The Legend of Lyon Redmond Read Online Free PDF Page B

loved Tingle’s Bookshop—for the gentle rustling of fine paper, the pungent scent of fine paper and ink. It was cheerful and airy and brilliantly illuminated by a band of large high windows that poured flattering light down on all the art and art lovers alike.
    Her brothers remained silent.
    She shot them a triumphant glance.
    She gravitated to a wall where a new, dazzlingly colorful print hung in a place of honor.
    â€œOh, I believe it’s meant to be Le Chat.” Olivia said this to Landsdowne, who was trailing her protectively and planted himself at her side. “Funny, but I was just discussing him with my modiste.”
    They paused to admire it.
    The infamous pirate was standing triumphantly on the deck of a ship, one booted foot on the chest of a man who appeared to be weeping with fear. His hair waved like a black flag in an apparent breeze, and his penetrating blue gaze was apparent even through his black mask. He was holding a sword to his victim’s throat with his left hand. These were the only three things the whole of Europe could agreeabout with regards to Le Chat: that he had blue eyes (“the very color of evil!” one survivor had declared, which had always struck Olivia as funny, as her own were blue), so vivid they could even be seen in the dark, which was the only time Le Chat attacked; that he spoke like a gentleman when he spoke at all; and that he was left-handed. Or at least used his left hand when he wielded a sword. One merchant claimed to have shot him, but since Le Chat had gone on to attack again, he clearly hadn’t managed to kill him.
    â€œThat’s a handsome print,” Landsdowne allowed. “But he’s a scourge.”
    â€œYes, but a scourge who has all but eliminated the illegal Triangle Trade, from what I understand.”
    â€œI suppose even vermin have their uses,” Landsdowne said, and she shot him a wry glance. “He hasn’t been heard from in a while. Perhaps someone finally aimed into his black little heart when they shot him.”
    â€œSeems an inevitable fate for a pirate,” she allowed, echoing what she’d told Mademoiselle Lilette. She frowned faintly at the masked pirate.
    It was amusingly lurid, but she could see nothing alarming in it, so clearly this wasn’t what was troubling her brothers.
    â€œShall we go now, Olivia?” Colin suggested brightly from behind her.
    She turned to scowl at him, and then continued in a slow, suspicious pivot.
    She saw nothing but other well-dressed shoppers and couples murmuring to each other as they leafed through merchandise.
    And then her questing gaze snagged on a row of vivid prints arrayed side by side along the top of a shelf. The artist was obvious even from where she stood.
    â€œOh! A new set of Rowlandson prints!”
    New Rowlandson work was always a delightful surprise. He had a gift for capturing London’s microcosm with scathing wit and acuity.
    That was when her brothers went absolutely motionless and silent. Rather as if they were about to witness an execution.
    She understood why when she was close enough to read the titles.
    The Illustrated Legend of Lyon Redmond
    Which rather leaped out at her from the bottom of the prints.
    It seemed Mr. Pickles had already been more enterprising than she’d ever suspected, if Rowlandson had been commissioned to do such work.
    She drew closer, helpless not to. Landsdowne followed.
    In the first print, a man, who she expected was meant to be Lyon—he had a dashing swoop of dark hair over one brow and snapping black eyes, and his outrageously muscular, nankeen-clad thighs gripped a saddled and rearing crocodile, whose tiny legs flailed the air like a stallion. One knew it was the Nile because the artist had thoughtfully drawn little pyramids off in the distance.
    Lyon was wielding a riding crop and wearing a beaver hat and a very determined expression.
    The funny part was that the expression was really