Into the Hall of Vice

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘Of course, that will be no trouble at all.’ Sophie popped from the chair, enthusiasm clear on her face. ‘I’ll write Vivienne when I return home and ask if she’ll accommodate us.’

  ‘Send me a message as soon as you know which day we shall visit and I’ll be sure to make arrangements. My brother will be none the wiser.’ Gemma believed what he didn’t know would never hurt him. By far, he practised the same adage and why should the rules only be bent by the males in the family?

  ‘It will need to be a complete secret. Aren’t you worried someone will recognise you and report your behaviour to your brother?’ Sophie stood above her, her expression perplexed with the voiced concern.

  ‘He does keep note of every outing and appointment, but with a little planned subterfuge, I know I can elude him. Truly, there’s a reason brother and bother are only one letter apart.’ She wouldn’t allow Kent to ruin her plans. ‘Perhaps I could alter my appearance somehow or hide who I really am, so if something goes awry I’m still unrecognisable.’ She rose from the table, encouraged by the sudden idea.

  Sophie giggled. ‘I can’t imagine how you’ll accomplish the task but I’m ready to accompany you no matter what you choose to do. Come along and I’ll have my carriage bring you home; that way we can discuss our plans during the ride without worry.’

  The two women left the coffee house arm and arm, chattering and planning what could only be called a grand adventure despite their total disregard of convention and the sagacious advice of their guardians.

  It was just another night, the hell crammed to the walls with every assortment of nabob and swell. The familiar sound of chips toppling, collected and gathered in greedy fists and empty pockets, coalesced with the sharp flick of cards shuffled and dealt at the tables. A riotous cheer from some lucky winner overrode the familiar cacophony and Cole stood at the centre. Business was his sanctuary, the hell a source of pride. At his right, a young viscount wagered an outrageous sum at the Faro table. Foolish pup didn’t have the smarts for the game, but he certainly had the funds. This energy, the lifeblood of his investment, hummed in his veins, the first distraction able to chase away the enchanting puzzle he’d encountered earlier in the afternoon.

  Lady Amberson.

  Why had she sought Maggie? Her forthright determination spoke well of her demeanour. She hardly disassembled when her purse was snatched, and her regard of his person, a stranger amidst the wayward of the streets, declared she lacked the pomposity often ingrained in women of quality upon their birth.

  After assisting the lady to be on her way, he’d taken care of the business he’d dressed for and later proceeded home to scrub himself clean, the bootblack at last rinsed from his hair after repeated washings. His dual identity might be necessary, but it was bloody inconvenient above all things. He scanned the floor with penetrating discernment, noting every detail with a clarity of vision, before he turned on his heel and made for his office abovestairs.

  Once inside, he strode to the far wall, opened the curtains and revealed a view of the gaming floor, though no one was the wiser. The door opened and closed behind him but he didn’t turn and a moment later Max stood beside him.

  ‘Quite an establishment we’ve created, isn’t it?’ The two men watched the gaming floor. Were anyone to look away from the tables and upward to the wall, they would see a mural of vivid images instead of the panes which kept the offices well hidden.

  Cole noticed the reckless viscount below had lost it all, his pockets to let, but likewise knew the fool would return on the morrow. The discreet hell possessed an impressive list of guests most every evening, the reputation for high stakes and ruthless competition the biggest draw. Gentry enjoyed their private secrets, while men similar to Cole and Max wore their sins with pride. The irony amused him. ‘Not too shabby considering our upbringing, wealthy bastards from ill-begotten beginnings.’

  The men never shared their personal agendas or haunting regrets. They didn’t need to. Their business was making money and together they succeeded with skill. At the moment, Luke was the missing member of their trio, each man adept at different aspects of the partnership. But, like all associates, when one had enterprise which took them in a separate direction, the others compensated.

  Cole was content in his role with few complaints. He managed the business end of the hell and while he happily counted the vowels of indebted peers, he never wished for the responsibility and pressure that accompanied an entitlement. Perhaps the best thing his father ever did was shove him from that carriage step to set Cole on this course, to become the man he was meant to be.

