Page 22 of A Season for Scandal

“But for our first real job as a charm,” Maud continued undaunted, “I’d say it was a success.”

“We will discuss this later,” Sylla said. “For now, Winnie and I need to leave out of the back before we are discovered, while you and Mari take care ofthat.” She gestured disdainfully towards Scrimshaw, who had started snoring again. At least we hadn’t killed him.

“I’ll deliver the numbers to Mrs Finch, along with the key,” Sylla continued. “You did get the key?”

I reached into the pocket of my low-cut ballgown – cherry red to match the rouge on my lips and cheeks – and pulled out the key I had lifted from Scrimshaw’s associate earlier in the evening. He certainly hadn’t minded my wandering hands. It had been a neat bit of pickpocketing – something I would never have expected to be a source of pride.

“Good,” Sylla said, and it was ridiculous how widely this small, tepid bit of praise made me smile.

Sylla and Winnie departed, and Maud and I looked at one another for a moment.

“How do we get him back downstairs?” Maud asked.

“I think we can just sort of … roll him,” I said.

“Not very dignified.”

“Extorting all those poor widows out of their savings?” I shrugged. “It’s the least he deserves.”

Maud grinned. “Well, when you put it that way…”

With a lot of pushing and pulling, we succeeded in getting Scrimshaw back down the stairs. He remained dead to the world throughout, which was probably for the best.

When we reached the bottom, we managed to get him up on to his feet again, supporting him enough to drag him, stumbling, across the crowded gaming floor.

Several of Scrimshaw’s friends called out with lewd congratulations, one or two sent wolf whistles in our direction. Maud offered them a bawdy wink, while I subtly lifted Scrimshaw’s arm as if he were bidding them all a jaunty goodnight.

We stuffed Scrimshaw unceremoniously into a hackney carriage and gave the driver his address. The driver did not so much as blink. I suppose he had seen it all before.

“You’re sure he won’t remember anything?” Maud asked as we watched the carriage drive away into the night.

“He’ll have a tremendous hangover, and thanks to all his friends he’ll assume he had the night of his life.” I dusted off my hands. “He won’t know a thing until it’s too late.”

“You did well, Mari.” Maud nudged me. “I know Sylla is mean with her praise, but the tincture was a tidy way of getting the information – he likely won’t realize there’s been a breach for days; it gives us time we wouldn’t otherwise have had. You and Win and your potions … it’s good work.”

“It could have gone better.” I sighed. “We cut it too close on the timings. Sylla was right: the formula isn’t reliable enough yet…”

“We can make improvements,” Maud said soothingly. “It takes time for everything to run like clockwork. The main thing is, thanks to us, all those innocent women get their money back. We helped people tonight – don’t forget that.”

Her words were like a warm blanket against the cool night air.

“You’re right,” I agreed, a smile spreading across my face. Now that we were out of the woods, relief swept through me. “My first big job done and we’re all in one piece.”

“Win didn’t even blow anything up,” Maud agreed with a laugh. “Cause for celebration. Come on, I think the newest member of the Aviary deserves a drink.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

All in all, my first real outing with the Aviary had been relatively successful, which is why I was surprised the next day to find Sylla Banaji holding a gun to my head, attempting to murder me.

“Bang,” she said flatly. “Dead again.”

“I thought it was better this time,” I managed.

Sylla sighed. “We can hardly mark this exercise on a scale. There is no better or worse. Dead is dead. Really, Mari,” she said, her tone edged with displeasure. “I expected more from you.”

I bit my tongue, already panting from several efforts to disarm her, which Sylla had deflected with embarrassing ease. Almost six months of training in this room and I still found hand-to-hand combat a challenge. Particularly against Sylla who seemed barely to exert herself at all. Each movement was economical, precise, and try as I might, I couldn’t seem to get my own body to move in the same way.

Sylla held the gun out to me. “Let me show you again,” she said.