The Den Of Iniquity

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.