Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

shot off the bed and out the door before she let go of the heavy pink bed-pillow. Instead, it landed in what was surely meant to be her breakfast. There was not a reasonable doubt in her mind The Rat had planned the whole episode.
    “I am so sorry, Stella,” she called as the maid disappeared into the hallway with juice splashed on her face and apron, stoically carrying the tray away with the offending pillow on top, as if she always served breakfast in that manner. “I will break my fast in the dining room, shall I then?”
    As she scrubbed at her face, she vowed again that someday she would kill that dog—as soon as she believed her father would survive without it. The man seemed to view the animal as proof his late wife was still about. Often, he would hear the tinkling of The Rat’s collar entering the room and begin talking to the woman. And dutiful daughter that she was, The Scarlet Plumiere would slink away, refusing to discover how long the conversation might have gone on before he remembered.
    It had been three years...
    Knowing there would be no letter in the paper from the earl, she was in no hurry to go downstairs. Stella returned with a cup of tea and a wink. All was forgiven, but the girl punished her head a bit, trying her hand—three times—at a new hairstyle. The end result was both beautiful and sad. Such a pity no one but her father would see it.
    At breakfast, she pushed her food around her plate as she was wont to do on occasion. The footman would never come to collect the mess until she walked away from it. They were that familiar with her oddities.
    Finally, four capers remained on her plate. Four little green bumps, like miniature hats for her smallest finger.
    She separated them. North, South, East, and West. North was straight ahead, the path she was determined to walk. South was the past so she swallowed it whole. No need to go there. Mother was gone. The only threat from that front was her constant worry she might forget the woman’s face, and voice, and a hundred other things. But that threat was lessened by the knowledge that she would never be leaving her father’s household, and thus never leaving the sights and smells that kept the woman’s memory alive.
    The aftertaste of the bitter caper was an apt reminder that her reputation was well and goodly dented. There was nothing for it but to go forward. Spilled milk and all that. Lots and lots of spilled milk. Of course it had been washed away, thanks to her quick thinking and dear friend whose husband owned The Capital Journal, but a stain remained.
    She could live with a stain. She could not have lived with Lord Gordon.
    And there he was. The caper to the East. Her ex-fiancé was currently hiding abroad, probably waiting for memories and gossip sheets to fade. He may well come home with a wife on his arm, to try and push those memories along, but surely that would not happen while The Scarlet Plumier was still at her post.
    Thank heavens the man is afraid of something.
    Using her fork, she smashed the eastern caper until it was completely unrecognizable.
    That left the caper to the West. The Earl of Northwick. But should not he be the caper to the North?
    She turned her plate until West became North. But that left her uncomfortably close to Lord Gordon, so she quickly turned it back. For just a tingly moment, it had looked so easy to go in Northwick’s direction. Just as she had in the dream...
    If she allowed herself to be wooed by the caper to the West, the blob to the East would realize she was truly The Scarlet Plumiere and hurry home to murder her. There was no doubt about that. And there were all those girls about to enjoy their debuts. All those fathers happy to marry them off to whomever they deemed worthy. All those future groomsmen who would be, for the majority, as worthy as they seemed. But those few who proved unworthy? Who would call them to justice for their offenses? Who would rescue those innocent brides from the