  He stood quietly with Max, admiring the exchange of money and chips against the green baize, gratified in the satisfaction and profit each night’s ante brought. Even the working girls enjoyed the evening, their laughter afloat above the frenetic exchange on the tables. This was their world. Above the upper nobility, in kind to the most fashionable society, and under no one’s thumb because of it.

  With the fleeting mental suggestion, his thoughts turned to Lady Amberson. Perhaps he should mention the meeting to Max, who knew the names and reputations of most all of London’s betters. Yet something held him back. Her place in society mattered little. He would likely never see her again. Still, another part of him, some untamed and illogical desire left over from another life, decided he should keep the lady a secret. Perhaps he didn’t wish to hear how far above him she lived, or worse, that she was a wife, mother… any other label that kept her out of reach. He clenched his teeth and demanded his wayward thoughts cease. What was this foolish preoccupation with the lady? She believed him an impecunious man, living in poverty in a section of London responsible for disease and crime. That is what he wished her to see, when he was Mr Goodworth, and that is what the lady perceived. Pity though, that he hadn’t been himself in that moment. The issue itched his brain, an uncomfortable niggling he could not scratch.

  He shook his head a second time, annoyed at his nonsensical struggle. Max had left the office, abandoning their conversation, full knowing that, when Cole sank into contemplative silence, no jovial banter would be had.

  Gemma insisted Nan fashion her hair in a tight twist, easily concealed under a young man’s cap, purchased for just this occasion. She would not dare tell her sister or brother of her late-night excursion, but without throwing caution completely to the wind, she’d taken Nan into her confidence. Of course, she’d suffered through a long lecture on respectable behaviour and an endless listing of all the perils and cautions awaiting her in the outside world, and that was without admitting her true destination. Nan believed she was meeting at Sophie’s to engage in a masquerade of sorts. Once the maid had sat through the convoluted explanation Gemma described, Nan surrendered in her attempts at dissuasion and instead changed her language to a precautionary warning.

  By years of experience, Nan knew better than to believe she could alter Gemma’s plans. Instead, the maid crossed herself with a brief prayer and set about twisting Gemma’s hair in the desired arrangement.

  Now, dressed in black trousers, a flowing brown linen shirt, hair tucked neatly under a cap, Gemma paced in wait for Sophie’s carriage to arrive. Nan would watch for the conveyance and fetch her so Gemma could remain hidden until necessary. The driver had been informed to come to the rear of the house outside the back kitchen. If anyone saw her leave, it would appear Nan was escorting a messenger boy out, perhaps with a biscuit in hand for his effort.

  Counting the minutes and eyeing the hall for fear her brother would awaken and discover her plan, she lingered belowstairs. The long case clock in the hall struck eleven one floor above. Time had come and, true to her word, a coach approached. Nan motioned to her as soon as it rolled to a stop and, with a meaningful expression of concern, the maid opened the door and Gemma slipped out.

  She climbed the extended steps, the driver hopped back on the boot, and the carriage lurched forward. Squinting across the dim lantern light, Gemma reached for
the key to illuminate the interior in an effort to see Sophie clearly.

  ‘Don’t.’

  The harsh whisper stalled her hand mid-motion. ‘Why not? I can hardly make out your form across the bench.’

  ‘I will only disappoint you further. I cannot go with you this evening.’ Regret drew Sophie’s words out in long syllables.

  ‘What?’ Gemma’s incredulous response snapped in the quiet. ‘After everything I went through this evening, my clothing, lying…’ She waved her hands to gesture the extent of her undertaking, at odds with the situation. ‘Please tell me you’re teasing.’

  ‘What if something happens? What if I’m hurt or stolen, or worse, what if I’m discovered and returned home where my parents will believe me ruined? I couldn’t bear their shame or disappointment. I thought I could manage it. I planned and prepared, but the truth persists my parents have been through too much already. With Crispin gone and no word for months, we don’t know if he remains secluded in England or has left for the continent. Mother cries every day. My father lives in a perpetual state of stony discontent. I could never add to their misery by bringing trouble to the doorstep, even if my goal seeks to ease their misery. I’m so sorry, Gemma.’

