Page 7 of A Raven Reborn

There were soft banging noises coming from a corridor off to the left, so she let her ears lead the way. Finch turned out to be the source of the noise. He sat with his back to the door, at what looked like a workbench. The rest of the room seemed to be a bedchamber. For a moment, she debated whether it would be appropriate to bother him, but honestly, what difference did it make after everything else?

Rosalyn knocked softly on the doorframe and Finch jumped and yelped before spinning around to face her.

“Oh no! I’m sorry, Finch! I didn’t intend to startle you.”

Finch pressed his empty hand over his chest and after a moment, he giggled. There was no other word for it. The sound was so surprising it jostled a laugh out of her, as well. When they both eventually calmed, Finch let out a long sigh and set down what looked like a small hammer on the desk behind him.

“Oh, Rosie, I should have checked on you after they left. I just assumed you’d be resting. Are you hungry? I’m sure I can throw something together.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he moved toward the door.

Rosalyn held up her hands to stop him. “Actually, I was looking for Patrick. Is he still resting?”

“I’m afraid he’s gone to his club and won’t return until the wee hours of the morning.” He grimaced apologetically.

“Does he go there often?”

“Most nights,” Finch said with a nod.

So he was a gambler. Rosalyn was all too familiar with where that could lead. Her father’s need for cards is what ultimately forced her mother to marry a monster after his death because he’d left them in debt. Rosalyn shook her head and let out a long sigh.

“But don’t worry,” Finch rushed forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be here to keep you company, so you won’t be alone.”

Rosalyn smiled. Finch was so kind. “I wasn’t worried about being alone, but thank you. I’ll be glad of your company.”

“Then why the loud sigh?” He leaned back as if trying to read an answer on her face.

There was no reason to lie. “My father threw away everything he owned because of his need for cards, so I’m not terribly fond of gambling.” Rosalyn shrugged.

Finch looked confused for a minute, but then understanding dawned. “Ooh!” he drawled. “He doesn’t go there to gamble. When I said his club, I literally meanthisclub.”

It was Rosalyn’s turn to be momentarily confused. “You mean, he owns the club?”

Finch nodded. “He’s one of three partners.”

“I see.” But she didn’t really. “And what is the name of his club?”

Finch swallowed audibly. “These are things you should talk about with Patrick. I will be sure he makes time for that tomorrow.” He gestured with his head toward the door. “Let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll put something together for you to eat.”

“No, Finch. I interrupted you in the middle of something. Just point me towards the kitchen and I will make myself something.”

Finch’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “You can cook?”

Rosalyn laughed. “Well, I’m no chef, but I can find my way around a kitchen.”

Finch clapped his hands together as if in prayer. “Surely you are heaven sent!”

Rosalyn had thought he might be offended by her offer to cook her own food. After all, her desire to do so had been at least partly based on her previous experience with Finch’s cooking.

After a bit more convincing, Finch eventually pointed Rosalyn in the direction of the kitchen and left her to her own devices. Unfortunately, it was surprisingly bare. She found a handful of eggs, a large chunk of cheese, and the very crusty end of a loaf of bread. She couldn’t even find the ingredients for making fresh bread. With a sigh, she chiseled off a piece of the bread and sliced a few bits of cheese. Clearly, she needed to go to the market, but once again, there was the problem of money.

As Rosalyn sat in Patrick’s chair, once more, nibbling away on her snack, there was a noise outside the window. It suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea where she was. She hadn’t even looked out the window yet. Perhaps she was just avoiding it because the more she learned about her surroundings, the more real it all became. She still just wanted to believe she was having some sort of strange dream and would eventually wake in her own bed.

Slowly, she stood and placed her plate and napkin on the side table. Then, gathering her courage, she placed one foot in front of the other and made her way across the room. Why was this so daunting? Why did it really matter where she was?

With a deep breath, she pulled the curtain aside and peered through the glass. There was a fair amount of hustle and bustle in the street below, but it was different than it had been outside Maison Rouge.

Pastel parasols floated along, protecting the ladies who moved in a procession on the pavement below. Various carriages, some dirty, and some gleaming with crests on their sides, moved slowly in both directions. It was a strange assortment of people, to be sure.

Straight below the window stood a burly man, his arms folded across his broad chest. He gave a nod as a couple approached and pulled the door open for them to enter. Was that the entrance to Patrick’s club? No, that didn’t make sense. Finely dressed ladies didn’t go to places like that.

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