Lady Rogue (4 page)

"Ha!  That's  where the whores 'ang about the sailors.  Ain't interested in startinn' no house."  Black John puffed out his chest.  "I
runs a decent business, I do."

"As clean as a dishwasher's 'ands.  I'm not proposin' anythin' lewd.  Why, 'ow could I when
I got me own sister in mind?"

"Me?"  Dawn shook her head violently.  ":Oh no!  I"m a good girl, I am.  Won't have no dealin's wi' that kind."  She looked imploringly at John.   "I'll get me fingers workin' faster.  If
I tries I might be able to bring in five or six 'ankies daily.  I will.  You'll see."

"'andkerchiefs!  Bah!  They're 'ardly worth the bother.  What I 'ave in mind will maike us all rich."  Leaning forward he outlined a plan, one he'd seen at work in some of the other areas.  He intended to use Dawn as a lure.  Undeniiably he thought that he was the best pick pocket in
London.  All he needed was the chance and the right gentleman.  "A wealthy toff.  One wot enjoys a bit o' daliance, if ye knows wot I mean."

"No!"  Dawn stamped her foot,
vehemently opposed to the idea.  "I wouldn't even know 'ow to begin."

"
Doris can teach you."  Stretching out his hand he yanked the mob-cap from her head, sending her long dark brown waves tumbling in wild disarray about her shoulders.  "She's a beauty, if I does say so meself.  Don't ye agree, John?"

"Mmmmmm.  She could be in the right duds.  A red satin dress perhaps.  A little rouge, a little powder."  Black John cocked a brow as if really noticing her for the first time.  "She ain't a child no more, I can see.  Skin like alabaster.  Hair like the night.  But it's 'er shape wot counts."  Much to Dawn's mortification he pulled her to her feet, probing her young curves with bruising hands.  "Nice duckies, she has.   Like ripe peaches."  He  ran his hand down the curve of her waist.  "Slim, wi' hi
ps jus' the waiy I likes 'em."

Dawn sprang into action, putting up her fists.  "Ye gets yer 'ands off me, John Dunn.  Don't be gettin' any ideas.  I wouldn't put up wi
' the likes o' yer pawin' me."

"Business is all I gots in mind.  Jus' business."  With a disappointed shrug he stepped away.  "Blimey, wot a temper."  He patted Robbie on the back, however.  "Looks to me as if she'll d
o roight fine.  Roight fine.  "Sides, wi' wot happened todaiy they'll be keepin' an eye out fer ye.  Might be a good idea to work the night.  Different blokes and all."

"I won't do it!  I won't stand fer some bloke, toff or not, fondlin' me.  I got me pride!  Being nimble-fingered
is me lay.  I'll stick to it."

It took a long time to cool her down, even longer to convince her, but in the end she grudgingly gave in.  She didn't want her brother to get caught.  Perhaps if she was working with him she might in some way keep him safe.  In truth it seemed to be a sound plan, as Robbie explained it.  She would flirt outrageously with the choosen mark, keeping the gentleman occupied and distracted while Robbie stole his purse.  If
there was any sign of trouble Robbie would merely act the enraged husband and frighten off the poor fool with the threat of a beating.  It seemed harmless enough.

"And there will be benefits, me dear girl."  Robbie winked connspiratorily as he put his foot up on a chair.  "A chance to get out o' those duds wot makes ye look like a scullery maid and into finer garments.  It's time ye showed off yer beauty."  Lowering his voice he added, "and mayhap some day we'll get ourselves out o' 'ere.  'Ats me wis
h, Dawnie dear.  Indeed it is.

How could she refuse when he put it that way?  "All right.  I"ll do it, bu
t I want ye ta use care......"

"I'll be as cautious as a banker wi' 'is 'and in the till.  Aw, Dawnie, it'll be all roight. Ye'll see 'at it will.  Don't worry."  Taking her hand he squeezed it affectionately.
  "We'll make a perfect team."