  ‘But I thought you sought information. That Crispin was last seen at the hell and Vivienne would gain us entry.’ Gemma didn’t know which emotion to settle upon, disappointment, anger, or a portion of both. She carried her own guilt at manipulating Nan and disregarding her brother’s rules.

  ‘Against my advisement, Vivienne told her husband of our idea. She seems a completely different type of friend now that she’s married. For some odd reason, she refuses to keep anything from her husband. Sinclair insisted Vivienne tell me not to come. Still, now that I see you in disguise, I believe you might go undetected. I did not send you a message because I didn’t want to ruin your plans with my cowardice. Please know I will uphold my half of our bargain even if you decide not to venture into the Underworld.’

  ‘No, I understand.’ Gemma shuffled her boots against the floor, not wishing to cause her friend further distress. ‘I appreciate that you kept to our arrangement even though you won’t be joining me inside.’ She leaned across and grasped one of Sophie’s bare hands. ‘And I know your brother will come home safely. I can feel it in my soul, just as I’m positive something needs to be discovered concerning my father’s death.’

  The solemn vow lent a grave silence to their ride and Gemma considered Sophie’s earnest despair. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who truly cared for one’s welfare, not just as a responsibility, but because of the emotional attachment? It was times like this when she missed her mother dearly. Someday she hoped to find a good man, a husband who would love and cherish her above all other matters in life.

  It was a good thing when Sophie broke the quiet. ‘Turn up the lamp.’ She gestured towards the brass fixture closest to Gemma. ‘I want to see you in your new menswear.’

  Sophie let out an appreciative squeal as lamplight flooded the interior.

  ‘Your clothes are ideal, but you are too pretty to be a boy. If anyone looks closely they will know straight away.’ Her friend’s attention traced over her face, dropped to her bosom and finally arched a brow at assessment of her hips.

  ‘Do you think so?’ Gemma refused to accept it as true. She was determined to get into the hell and fulfil her half of the bargain. Being perceived as a young man was vital.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to find out, aren’t you?’

  The carriage rolled to a stop and the driver opened the door at Sophie’s command. ‘James is the very best driver. He knows how important it is to keep a secret.’ She fluttered her eyelashes at the man in blatant flirtation though she’d spoken as if the servant needed no reminder.

  ‘I’ll return in an hour. Until then we will circle the city and exercise the horses. Don’t be late. I have it all planned so I can return you home and me to Daventry House with Mother and Father none the wiser.’

  ‘I promise.’ Gemma nodded to cement the vow. ‘I won’t let you down.’

  Then she slipped into the darkness, her dark clothing just the thing.

  Chapter Four

  Cole closed the ledger on his desk and claimed his cap from the hook by the door. He’d stared at numbers for over an hour with little progress. his mind distracted and body restless, though for the life of him he couldn’t determine why. Earlier in the day, when he’d gone to visit Maggie, he’d hoped their conversation would settle his unrest. Concentrating on their combined effort to aid the forgotten children of the streets often realigned his priorities whenever he seemed adrift. But with her out of house he’d chased a thief and met a breathtakingly beautiful lady instead. A woman whose presence reminded him of his origin, the darkness of his soul best kept smothered. She reminded how much remained impossibly unattainable.

  The lady remained clear in his mind. Long blonde hair, jade-green eyes and the kind of smile that must cause every gentleman to fall in love. Yet he wasn’t so foolish to be taken in by Lady Amberson’s charms. She remained a curiosity, nothing more. Women of her ilk were above him. Mayhap he should have mentioned the surname to Max Sinclair earlier. Sin would know where in the order of things this lady belonged and banish all convoluted attention. Cole’s life and history contained strict parameters. Refined ladies were not interested in a by-blow whose past contained a long list of shameful activity, the grime of the street forever ingrained in his pores. In that, an immeasurable chasm separated his kind from the jewels of the ton.

  Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. Not that it made one iota of difference. He’d never yearned for what lurked beyond his grasp and he wouldn’t start now because a pair of glittering green eyes had caught his attention. Love, that elusive and fickle emotion, was better left alone.

