and dirty, paint peeling from the walls, and stinking of the night’s activities. The doors were firmly closed, but Rufus hammered on them until a sleepy-looking boy opened them.
“What you want, gov’ner?” he demanded. “We don’ open up till later.”
“I believe there’s a man called Jackson here,” Rufus said, placing his shoe in the gap between door and jamb to stop the boy closing it. “I need to see him.”
The boy’s eyes weren’t so sleepy now.
“I know he’s here,” Rufus said, and reaching into his pocket drew out some coins. “Let me in.”
The coins were gone in an instant and Rufus was standing in the room he remembered from several nights ago. For a moment, as he looked at the stairs, he could almost see Averil standing there, her fair hair tumbling down, her skirt torn and dirty, but her gray eyes clear and brave. Now that he thought of it, it was a brave thing to do, going to The Tin Soldier. Even taking part in the Home for Distressed Women was courageous behavior for a proper young lady. Averil Martindale was a brave girl and he admired her for it.
Just as well she was brave, Rufus thought. Because if he did marry her she would need all her courage to live at Southbrook Castle with his madcap family.
The thought made him curl his lip at his own dishonorable behavior. Could he really inveigle a woman like Averil into marrying him? Why would she say yes? She didn’t strike him as the sort of person who would say yes to anything without a very good reason.
That made him feel a little better. He’d ask and she’d refuse and then he’d be less of a dishonorable cad.
“Lord Southbrook?”
It wasn’t Averil coming down the stairs, it was Sally Jakes. She looked neat and bright, not as if she’d been up most of the night running the gambling house.
“Sally. I’m sorry to barge in but I wanted to see Jackson.”
She seemed to stiffen, but her smile didn’t leave her mouth. “Jackson?”
“Yes, Sally, Jackson. We both know who I mean.”
She sighed. “What’s ’e been up to now?”
“I won’t know until I see him.”
Sally came down the rest of the stairs and, with a shrug, led him toward the nether regions of the building. They descended some stairs and it grew gloomier.
“I know ’e can be a slippery one,” she said conversationally, “but ’e’s useful. I use ’im for errands, other little jobs I ’ave. He knows the East End like the back of ’is ’and.”
“Jackson and I are old friends,” Rufus offered. “You don’t need to worry.”
Sally turned to look at him, and then shrugged again. At the bottom of the stairs she pointed to a door. “’E’s in there. Probably still asleep,” she added, and then left him to it.
Rufus opened the door without knocking. Jackson lay on a narrow bed, the covers over his head, one boot sticking out the bottom. Obviously he didn’t bother with such niceties as undressing for sleep. Rufus suspected that was because Jackson never knew when he might have to make a run for it.
Rufus leaned against the door to prevent that happening. There were no windows, so he thought he was safe enough. He cleared his throat. Loudly.
The bedclothes stirred, and then a head lifted and bleary eyes peered at him. The eyes widened and Jackson shot out of the bed like a bullet from a gun, and then promptly fell onto the floor as his boots caught in the covers.
“Lord Southbrook,” he said, his voice a squeak. “What a pleasure this is, sir.” He blinked. “You’re looking well.”
Jackson was one of the most ugly men Rufus had ever seen, but there was something about his ugliness that made you trust him. What you saw was what you got. Except it wasn’t. Jackson was also a slippery, lying manipulator and the thought of him having anything to do with Averil was intolerable.
“You were with Lady Averil Martindale the other night, weren’t you?”
Jackson licked his lips.
“Don’t try and lie. I saw you there. And I saw
“What you want, gov’ner?” he demanded. “We don’ open up till later.”
“I believe there’s a man called Jackson here,” Rufus said, placing his shoe in the gap between door and jamb to stop the boy closing it. “I need to see him.”
The boy’s eyes weren’t so sleepy now.
“I know he’s here,” Rufus said, and reaching into his pocket drew out some coins. “Let me in.”
The coins were gone in an instant and Rufus was standing in the room he remembered from several nights ago. For a moment, as he looked at the stairs, he could almost see Averil standing there, her fair hair tumbling down, her skirt torn and dirty, but her gray eyes clear and brave. Now that he thought of it, it was a brave thing to do, going to The Tin Soldier. Even taking part in the Home for Distressed Women was courageous behavior for a proper young lady. Averil Martindale was a brave girl and he admired her for it.
Just as well she was brave, Rufus thought. Because if he did marry her she would need all her courage to live at Southbrook Castle with his madcap family.
The thought made him curl his lip at his own dishonorable behavior. Could he really inveigle a woman like Averil into marrying him? Why would she say yes? She didn’t strike him as the sort of person who would say yes to anything without a very good reason.
That made him feel a little better. He’d ask and she’d refuse and then he’d be less of a dishonorable cad.
“Lord Southbrook?”
It wasn’t Averil coming down the stairs, it was Sally Jakes. She looked neat and bright, not as if she’d been up most of the night running the gambling house.
“Sally. I’m sorry to barge in but I wanted to see Jackson.”
She seemed to stiffen, but her smile didn’t leave her mouth. “Jackson?”
“Yes, Sally, Jackson. We both know who I mean.”
She sighed. “What’s ’e been up to now?”
“I won’t know until I see him.”
Sally came down the rest of the stairs and, with a shrug, led him toward the nether regions of the building. They descended some stairs and it grew gloomier.
“I know ’e can be a slippery one,” she said conversationally, “but ’e’s useful. I use ’im for errands, other little jobs I ’ave. He knows the East End like the back of ’is ’and.”
“Jackson and I are old friends,” Rufus offered. “You don’t need to worry.”
Sally turned to look at him, and then shrugged again. At the bottom of the stairs she pointed to a door. “’E’s in there. Probably still asleep,” she added, and then left him to it.
Rufus opened the door without knocking. Jackson lay on a narrow bed, the covers over his head, one boot sticking out the bottom. Obviously he didn’t bother with such niceties as undressing for sleep. Rufus suspected that was because Jackson never knew when he might have to make a run for it.
Rufus leaned against the door to prevent that happening. There were no windows, so he thought he was safe enough. He cleared his throat. Loudly.
The bedclothes stirred, and then a head lifted and bleary eyes peered at him. The eyes widened and Jackson shot out of the bed like a bullet from a gun, and then promptly fell onto the floor as his boots caught in the covers.
“Lord Southbrook,” he said, his voice a squeak. “What a pleasure this is, sir.” He blinked. “You’re looking well.”
Jackson was one of the most ugly men Rufus had ever seen, but there was something about his ugliness that made you trust him. What you saw was what you got. Except it wasn’t. Jackson was also a slippery, lying manipulator and the thought of him having anything to do with Averil was intolerable.
“You were with Lady Averil Martindale the other night, weren’t you?”
Jackson licked his lips.
“Don’t try and lie. I saw you there. And I saw
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