blackness across the street as the night watchman
spoke to him. The conversation lasted no more than a few
minutes and back across the cobbles the night watchman
came, his long coat unbuttoned and flapping at his sides.
In the light of the lantern Tam saw that he was grinning,
though his toothless smile died seeing the concern on Tam’s
young face.
"Closed mouthed lot, them over there," he confided,
jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Won’t say yes and won’t
say no. But I managed to get ’em to tell me a thing or two."
"He’s gone?"
"No need to fret yerself, lad. ’E’s there all
right, ’cause a gentleman fittin’ your description entered
the premises with three havey-cavey lookin’ coves ’e said
were ’is particular friends. A’course it ain’t an
establishment for low-life and so says the doormen to your
gentleman. But they soon changed their minds when ’e threw
down five and twenty pounds. Opened the door as wide as yer
pleased for him and his friends then, didn’t they!" He
chuckled to himself. "And I’ll tell yer some’in’ else for
naught, lad. ’is friends are ’aving a right time of it,
eatin’ ’til they’re fit to burst, splashin’ away in them
Turkish baths and enjoyin’ the particular attentions of the
three prettiest whores this side of Paris!"
Tam felt his face grow hot and moved out of the
light. "Thank you for your help, sir."
The night watchman peered at him closely and had a
twinge of remorse recounting the carryings on in a brothel
to a well-spoken young lad who obviously came from one of
the big houses in Westminster. "You’d best get ’ome to yer
bed. There’s no point you waitin’ cause by what ’im over
there tells me, your gentleman is sittin’ in a corner
drinkin’ ’is self into a right stupor. Not interested in
supper, or them baths and when a sweet-mouthed whore tried
to interest ’im he fairly growled at her. Waste of good
guineas if yer ask me!"
"Thank you, sir. But I must wait. He—he’ll need my help
to get home, if he’s as drunk as you say…"
The night watchman considered him with an open look.
The boy stared back at him though he shuffled nervously
from foot to foot.
"’ere," he said and offered Tam the apple from his coat
pocket. "I’ll be on me rounds then. Remember: keep yer wits
about yer. It ain’t safe in these parts for a lad." And
with that piece of advice he went on his way, cudgel in
hand, lantern held up high.