Page 83 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
“She might not be the cleanest of the girls here tonight, but I can assure you we scrubbed her down with lye so your olfactory senses will not be disturbed when making use of her,” cried the auctioneer, holding his nose for comedic effect.
Edward’s hand pressed against his right rib and traveled up to his heart. He begged his cursed ticker not to stop before he got Tabby out of this wretched place. She stood on that bench so patiently despite the jeers and disparagement, her gaze floating over the heads of those men who might buy and hurt her.
“If I wanted trash, I’d hunch a ragpicker,” sneered a young blade to his mates.
“Get her off the stage!” yelled a man from the back. Edward sent him a glare.
“Is there no one who will relieve this blushing virgin of her hymen? Surely one among you has had his allowance cut andwouldn’t mind breaking in a cheap, fresh whore for the night!” shouted the auctioneer.
The assembled men merely grumbled, and the auctioneer moved to take Tabby down from the bench when she remonstrated with him, moving her hands like a fishwife to ask for another chance at the crowd.
It was when the man presumed to get rough with her that Tabby struck back, landing an elbow in his middle as he pulled her down from the bench.
Edward had seen enough and was halfway to the front of the room when the auctioneer struck Tabby across the face with an open hand, to the delighted cheers of the rakes, bloods, and blades. The sound of the slap rang through the room.
“On second thought, I might have a use for this slut!” shouted a man as Edward passed, earning him a blow to the kidney that sent him to the floor in a heap.
“What’s this? Do we have a taker?” yelled the auctioneer between wheezes. “She’ll look much better with your bruises on her flesh!”
When he passed by the bored cashier sitting before a strongbox, Edward slammed down a banknote, then elbowed his way forward, where Tabby continued to tussle with the auctioneer.
“This one is mine,” said Edward, grabbing her about the waist and swinging her into his arms.
“What are ye doing, Dick Stone?” she asked, pushing against his chest. “I’m trying to become your equal.”
All around them, the crowd hurled abuse, and Tabby had to brush off a lit cheroot that landed in her lap.
“Oh, but I paid so much for this,” she said sadly, looking at the hole left behind.
“I’ll buy you another,” said Edward, exasperated. “We need to get out of here.”
“Sir, your change!” exclaimed the man at the strongbox as Edward made for the exit, still carrying Tabby.
“Keep it,” he ground out. “I’d have paid more.”
***
It was when he’d been carrying Tabby for several streets in the darkened night and longed to put her down that he noticed her lack of shoes.
“Blast it, do we need to go back for your boots and breeches?” he asked, finally realizing that her bare toes bobbed before them.
“Sold ’em,” she said.
“You sold the boots I gave you?” he asked, his heart sinking. Those boots could have lasted her many more years, and she was unlikely to find a pair so fine.
She placed her hand against his waistcoat, not precisely where he’d been in pain, but close enough for Edward to draw a deep breath at last.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the picture of sincerity. “I had to pay for my wig. My hair is so short that I look like a boy otherwise.”
He regarded the cheap, tangled mess in horror. Someone had convinced her to part with her boots so she could buy the most disgusting wig seen in London this century? The thing was likely crawling with lice. Would the horrors never cease?
“And what of your breeches?” he asked faintly.
“Traded them for this,” she said, fingering the burn hole in her dreary nightgown.
“So your plan was to go without shoes and daytime clothing henceforth?” he asked, the words echoing down the abandoned streets as he navigated towards his lodgings.
“I was supposed to get a cut of my auction take,” she said sadly. “But you carried me away before I could collect. I was going to mention it, but you looked so mad.”
