Lady of Devices

chapter 17



It cannot be said that Claire spent a comfortable night on her rag-pile. While Willie breathed gently next to her, she started and woke at every sound, suspecting thievery or vermin—she wasn’t sure which would be worse. When a watery dawn finally broke over London, she was already awake and regretting the absence of tooth-powder and warm water to wash in.

Clearly, better accommodations must join recovery of her property and employment on her list of immediate needs.

She combed her hair with her uninjured tortoiseshell comb, rewound it and pinned it into its customary chignon. Then she changed into a fresh waist and descended the stair with Rosie in her cage in one hand. The sound of conversation led her into the depths of the house, where she found her companions, including Willie, gathered in the kitchen around a three-legged table. A stack of bricks replaced the fourth leg.

Kitchen was a generous term. The room contained only a cold iron stove and the table, and the shelving tacked onto the walls above the stove were empty but for dirt and spiders. In the center of the table, a hard loaf had been hacked at with a pocket-knife, and the children were busy wolfing it down.

“Good morning,” she greeted them. “Where did this come from?”

A mumble answered her. Rosie tottered to her feet and focused on the bread on the table, tilting her head so as not to lose sight of it.

“We already been out,” a Mopsie said. “I got a corncob for Rosie.” She extracted it from a pocket and held it up.

“I could’ve et that,” Jake complained. “I’m still hungry.” Someone had wrapped a rag around his burned hands.

Claire opened the cage door and put the fresh ear inside. Rosie fell upon it like an eagle on a carcass. “A little self-sacrifice now will all be forgotten when we have our fry-up later in the week. May I have some of that bread, please?”

“Help yerself,” Jake said.

“Mr. Jake, a gentleman would slice a piece and offer it to a lady.”

“I ent no gentleman.”

“Since I am a lady, and since I do not consort with men who are not gentlemen, your training in that department begins immediately.” She smiled at him. “Thank you. You are most generous.”

He just stared at her.

“Crikey, Jake, you deaf? Cut ’er off a bit.” Snouts pushed the knife closer to him.

“I ent servin’ ’er. What d’ye take me for?”

“It is not a matter of serving, Mr. Jake. A gentleman puts the comfort of others before his own. That is how one tells he is a gentleman.”

“I said I weren’t a gentleman. Cut yer own bread. Or better yet, don’t, and I’ll ’ave it.”

Snouts swore and cuffed him across the head. “Do as she says, ye stupid cove.”

“Why should I? First she burns me, then she boils me eyes. If I take that knife to anything, it’ll be ’er, and that’s a fact.”

Though he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen, Claire could not mistake the deadly resolve in his eyes and had no doubt he meant exactly what he said. “I did warn you not to raise the landau’s front panel, Mr. Jake,” she said in quiet but firm tones. “You chose to ignore me. And as for the gaseous capsaicin, we’re going to turn that to our advantage and you shan’t have to experience it again.”

“About that,” Snouts said as Jake reluctantly picked up the knife and sawed off a chunk of the dark bread. Claire took it and tried to chew a few bites. Then she tore the remainder into bits and gave them to Rosie, who launched herself at them with enthusiasm.

“Yes, about that. The first thing to do is to compile the ingredients.” She told them what she would need. “Are you able to find these things?”

Snouts and Tigg exchanged a glance. “Sure. We’ll just stroll into the nearest chemist’s or apothecary’s and pick those up.”

“Lovely.” Claire smiled.

“I ’ope you ’ave lots of dosh, lady, because those things don’t sound free. Or easily liberated, if you get my drift.”

“Dosh?”

“Cash. Blunt. Pounds sterling.”

She had no such thing. She had never carried more than a few shillings for sweets, and had no doubt at all that the household money had been looted from wherever Mrs. Morven kept it in Carrick House. “I’m afraid not. What shall we do, then?”

The Mopsies elbowed each other and grinned. Snouts jerked his chin in their direction. “These ’uns ’ave a few useful talents along those lines. At least it ent the Lord’s Day. Pickings is always slim in the church crowd.”

“Pick—?” And then the penny dropped. “Oh, no. No. You will not be stealing from people’s pockets the means to obtain these items. Absolutely not.”

Five pairs of eyes turned on her with incredulity. “Beggin’ yer pardon, lady, but where d’you suppose the bread and corn came from?”

“I have no idea.” Someone had gone to the market, hadn’t they?

Snouts shook his head at her ignorance, and Claire began to feel nettled. “Babes in the woods,” he sighed. “Rag-pickin’ don’t cover expenses. If we don’t steal, we don’t eat, simple as that. If you’ve strong opinions on’t, I suggest we end our association ’ere.”

“Not until I get my landau back.”

“Then yer goin’ t’be awful hungry along about Wednesday.”

Sleeping rough was one thing. But descending to criminal activity simply to eat? Unheard of. Unacceptable. As it was, she was walking the knife’s edge—if it were discovered where she was, she could never be received again in polite society.

“Good heavens, Mr. McTavish. Has it never occurred to you that there are alternatives to stealing? Such as employment, for instance?”

“’Oo’s gonna employ the likes of us?” Tigg wanted to know.

She surveyed the ragged, filthy band. Point taken. “Well, if we cannot earn our bread by the skill of our hands, we must earn it by the power of our intellect. How many of you have your numbers?”

No response.

“None of you can count? Or do arithmetic?”

Silence.

“Dear me. All right. I can see I have my work cut out for me. So let me ask you this—do any of you gentlemen know where the gaming parlors are?” At this, every male hand but Willie’s went up. “Ah. I thought as much. Are we possessed of a pack of cards?”

Tigg reached over and removed the lid of the stove. He rummaged inside and withdrew a pack of dog-eared and dirty cards, tied into a bundle with a piece of hemp. “Keeps ’em dry in there,” he said by way of explanation. “What does knowing our numbers ’ave to do with the gaming parlors, lady?”

“Simply this. Unless one knows the values of the numbers, one cannot play cards successfully. And unless one plays successfully, one cannot win the pot. Do you see my reasoning now?”

Their eyes widened as the bright vista of possibility opened up to them. “Gather round, all of you. I’m going to teach you your numbers—yes, even you, Willie—and then I’m going to teach you a game of skill and strategy. To the inhabitants of the Wild West, it’s known as cowboy poker.”