a yellow glow in the mist. He heard the clip-clop of hooves as a hansom cab passed. It slowed, but drove on and turned a corner.
A flower vendor strolled by, but Jocelin’s expression warned her, and she didn’t try to sell him her wares. He sighed and touched the handle of the door. A woman walked by, a servant by her plain dress. He caught a glimpse of an apron and a cap.
He could have sworn he smelled lemons as he stepped to the ground. He whirled, took two steps after the woman, then stopped himself. His imagination, that’s what it was. He had to get hold of himself. Loveday had lectured him like a disapproving schoolmaster about Miss Gamp. Hang it! He couldn’t be alone for more than five minutes without lusting after the woman, and he had yet to see her clearly in daylight.
Jocelin muttered to himself as he swerved and planted himself at the front door of the town house. A parlor maid answered, recognized him immediately, and conducted him into a drawing room warmed by a too-hot fire. He heard someone running downstairs, and Nick Ross sailed into the room, resplendent inevening dress. From his coat of finely woven Saxony to his white silk waistcoat, Nick could have passed for a nobleman.
“You’re late, your highness.”
“Asher delayed me.”
“You go making these pissers wait, they’ll have your carcass floating in the river come morning.”
“You’re fizzed because you don’t like to wait.”
Nick pulled on his coat, then stuck his hand in an inner pocket. Withdrawing a small revolver, he broke it open and examined it.
“I think this bloke’s the one.”
“Damn all,” Jocelin said softly. “Are you sure?”
“Nah, but I will be once I get me—my hands on ’im.”
“ ‘Him,’ Nick. Your
h
’s, remember, not ‘im,’ ‘him.’ ”
“Yes, your h-h-h, h-h-highness. Come on, love. My carriage is out back.”
Jocelin pressed his hand against his coat and felt his own revolver. The hammer gouged into his rib, and he adjusted the gun inside his pocket. The carriage pulled out into the street behind Nick’s town house the moment he closed the door.
As they drove east, he settled back for the long drive to St. Giles. They passed Notting Hill, Kensington, and Hyde Park, then drove up Oxford Street. Buildings began to crowd close, and he lost the scent of Hyde Park greenery in the stench of broken drains. The deeper into St. Giles they went, the more frequent the beer shops became, until the streets seemed to consist of nothing but pubs. The carriage slowed as foot traffic increased. Here vendors hawked meat pies, and costermongers offered fruit and vegetables to hurried and wary pedestrians.
They turned down a street of broken cobbles with three gin shops and several boardinghouses. Jocelin pulled his white silk scarf from beneath his coat collar and wrapped it around the lower half of his face. Nick did the same. The carriage slowed to a walk as it approached the corner. The back right wheel sank into a hole and climbed out.
Jocelin looked through the window. The boardinghouse on the corner looked like the two across the street. Prostitutes sauntered by, only to be chased away by a doorman of monumental proportions. Two professional men stumbled out of the noisy pub next to it and weaved their way past the entrance. The doorman watched them until they rounded the corner, his hand on a bulge in his coat pocket.
Their carriage stopped in front of the boardinghouse. Jocelin eyed the doorman, who spat on the cracked pavement and grinned, revealing a picket fence of broken teeth.
Jocelin glanced at Nick and murmured, “ ‘O God! that bread should be so dear, / And flesh and blood so cheap!’ Time to buy flesh and blood, old chap.”
L iza wiggled and bounced in the seat of the hansom cab, so great was her impatience to see the carriage they were following. Beside her, Toby Inch leaned to the side and craned his neck to see around the horses and down the street lit by a single
A flower vendor strolled by, but Jocelin’s expression warned her, and she didn’t try to sell him her wares. He sighed and touched the handle of the door. A woman walked by, a servant by her plain dress. He caught a glimpse of an apron and a cap.
He could have sworn he smelled lemons as he stepped to the ground. He whirled, took two steps after the woman, then stopped himself. His imagination, that’s what it was. He had to get hold of himself. Loveday had lectured him like a disapproving schoolmaster about Miss Gamp. Hang it! He couldn’t be alone for more than five minutes without lusting after the woman, and he had yet to see her clearly in daylight.
Jocelin muttered to himself as he swerved and planted himself at the front door of the town house. A parlor maid answered, recognized him immediately, and conducted him into a drawing room warmed by a too-hot fire. He heard someone running downstairs, and Nick Ross sailed into the room, resplendent inevening dress. From his coat of finely woven Saxony to his white silk waistcoat, Nick could have passed for a nobleman.
“You’re late, your highness.”
“Asher delayed me.”
“You go making these pissers wait, they’ll have your carcass floating in the river come morning.”
“You’re fizzed because you don’t like to wait.”
Nick pulled on his coat, then stuck his hand in an inner pocket. Withdrawing a small revolver, he broke it open and examined it.
“I think this bloke’s the one.”
“Damn all,” Jocelin said softly. “Are you sure?”
“Nah, but I will be once I get me—my hands on ’im.”
“ ‘Him,’ Nick. Your
h
’s, remember, not ‘im,’ ‘him.’ ”
“Yes, your h-h-h, h-h-highness. Come on, love. My carriage is out back.”
Jocelin pressed his hand against his coat and felt his own revolver. The hammer gouged into his rib, and he adjusted the gun inside his pocket. The carriage pulled out into the street behind Nick’s town house the moment he closed the door.
As they drove east, he settled back for the long drive to St. Giles. They passed Notting Hill, Kensington, and Hyde Park, then drove up Oxford Street. Buildings began to crowd close, and he lost the scent of Hyde Park greenery in the stench of broken drains. The deeper into St. Giles they went, the more frequent the beer shops became, until the streets seemed to consist of nothing but pubs. The carriage slowed as foot traffic increased. Here vendors hawked meat pies, and costermongers offered fruit and vegetables to hurried and wary pedestrians.
They turned down a street of broken cobbles with three gin shops and several boardinghouses. Jocelin pulled his white silk scarf from beneath his coat collar and wrapped it around the lower half of his face. Nick did the same. The carriage slowed to a walk as it approached the corner. The back right wheel sank into a hole and climbed out.
Jocelin looked through the window. The boardinghouse on the corner looked like the two across the street. Prostitutes sauntered by, only to be chased away by a doorman of monumental proportions. Two professional men stumbled out of the noisy pub next to it and weaved their way past the entrance. The doorman watched them until they rounded the corner, his hand on a bulge in his coat pocket.
Their carriage stopped in front of the boardinghouse. Jocelin eyed the doorman, who spat on the cracked pavement and grinned, revealing a picket fence of broken teeth.
Jocelin glanced at Nick and murmured, “ ‘O God! that bread should be so dear, / And flesh and blood so cheap!’ Time to buy flesh and blood, old chap.”
L iza wiggled and bounced in the seat of the hansom cab, so great was her impatience to see the carriage they were following. Beside her, Toby Inch leaned to the side and craned his neck to see around the horses and down the street lit by a single
Similar Books