She hoped with all her heart that he was right.  But even so, she could not fight against the feeling of foreboding that swept over her like the tides of the
Thames.

Chapter Three

Garrick Seton drummed his fingers on the large mahogany desk top, squinting against the dim lighting of the room as he concentrated on the drawing that lay spread out before him.  He was so close to accomplishing all of his dreams.  The plans for this new building might well establish him as the next Robert Adam, and oh, how he wanted to take
London by storm.

Stroking the paper proudly, he thought of his long struggle.  He had proved beyond a doubt that he could make it on his own, that he had no need of his wealthy,  widowed mother's influence.  Indeed, he had boldy unleashed the collar from around his neck and launched his own career.  That in
itself was an accomplishment.

His mother had wanted him to seek a law degree, but at Oxford Garrick had gone about his own pursuits.  He would not dance to another's tune like a trained bear, not even if that someone was the woman who had borne him.  More than anything else in life he valued his freedom, no matter what the price.  His mother had retaliated by cutting him off without a farthing.  Instead of giving in, however, he had stood firm.  By working nights penning ledgers,  he had been able to keep himself in school.  He had joined the East India Company, in whose service he had traveled to
China, making his own way.  With good business sense, hard work, and determination, he had prospered. When he had accumulated a goodly sum of money, he had decided to make a thorough study of Italian architecture.  On his return to England he had blended the art of the Renaissance with a style uniquely his own.  Taking on a partner, a man a few years younger than himself, he had opened an architectural establishment that could  rival any in Longon.  He was quickly establishing himself as one of the most gifted architects of his time.  Now at last all his work seemed ready to come to fruitation.

Clutching his pencil, Garrick carefully drew in the final details on his drawing.  It was an eight room, two-story plan, embellished with an elliptical-shaped projecting bay that gave distinction to the style.  Simple, yet elegant.  A flawless retreat for the Prince Regent's latest mistress.  Portico and classical co
llonades completed the sketch.

"Perfect!"  There was no trace of modesty in the tone as Garrick whispered the word to himself.  Indeed
, he was  the sort of man who knew his worth and saw no reason to hide it.  It was a lesson his teacher, James Burton had taught him.  The world was like a farmyard with all the animals clucking, growling and voicing their own opinions on every matter, Burton had said.  A smart man took the example of the rooster and crowed as loud as he could.

So far Garrick's work, his diligence and yes
, his firm assertion of confidence in what he could do, made the future look bright.  The wealthy were building luxurious homes to glorify their power and prestige.  Prosperous merchants were building tasteful townhouses to flaunt their newfound riches.  Not since the aftermath of the great London fire had there been such a surge of construction.  Garrick had designed various public buildings and institutions as well, including a Navy House, Ordinance Office and Royal Academy.  He had been commissioned to assist in the task of designing new military headquarters for the Horse Guards, houses in Picadilly and St. James Square, and office buildings alongside his own  office on Bond Street.  But it was coming to the "Prince Regent's" attention that had opened a new door for him.

"Work, work, working again, eh Gar?"  Garrick's thoughts were interrupted as the office door flew open and a tall, flame-haired young man
stepped briskly into the room.

"Yes.  I have a job to do.  Unlike
you
I'm not in a habit of turning my bills over to someone else to pay."  Garrick smiled in greeting at his partner even as he voiced his admonition. There was just no changing Ollie no matter how hard he tried to instill a sense of responsibility in the young man. Affectionately but critically known as a rake, Oliver Howard Chambers was a man who didn't hesitate to indulge himself in the pursuit of pleasure.

"But all work and no play makes for a very dull gentleman.  You don't want to become
boring
do you?"  Oliver threw up his arms in mock horror.

"No, but neither do I want to become
poor
.  I was reminded just this morning of just how distressing that kind of life can be."  Garrick put down his pencil, staring for a moment out the window, remembering the  young waif he'd encountered this morning.  Even now he could not forget her haunted, tearful little face.

