To Save the Devil by Moore Kate

Author:Moore, Kate
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group, Inc.
Published: 2010-10-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

THEY returned to Will Jones’s rooms by a maze of quick turnings, which Helen knew she would not remember by daylight. In spite of the cold and the national mood of mourning, the doors of the nearest taproom swung freely, and laughter and light spilled into the street. Across from the crescent moon sign that marked the hidden door to Jones’s apartments, a pair of vividly painted women leaned out an upper window of a bawdy house watching the patrons of the taproom as they came and went. The women spotted Will Jones at once.

“Will Jones, where’ve ye been, ye mad devil? Those ribs of yours ’ealed yet?”

“Willie love, ’oo’s the new pigeon with you?”

“Bring ’im over. Let Nell set ’im straight.”

“’Alf -price for beginners.”

“Evening, ladies, thanks for the offer. Wait till this one gets some hair on his chin first.”

“Don’t keep away now, Will Jones. Ye’ll ne’er ’eal alone in that grand bed of yours.”

He opened the mysterious door that seemed not to be a door at all.

“Where’s the dog?” Helen asked. It was not the burning question on her mind, but it was the one she allowed herself. She had no reason to be annoyed by the coarse cheeky voices of the women. There was nothing offensive in their friendly boldness. It did not matter to her if he had read Lord Thrustmore’s story to one or all of them or arranged his bath and his grand sultan’s bed for their delight. She tried to shake off the thought. It wasn’t a thought for Helen of Troy, but she almost missed his answer about the dog.

“Zebediah must still be up on Oxford Street. That’s his main lay.”

They passed up the stairs through the outer apartment and the paneled wall into his inner room. Helen followed him, watching as he put Nate Wilde’s stash in a drawer of his tall cabinet. She remained intrigued by the neat order of his inner room with its cabinets and maps and shelves of books. Harding was nowhere in sight. Will Jones stirred the fire to life and strode off, telling her she could have five minutes’ privacy. Helen knew better than to linger. She shed her outer garments and made use of the privy she’d discovered when he brought her back from the school.

When she emerged, he was standing by the fire, his face in the shadows. She saw at a glance the impatience of his stance, one elbow jutting out, knuckles resting against the arrogant cock of his hip. All day he had been bundled as she had in layers of wool and leather. Now he was pared down to the lean taut form of him. A worn gray wool vest lacking two buttons hugged his ribs over a plain cotton shirt open at the throat.

She was used to male arrogance of course. All males were arrogant. They looked down their noses at women, gave orders, assumed obedience. But the familiar arrogance of her father and his associates came with trimmings, with position and title, with incense, robes, and lace, and lofty heights to speak from.

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