Page 20 of A Season for Scandal

Maud inserted herself under his other armpit, relieving some of the burden. Calvin Scrimshaw was not a light man. Nor was he a good one. As was becoming ever more apparent as his hand roamed across my backside. I twisted as best as I could, smacking it away.

“We need to get him up to Joe’s office,” Maud said in a low voice. “It’s gone midnight. Sylla and Win are waiting.”

A long, low snore escaped from Scrimshaw’s lips, as his body sagged into unconsciousness again, and Maud and I struggled to keep him upright, my feet sliding in my thin silk slippers as his head came to rest, pillowed on the ample cleavage revealed by my dress.

“Mari, love,” a rough, amused voice came from behind us. “What are you doing in such an interesting predicament? Don’t you know this is a respectable establishment?”

“Ash!” I panted, too relieved to bother coming up with a witty retort. “Give us a hand, will you? Sylla and Win are waiting upstairs, and I don’t know how we’re going to get him up there.”

Ash was one of the owners of the Lucky Penny, the gambling den we were in. The man was a lovable rogue, a well-mannered scoundrel, and a friend to the Aviary. A couple of years older than me, with his overlong dark hair, square, unshaven jaw and gold earrings, he looked like a wickedly handsome pirate – and he drank and flirted like one too.

It was, I thought, a great skill, to flirt with every single person he met – male or female – and yet never to cross the line into unwanted over-familiarity. (Wantedover-familiarity was a whole different story, of course. Tales of Ash’s heartbroken lovers were legion.) It was a useful trait in his line of work, this ability to read people, to give them exactly what they wanted – he’d charmed more than one fortune out of his patrons over a cosy hand of cards.

With a theatrical sigh, Ash appeared in front of us, reaching out to grab Scrimshaw roughly by the shoulders and turn him round.

Allowing Scrimshaw to slump against him, Ash bent his knees and slung Scrimshaw over his shoulder, the man’s arms dangling limply towards the ground.

“I thought he was supposed to be conscious for this bit,” Ash puffed, climbing the stairs with a strength I had not suspected of his lean, wiry body.

“There might have been a small miscalculation in the dosage.” I bit my lip. “I’m sure it will be fine, though.”

Maud snorted. “Let’s hope we can get some sense out of him.”

Nerves writhed in my belly as I hurried up the stairs after Ash. I was close to finishing my training and this was our first big operation as a charm. I desperately wanted things to go well, but it looked as though I might have made a mess of things already.

We clattered unceremoniously into Joe’s office – Joe was Ash’s business partner, who was not currently on the premises – to find Sylla sitting behind his desk, impatience simmering in every line of her person. Her cool eyes went straight to Scrimshaw’s prone body.

“Oh dear,” Winnie said mildly, stepping forward while Ash deposited Scrimshaw in a chair. “It looks as though there may have been a problem with the dosage.”

“What exactly did you give him?” Ash quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s a compound made from several plants,” I said. “It’s harmless, really. Salvia, chamomile, atouchof opium…”

“Opium?” Ash kicked at Scrimshaw’s foot, but the man didn’t respond.

“Only a little bit,” I said weakly.

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” said Sylla.

“It will be fine.” Winnie waved her hand. “The science is sound. Mari and I allowed for a certain margin of error.”

“Margin of error? Is the man even alive?” Sylla asked, rising to her feet.

Winnie pressed her fingers to his neck. “Yes,” she replied. “I should think he’ll revive momentarily.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sylla said calmly. Too calmly.

“Well, I’ll be off, then,” Ash interrupted cheerily, having the sense to know when his particular brand of charm was about to encounter a brick wall. A good gambler knew when to fold, after all. “Lovely to see you as always, ladies. Give the bell in the corner a pull if you run into any problems.” His eyes flicked to the drooling, unconscious form of the man in front of him. “Or if you need any help disposing of the body.”

On that helpful note, he swaggered out of the door, sending me a mischievous wink over his shoulder as he left.

“Tell me what happened,” Sylla demanded.

“Everything went exactly as planned,” Maud said, as I slumped into a vacant armchair, rubbing my aching shoulders. “We sat down at the table beside Scrimshaw, flirted a little while he played, then Mari intercepted his drink, and I emptied the vial into it.”

“About ten minutes later he seemed heavily intoxicated,” I said, “and I convinced him to join me in the stairwell. Then … he became a bit … unconscious.”

“But he woke up again,” Maud put in quickly.