"You poor?  Never!  If you would only show some concern for your mother
, you could be as carefree as I am.  Poor?  Ha!"  He gesticulated with a sweep of his hand towards the oppulence of the office--the heavy crystal chandelier that when lighted twinkled with flames, the lush Persian rugs, the velvet and leather upholstered chairs.  "This is hardly the office of a begger."

"And yet there have been those who have gone from splendor such as this to debtor's prison or ended up in Bedlam because of too much gin.  The streets are crawling with unfortunates, I dare say."  Deciding that he did not like one of his sketches
, he crumpled up the piece of paper and tossed it at the wastebasket, but the basket was filled to the brim with discarded ideas, thus the parchment fell to the floor.  Usually Garrick was a meticulous worker, but today papers, pens and pencils were scattered haphazardly across the polished desk top, and books on architecture were strewn around the room.

"My, what a wet blanket you are today, Gar." Plopping down into a leather chair
, Oliver sprawled himself comfortably, concentrating his attention on his fingernails.  They were badly in need of a manicure.  He wondered how on earth Garrick could actually involve himself in boxing.  It was so dastardly damaging to the hands.   "What in the bloody hell is eating you?  Loosen up a bit, old sport."  

"A little incident this morning set me thinking, that's all.  I had a little begger girl take refuge in my carriage to escape the runners."  Leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes
, he briefly described the morning events.

"Sooooo?  There's rich and poor and a few people in between.  That's the way it's always been and always will be. 
C'est la vie
.  Just count your lucky stars that you're not poor."  He clucked his tongue in annoyance.  "You're too ambitious, Gar.  You want it all now.  Relax.  Have a bit of fun now and then."  Holding out a pearl and silver snuff box he grinned.  "Have some?"

"No, thank you."  Garrick refused the offer of the snuff.  It was, he thought, a foolishly foppish habit.  Instead he took out
a thin brown cigar and lit it.

"
London is gossipping about the sexual prowess of a certain virile young architect." Taking a pinch of the brown snuff between thumb and forefinger, Oliver Chambers sniffed it up his nose, covering his sneeze with his handkerchief.   "Of course I know  just
whom
they mean?"

"We all have vices, Ollie.  Yours is drinking and gambling.  Mine is women."  Garrick shrugged his shoulders.  Since he'd first come to manhood he'd attracted the feminine sex very easily.  It was something he  just took for granted
. Surely he had never had to work at it.             

"Beau Brummel himself could envy your success with beautiful women."  Both brows shot up in question. "Why then have you so sudde
nly cloistered yourself away?"

"Something important has come up and I don't have time at the moment for women.  That's all."  Garrick knew that when he decided he did have the time there would be some young woman or other awaiting him.  Right now securing his future was uppermost in his mind.  He'd learned at all too early an age just how important money
was.  Money was power, bestowing on him who had it anything his heart desired.  That included a lovely woman, one on each arm if that was the inclination.

"Don't have t
ime.  Bah!  We could go to the square with a bottle of gin and have a riotious time."  He snorted disdainfully as Garrick shook his head.  "As you will.  Work yourself into an early grave.  I"ve done with you."  With an expression of peevishness he rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to be short with you, Ollie."  Another day, another time and he might have agreed.  Why then did he say no?  The begger child.  It had emphasized how precarious one's fate could be. "It's just that seeing that little girl made me realize how it is outside my crystal shell.  Children like that little gre
en-eyed girl, struggling....."

"A little thief is most likely what she was."  Ollie took another pinch of  snuff.  "I wouldn't trouble my mind with her."  Cocking his head he thought a moment.  "And yet it is most unusual to hear you preach on something beside
architecture.  Perhaps you have a heart after all.  Am I to believe you have decided to quit this pursuit of capital gain and throw yourself into philanthropic pursuits?"

