Diamonds and Dreams by Rebecca Paisley Page B

chicken. She hollered that neither one of
us was fit to be in her parlor and that she didn’t know what in the
world had possessed her to hire me to clean it. It really hurt my
feelin’s, Saber, because I hadn’t broken anything before Uncle Asa
came. I’d been as careful as I know how to be.” She squeezed her
eyes tightly so as not to cry.
    “And I want you to know right here and now
that I’ll be careful in this room too,” she swore, crossing
her heart. “Daddy’s honor, I won’t touch anything. I’ll just sleep
in the bed, and that’s all. So if you or Addison ever talk to the
owner, you can tell him that all I did was sleep here and that I
didn’t mess anything up while I was sleepin’. And I sleep in a
tight little ball, Saber, so I probably won’t even wrinkle the
sheets all that much.”
    The promise radiating from her sweet little
face made Saber’s throat constrict. I probably won’t even
wrinkle the sheets all that much. Jillian had been here many
times and when she left, it most likely took the servants a month
to clean things up.
    Goldie’s promise filled him with something
tender. “This is not Imogene Tully’s tea parlor, Goldie. And the
owner of this estate does have a hundred...uh, dollars to buy a sofa. To buy anything. Wrinkled sheets are
the last things in the world that would upset him. He’d want you to
feel comfortable and happy here. I’m sure of it.”
    “All the same, I’ll be careful.” She swept
past him and back into the bedroom, stopping in front of a
beautiful full-length mirror. With her fingers she began brushing
her hair.
    Saber strode to the door. His hand on the
knob, he wished he could make himself invisible and watch her
pretend to be a princess, for he still suspected that was exactly
what she was going to do when he left. “Good night, Goldie.”
    Her fingers entangled in her tight curls,
Goldie returned the sentiment and smiled.
    As Saber left, he felt an odd desire to buy
her a brush. A gold one. Upon further deliberation, he
discovered he wanted to buy her a tiara too. A princess just wasn’t
a princess without one.

Chapter Five
     
     
    Dane Hutchins pressed a scented handkerchief
to his nose, but could still smell the fetid odor of the cold, dark
London alleyway. Sidestepping a pile of rotting offal someone had
dumped from the cracked window above, he noticed an old woman
picking up bones littering the muddy ground. Then he read the name
he’d written on a scrap of paper and stared at the man before him.
“It wasn’t easy finding you, Ferris, and I would appreciate your
undivided attention. I am terribly offended by the stench of this
place and wish to conclude this unpleasant business as soon as
possible.”
    Diggory Ferris looked up from the knife he
was sharpening. “If ya got ’alf the brains ya pretends ter got,
ya’d call me Mister Ferris. You bleedin’ toffs is all the
same. All wind an’ piss, ya is. Ya needs a job done an’ think ya
can waltz out ’ere where all the filth lives an’ order us
around like ya does the blinkin’ servants y’got in yer fancy
‘ouses. Go git buggered, is wot I say. I ain’t no grotty cod’s
’ead, I ain’t, an’ I don’t follows no friggin’ orders from nobody,
’ear? I own the part o’ London-town where ya is, see? Yer on me grounds, and ya follows me lead. I earned me
nickname, ‘The Butcher,’ an’ I’d be more’n obliged ter show ya why,
guv.” With one swift motion, he threw his knife, impaling a large
rat.
    “I’m afraid I really must insist that you
address me as ‘milord.’” Dane pulled a wad of bills from his
pocket.
    Diggory’s eyes widened at the sight of the
huge sum of money. “Milord!”
    Dane smiled. “I’ll give you three times this
much when the job is done. Now repeat what I’ve told you about
her.”
    “She’s little,” Diggory recounted. “Curly
yellow ’air wot touches ’er shoulders. American, an ’ talks like one. She’s got a bleedin’ blastie