Page 147 of The Lyon Whisperer
They charged after it.
“What now, ma’am?”
“I think a long ride, to clear my head, Sally.”
The hired hackneyslowed before a pale-blue, five-story home. Black wrought iron fencing framed the grounds.
Amelia turned her veiled head to glance at Lady Harriet, who also wore a veil, albeit not a black one meant to connote mourning, as Amelia’s entire ensemble did.
“Is this it?” She asked her friend. “The Lyon’s Den?”
Lady Harriet took Amelia’s black gloved hands in hers. “Amelia, there is still time to change your mind. Are you absolutely certain you wish to proceed with this?”
“Nothing you could say would dissuade me.”
In truth, she had already tried.
When Amelia landed on Lady Harriet’s doorstep an hour ago demanding to know the location of the Lyon’s Den, Lady Harriet refused to give her one scrap of information until she explained why she wished to know. After listening intently to Amelia’s tale, she expressed sympathy, but also cautioned her in the strongest possible terms to resist her impulsive nature. She suggested Amelia simply wait to discuss the matter with Chase.
But her mind was made up. She wanted answers, and she would have them, straight from the horse’s mouth.
Lady Harriet would not hear of sending Amelia on horseback to the gambling hell. Nor would she allow her own carriage to be spotted before the notorious blue mansion in the middle of the day. Hence, a hackney had been hired, and here they were.
“You do not have to go in with me, Lady Harriet. This is my problem, and should there be consequences—”
“Enough,” she said in a tone that brooked no dissension. She paid the hackney driver, and promised more upon their return.
The driver promised to wait.
“This way,” Harriet commanded when Amelia would have approached the front gate.
She led her to the alleyway beside the house. “The ladies’ entrance,” she explained quietly.
Amelia’s eyes grew wide behind her black netting, as she picked her way through the uneven cobblestones.
A few moments later, they neared a side door where two men stood sentinel.
No, not men. Two women, dressed in men’s garb—black topcoats, black top hats, black pantaloons, black boots.
They greeted Harriet and Amelia like expected guests. The door was opened with a flourish, and the two of them, ushered inside.
Another female servant led them out of the corridor and into a small parlor.
“Ladies, I was not aware of any appointments for Mrs. Dove-Lyon today.”
Lady Harriet spoke on both their behalf. “We are old friends. I believe she will see us.” She snapped open her reticule and withdrew a small piece of folded foolscap. She handed it to the servant.
“A moment, if you please.” The woman exited and closed the door behind her.
Amelia glanced around the intimate room. Oil lamps lit the space, but not well, and the curtains over the lone window were drawn. Though sheer, their dark amber color allowed for only muted light.
No fire burned in the grate, though the day had grown increasingly blustery and clouds blotted out the sun’s rays.
A plush velvet sofa and two armchairs, plus the accompanying tables, made up the sitting area.
Amelia did not wish to sit. She paced to the window and looked out at the alleyway.
“You’ve…er…been here before, I take it?”
