Wild Pen Carrington by Sophie Angmering Page B

she had said the words that there had been several gentlemen through that taproom within the last hour to even her certain knowledge.
    “He had a tankard of ale and some bread and cheese sent into the yard…” she went on to say helpfully, then realised that her voice sounded unnaturally high, and female, in the dark taproom. The voices therein were starting to fall ominously silent as she spoke. Pen coughed loudly, and somewhat theatrically, before finishing her sentence with ‘earlier’ in a deeper tone.
    She could feel a dark flush creeping up the back of her neck, but thankfully, in the dimness, nobody seemed to have noticed and the noise made by the customers in the tap resumed.
    “He’s gone through to a private parlour with the other gentleman. You want me to take a message to him?”
    The woman gave her a somewhat condescending look as she started to dry the tankards before her. She regarded the figure that Pen presented to her in a speculative manner, swinging her hips as she tapped one foot.
    “A message?” She asked Pen.
    Pen’s mind went blank for a moment, then her quick wits came back to her. “A message! Quite—no, it is a very important message that I am to deliver to my employer personally.”
    Pen started moving towards the doors that obviously led to the private rooms. “Don’t worry,” she hastened to add as the woman made as if to follow her. “I will find them myself.”
    Pen most certainly did not need any further directions to be able to discern that her target must be the next room, as a muffled conversation was clearly audible, albeit through the closed door.
    One raised voice in particular alerted Pen to this fact, and it was voice Pen had no difficulty at all in identifying. It was Hugo. And he was angry.
    “Damn your eyes, man. And damn you to hell! Can you not see that you cannot play with people in such a fast and loose manner without running the risk that they will leave or punish you? I was perfectly entitled to take Miss DeLacey under my protection. She was most distressed and in real fear that you were about to drop her for some opera singer you had been recently seen escorting down the walks of Vauxhall, Arden!”
    “Marianne DeLacey is no newcomer to this game, Burrows, whatever her simpering affectations. She is a woman of the world, our world, and she knows the score when a protector loses interest.”
    “This woman may well be a demi-rep, but she is an articulate, intelligent creature with very real concerns about her immediate future and means of support. It was Miss DeLacey’s understanding that your liaison was at an end, and she was most appreciative of the terms that I made.”
    “Of that I have no doubt!” was the snapped reply, in a voice that was most definitely not Hugo’s. ”Miss Marianne DeLacey is a skilled negotiator, that much you will become well aware of in the future.
    “No, the problem that I have with this entire episode is that you have felt entitled to take something of value that was mine, Burrows.”
    The voice dropped slightly and acquired an ominously smooth quality that meant Pen had to really strain her ears to hear the next sentence.
    “And, as you know, Burrows, nobody simply takes what is mine. And if they do, there are always consequences.”
    Hugo Burrows laughed nervously. “What are you trying to say?”
    Pen was suddenly aware of a note of uncertainty in her old friend’s voice—and she could not be surprised.
    The underlying threat of violence in the newcomer’s softly spoken words was quite distinct.
    Pen felt her heartbeat start to race and her feet fidget. She could not believe that the subject of their argument appeared to be Hugo’s mistress, a member of the demi-mondaine, and there she was thinking Hugo had been indulging in an affair with her friend, the Countess Griaznova! Hugo Burrows is a faithless womaniser.
    Pen should have been totally ignorant of such things as a gently bred young lady, but it was a fact of