  Jamming his cap down a little too hard, he left the Underworld by way of the side door, determined to walk a length and shake loose agitation, but as he rounded the side of the building he glimpsed a young boy peering in the first-floor window, or at least attempting to do so, his lean body poised on tiptoe as he struggled to balance on a rock required to reach the pane. It wasn’t one of the reformed urchins he’d trained and employed to put in an honest day’s effort, and none of the lads who worked for the hell would commit the offence.

  ‘You there.’ Cole paused two strides away, confident his startling bark of reprimand would spark the boy into a fast run and the situation would resolve itself, but the opposite proved true. The lad froze, as motionless as a star in the sky, and due to his lack of focus and precarious perch, nearly tumbled to the ground from the stone where he’d balanced. With something akin to delayed panic, the peeper took a leap any rabbit would envy and broke into a run.

  Sparked into action, Cole followed to nab the lad’s elbow with a swift swipe and thrust him to rights against the side of the hell with the intent to teach him a stern lesson. Their eyes locked and, with unexpected force, a frisson of anticipation thrummed through him. The culprit may have experienced it too, as his eyes grew wide, the glitter of reflected light a-dance there. Taking advantage of the timeless moment, the lad attempted to jerk himself free and the harsh movement caused his cap to snag on the wooden slats and topple from his head. A rush of long yellow tresses as shimmery as moonbeams at midnight followed.

  ‘What the devil?’ The words faded on a note of recognition. A girl? A woman. He narrowed his eyes in assessment, his mind one beat slower than his body, which seemed immediately aware and peculiarly so. He knew those eyes. Lady Amberson? But why? Nothing seemed to make sense, most of all the hitch in his pulse. He was already a right bit cagey. He’d left the lady in Charing Cross, dressed to the nines in her fine day gown, tucked into a hackney towards Mayfair. He was a shrewd and clever businessman with acumen for complex problem solving, yet something here posed an unsolved riddle.

  ‘What are you doing…’ His eyes skimmed her length in the blue-black shadows. �
��Dressed this way?’ He still held her arm, some unexplainable force, protectiveness or untamed interest, or neither perhaps, provoking him to keep hold. What if she bolted? Took off running as quickly as she’d materialised? Safety, he reminded himself, it was an issue of personal safety. ‘Why were you attempting to look in this window?’

  She uttered not a word. Her eyes lowered, breathing stilted and, if it wasn’t a trick of the moonlight, her skin paled considerably. Still, she didn’t attempt to free herself. He leaned a bit closer. ‘Will you answer the question?’

  Her brows pleated slightly before at last she matched his gaze and puffed out an answer. ‘Which one?’

  She seemed to relax, her arm all of a sudden softened beneath his touch. He should stop touching her now and let her go. Beyond reason, he tightened his hold. He doubted she would recognise him as the gent from Charing Cross with his disguise removed, but he remained unsure how keenly she studied his face and wasn’t apt to take the chance.

  ‘Any of them would suffice as a beginning.’ With a quick surveillance of the surrounding area, he released her and stepped away, hoping with his short withdrawal she’d find the words she needed. Indeed, she had no idea he was Mr Goodworth and that proved bloody convenient.

  ‘I’m dressed this way so I can enter the Underworld without notice. I wished to see inside.’

  Similarly to their encounter earlier, the lady experienced no remorse at stating her intentions. One would think she was royalty, or very close to it, for all the attitude contained in her slight form.

  His bark of laughter must have startled. Did she think her answer sufficed? Her eyes grew larger, if possible, her arresting green gaze fixed. ‘Of course you did, but the fast set inside would recognise you as an easy mark in less than a roll of the dice. One look at your graceful features, the curve of your…’ He lost his train of thought and jerked his attention to her face. ‘Your chin, with not a whisker in sight.’ Thank God. ‘Your delicate neck and slim legs. You believe a cap and some trousers can hide the truth? Why, they’re no disguise at all.’ He gestured up and down to echo the observations. She stared at him as if he were daft. Another laugh surfaced but he got the better of it. ‘Now explain this foolishness? What prompted this ridiculous charade and futile attempt to enter my hell?’ A lock of hair fell over his brow and with annoyance he pushed in back under the brim of his cap. He’d left in a rush, without his coat, his shirt sleeves rolled to avoid ink blots in the ledgers.