A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page B

condone thievery. You must trust in the fairness of the law
.
    Oh, aye, the
fairness of the law
. Much fairness it had been to haul Hannah away—Hannah, whose only fault had been to pick up Nell’s purse the moment before the bobbies had swept in to search them. Hannah hadn’t taken that brooch from Mrs. Watson, or the money, either.
    Nell had confessed it but nobody had paid her heed.
Where do you think I got the money for my mum’s wake?
she’d yelled.
Or for the medicine that came before it? I’m the thief!
    It hadn’t made a difference for Hannah, but somebody had carried word of Nell’s speech out the door. It had traveled to Michael, who’d knocked her down the stairs in his rage that she’d not shared the profits; it had reached all the way to the factory, where the foreman, already troubled by her talk of windows and the right to leave the workroom for lunch, had called her a troublemaker and sacked her.
    No justice in Bethnal Green. So she’d find a bit of it right here in Mayfair.
    “Oh, Cornelia, I fear for you. Wickedness is in your blood.”
    “Right you were, Mum,” Nell whispered. Dressed as a lad and set on bloody revenge: to become any more wicked, she’d need Lucifer’s own instruction.
    Ten pounds was what she’d asked of Lord Rushden. Had he sent it, she’d never have needed to steal a thing. But he’d never bothered to reply. He was about to find out that he’d sold his life cheaply.
    She pulled back the hammer. Heard the hollow click of the chamber falling into place. Irons, now
they
were lovely. The one in her hand had been polished to a fine, gleaming shine. Brennan’s doing. The pawnshop owner had laughed when she asked for it, but a few coins had sobered him up. Hadn’t even tried to thieve them. That wasn’t Brennan’s way. “You’ve got guts, Nell,” was what he’d said when he brought out the pistol. “Let me spiff it up for you. Make it a first-class affair.”
    Oh, she’d thought it very first class—the pistol, thehansom cab she’d hired to get here. No omnibuses for her, not tonight!
    But now that she was inside, the taste of humiliation was back in her mouth, stale and bitter like old beer.
First class
, she thought with scorn. For all it meant to her kind, it might as well be a phrase from some foreign language. First-class cab? The residents of these parts owned too many coaches to count. Wasn’t anything first class about a chariot that stank of someone else’s vomit. Remembering it, she drew a deep, steadying breath—and then scowled.
    The air in this dark hallway smelled better than she ever had. Not a trace of gas, and no smoke, coal or candle or otherwise. Fresh flowers and wax, the barest trace of some exotic cologne, mingled into a perfume that made her feel as if she was dreaming. Wealth: there was even a scent to it.
    And a feel. It had never been hers, but Mum had described it so often that she’d known what it would be like; she felt it now, beneath her. The carpet was so thick that her feet sank deeper with each step, growing more and more difficult to lift. And the sound—no babies screaming for feeding, no kids shrieking in the stairwell. An immensity of silence filled the long corridor. The gentle ticking of a clock lulled her breath into calm rhythms.
Be at peace
, the house invited her.
Feel … smell … rest
.
    Ha. No rest for her. Her grip tightened as she prowled forward, counting off the doors to her right. She’d watched for hours from the shadows of the trees in the square: as the lights had started to shut off, this area was where the activity had concentrated. The fifth door seemed about the right spot.
    The crystal knob was cold, smooth beneath herfingers. Alas for Lord High and Mighty, his servants were proper workers; the door opened without a squeak.
    A snore rattled through the room. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! If she hadn’t just eased off the trigger, she would’ve shot herself in the foot just then. How typical
that
would