Garrick shook his head.  "No...I..."  He could see by the expression on Oliver's face that he just wouldn't understand.   Seeing the tattered girl had caused him to look deep within himself for just a moment.  "It's just that I couldn't help thinking that if not for all the greed in the world
, there needn't be people in such dire circumstances."

"Greed!"  Oliver threw back his head and laughed.  "You're a fine one to talk.  To you money is
everything
, Gar.  Sun, moon, and stars.  I can't see you giving up your share to the paupers of London."  He sniffed disdainfully, his words coming out with his sneeze, "And neither would I.  Neither would
anyone
of right mind, I dare say.  Poverty is the way of the world, but luckily so is riches."

"I suppose it is impossible to right the injustices in the world."  Garrick clutched at his pencil."  In his own callous way Oliver was right. Since man's expulsion from the Garden of Eden there had been those who had and those who needed. "But perhaps at least I can make it a more beautiful place in which to live."  Work was his escape.   It made him feel valuable and needed. Oliver didn't understand
: more than money, creating beautiful things was his driving need. "Now if you'll excuse me, Ollie, I have a deadline to meet..."

Oliver looked at Garrick in silent mirth, then broke out in laughter again.  "That's the old Garrick Seton I know so well.  Which leads me to the point of this visit."  Toying with his cravat he avoided Garrick's eyes.  "Will you be a good sport, old boy, and do me a favor?" Before Garrick could answer
, he put up his hand.  "Business, I assure you.  Something for the good of our partnership."

"Such as...?"  Garrick prepared himself for what was coming.  Oliver had incurred a gambling debt again and wanted him to loan him money until he could convince his parents to come to his rescue. Oliver was always piling up such liabi
lities.  "How much this time?"

Oliver stiffened, making great show of being offended.  "Why, Gar, you wound me to the quick.  I don't want money.  All
I want is a bit of your time."

"My time?"  A commodity n
early as valuable as money.               

"I made an appointment at the waterfront tonight to meet with that tiresome cloth merchant who has it in mind to build a palace.  Something else came up and..."

"If you made an appointment, by God you will keep it."  Garrick's irritation was fueled.  "I won't be as foolishly manipulated as your mother and father are, Ollie.  I have my own customers to please.  If you're off to lose at cards or dally with some bit of fluff, I won't save your butt for you."  He pressed so hard on his pencil that he broke the lead and swore angrily. "Besides, the waterfront is dangerous.  If he wants to meet, have him come
here
."

"Ah, he claims to be a busy man.  He has to see to the unloading of some silks from
China.  I  can appreciate his predicament.  What with so many ships in the harbor it takes so long to unload them that thievary is rampant.  He claims he's lost a fortune, and I find myself believing him.  It's not the first time I've heard such a story."

"I'm just as busy a man as he is."  Garrick emphasized his declaration by slamming his fist down on the table.  Truly Oliver could be annoying.  "I repeat.  If you made the app
ointment, go yourself!"

"It's M
other's birthday.  I forgot that I promised to attend the little gathering she's having tonight.  Please, Gar, you know how sensitive she is."  A smile trembled at the corners of Oliver's mouth, knowing already that he had won.  Garrick was too much the gentleman to risk disappointing a lady.  "Would you want me to break her heart?  Nor can we risk losing the coinage that rich old client can bring in."  He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, watching the emotions that flitted over his friend's face.  From anger to resignation.  "It won't take you very much time.  Please...."

Garrick knew he had lost the argument.  He did not want to lose the merchant's business or take the risk of angering him.  There were other merchants who might decide to go elsewhere if word was spread that they had carele
ssly kept one of them waiting.

"All right!  You win."  Pushing his papers aside he threw up his  arms in frustration.  "Bring me your drawings.  Tell me what you want said to him.  And wish your mother a very happy birthday for me.  I hope that I have not let myself in for troub
le by giving in to your whim."