Page 25 of A Game of Scandal

“No,” I said softly. “I don’t think I would. I want to study. I want to learn. I’d like to have some of my own adventures. Though obviously I’d be more than happy to offer my help if it was needed.”

Izzy let out a slow exhale. “I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed.”

“Let’s concentrate on the challenge in front of us, for now,” I suggested, picking up the golden silk mask I had worn the last time I entered the Lucky Penny.

In the excitement of the week that had slipped by, it had been easy to see this all as a sort of game, but the work the Aviary did was real – lives hung in the balance. And for tonight at least, I was a key part of that work.

“I’m ready to do this,” I said, as much for myself as for Izzy, because it was true, I was ready, I wanted to get started in earnest. Mixing in with the nerves was plenty of anticipation. Holding the mask up to my face, and tying the silk ribbon at the back, I was forced to admit that some of the restlessness I felt had to do with Ash and the fact I would see him again.

In his absence I had only found myself thinking about him more and more. The crooked tilt of his lips, the dark, treacle gleam of his eyes, that tantalizing glimpse of the tattoo on his arm. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so unsettled by a person before. He was a puzzle, this rogue pirate, this secret gentleman, and I loved puzzles. I wanted to solve him; I wanted to unravel him like a string of numbers across a page and find the secret truth at the heart of him.

Clearing my throat, I shook the idea from my mind. There were more important things to focus on, and I needed my brain sharp, my thoughts clear.

“Well, then,” I said, pulling my shoulders back and lifting my chin. “I believe Mrs Williams has some gambling to do.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

This time when I arrived at the Penny, I arrived alone and was greeted by Davey at the door. He gave me that surprisingly sweet smile, and rumbled, “My lady,” in his most respectful tones. I found myself smiling back up at him.

“Ash says I should stay close tonight,” Davey murmured low in my ear, “so if you see anything you don’t like, you tell me and I’ll sort it.” He cracked his knuckles with an impressive crunching sound. The man had fists the size of cabbages, cabbages made of stone. It was certainly reassuring.

I felt, when he led me inside, a strange sense of homecoming. The champagne fizz of excitement in the air, the noise, the explosion of energy… It was already familiar, and the warmth of the scene crept into my bones, chasing away any chill of fear and nerves. This was an adventure. I was eagerly looking forward to playing cards and finally putting all my theorizing into action.

Davey led me across the crowded floor of the main room, and despite his size we didn’t draw much attention – after all, they knew him here. The rabid focus of the crowd was on the dice, the turn of a card, the roll of a wheel. Davey pulled back a curtain in the far corner of the room and tapped four short, sharp knocks on the door concealed behind it. Almost at once, the door swung open on silent hinges, and a pool of golden liquid candlelight spilled out.

Before I could enter, Davey put one of his enormous hands on my shoulder.

“Remember,” he said. “Anything you don’t like, you give me a sign.”

“What should the sign be?” I whispered back.

His forehead crumpled. “Perhaps you could scratch your nose? Or we could choose a code word?” He tipped his head, thoughtfully, clearly getting into the spirit of things. “Sarsaparilla is a good word.”

“Sarsaparilla is an excellent word,” I agreed solemnly. “Or I could yell, ‘Davey! Help!’”

Davey nodded. “Right you are. Either of those things happen and I’ll start knockin’ heads.” There was the knuckle crunch again.

“Perfect.”

On that note, we entered the private room.

It was, as I had expected given the rest of the Penny, furnished tastefully, and it felt warm and inviting. There was a fireplace, already lit and emitting welcoming pops and cracks. A large window to one side gave barely any insight into our surroundings. The only thing visible was the dim burning orb of the streetlamp outside, like a star hovering close in the darkness.

The centre of the room was dominated by a round table, and six deep, comfortable-looking chairs. Across the far wall another long table had been set up with food and drinks – despite the late hour, it seemed breakfast was served – plates of thinly sliced ham, pink and tender, sunny-yolked eggs, freshly baked bread, a platter of fruit and cheeses, a covered dish, which when opened revealed a fragrant, steaming tumble of kedgeree. In place of tea and coffee, however, were pitchers of wine and beer, and a bottle of expensive brandy. Breakfast in the dead of night. It seemed at once to have the childish appeal of a midnight feast and an adult sense of decadence.

Arranged around the table of food, piling their plates high, were four men. One of these gentlemen, a dapper man in his fifties, who was tall and wide with laughing eyes, strode towards me. His voice was loud, his accent clearly American. He balanced his plate in one hand and used the other to pump mine up and down enthusiastically.

“This must be the charming lady Ash told us to expect! What a pleasure! I hear you’re quite the whizz at cards!” Every sentence was clearly punctuated with an exclamation mark. “Now, don’t tell me. Mrs … Wilson? No, Williams!”

“How do you do?” I murmured. He was still clutching my hand.

“Horatio. P. Peabody!” he said, as though announcing a great circus act. “Delighted. Delighted!”

He finally relinquished his grip on me.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said, summoning my most charming smile. In truth, it wasn’t hard. Horatio P. Peabody was extremely winning, with his kind eyes and boyish enthusiasm.

“Allow me to introduce you to this band of reprobates!” he said cheerfully. “This here is Mr John Johnson – hell of a name, if you’ll beg my pardon!” He gestured towards a man who had the look of a watchful spider. Older than Horatio by a good few years, he was tall and thin, almost to the point of gauntness. His mouth remained firmly in a flat, straight line as he muttered an unconvincing “Charmed.”