Page 91 of Enticing Odds
And Matthew. For both of them.
Cressida would not suffer individuals who threatened those she loved. Mrs. William Brenchley, for instance, had discovered this most unpleasantly. But she had spread lies about Henry’s parentage. And Cressida adored her sons, would commit murder for them.
And she had finally admitted, both to herself and to her brother, that she loved Dr. Collier.
She was ready to murder for him, too, if necessary. Why, she’d even decided in favor of marriage to the man as of late, something she once would never have thought possible. Murder would have once seemed a small thing in comparison, really.
Her hat was a simple black affair, with hardly any feathers or ribbons to decorate it, but she’d affixed it to her hair with themost dangerous-looking hatpin she possessed. And she would not hesitate to wield it.
She was dressed plainly in every other way as well, much as she would be for an assignation, in a neat black walking suit and gloves; her hatpin and gold filigree earrings were her only ornamentation, so that she might make her way through the streets of the East End as anonymously as possible. She’d arrived in a hansom cab and carried no reticule. She’d not been accosted to the point where she’d resort to using her hatpin, but she had already been approached twice by opportunistic young women interested in purchasing the garments off her back. Each time, Cressida had demurred in the firmest possible manner, and then inquired if the ladies knew Charles Sharples.
Neither did, unfortunately. That, or they weren’t willing to say otherwise.
It was nearly teatime when she finally turned up something promising. And thank heavens for it—the smell in this neighborhood was already so oppressive she’d reconsidered selling her clothing. No doubt she’d have to burn this set, for she knew the scent would never leave no matter how many times it was laundered.
The tip came from a young, ruddy-faced girl who sat on an upturned crate, repairing nets. She seemed innocuous enough, barely older than sixteen but with weary eyes that suggested she’d seen far too much for her age.
“Hello,” Cressida said, stopping before her.
The girl didn’t look up, her raw hands still working, moving quickly, a large needle in one and a hank of twine in the other.
“I’m looking for certain individuals. I wonder if you might be able to help me?”
Still the girl made no indication she heard. Cressida sighed, and reached into her left glove, where she’d stashed a fewcoppers against her palm. She withdrew one and held it up, waiting.
Finally the girl’s hands slowed, her eyes drifting up to stare at the coin.
“One is a young lad, not much older than you. Pale-haired. Works for a man named Sharples.”
Recognition flashed in the girl’s eyes. She nodded.
“Wonderful,” Cressida smiled.
The girl reached up, her hand slowly closing about the penny. Cressida couldn’t help but stare. The girl might’ve been in her first blush of youth, but her thin hands were bright red and marked with scars.
For a moment Cressida wondered if perhaps she ought to have paid closer attention at the meetings of the Ladies Union for the Cessation of Social Ills.
“Andreas Fliss. He runs about with a bunch of toughs.”
“Do you know where I might find him?”
“Dunno. They gamble almost every night. It’s not respectable,” she said with a frown.
Cressida glanced up to the sky, trying to ascertain how much time remained before the sun set and things became well and truly dangerous for her. Again she sighed.
“Well, perhaps you might tell me where he lives, where he sleeps at night?”
The girl looked back to her net, her fingers working the needle once more.
“The tumble-down terrace four blocks away.” She gestured to the right with her head. “You can’t miss it, the door’s nearly off its hinges.”
Cressida felt a flutter of excitement in her chest.
“Thank you,” she said, and extracted three more coins.
The girl once again stared at her outstretched hand in disbelief before snatching the paltry amount.
Cressida glanced over her shoulder before picking up her skirts and stepping over a particularly gruesome wad of filth, then began making her way toward the terrace the girl had indicated.
