Chapter 77

Stepping back into the dismal street that smelled of garbage and rotting vermin, Kendall knew one thing: over his rotting, putrefying corpse would he let Baxby win the competition.
It was the only reason he'd nearly bitten his tongue off not ten minutes ago after he'd made his offer. She would go up the stairs and speak to Nathan? Oh, and see what he thought? Who the hell did she think she was? For Kendall to place himself at anyone's disposal was in the same category as agreeing to have his rooms spring cleaned-something to be done once every six years under threat of having blunt pencils shoved beneath his nails, his heart carved out with a rusty razor. The woman was so desperate for money, she lived in the kind of dump he aspired to and didn't see how obliging he was being? Magnanimous even?
Perhaps she didn't aspire though? Perhaps that was why desperation clung to her, like a tarnishing vine, and there was something frayed and tattered about the smile she fastened on like a once-glittering bauble.
What had she weighed, sailing up the uncarpeted stairs with her chin in the air, just before he'd slammed back outside? The best bit would have been if she'd reappeared in a pair of breeches and tried to make out him calling was all a surprise to Nathan. But Stillmore hadn't waited for that. Not when she might refuse him. No. He couldn't let her. He couldn't let any woman do that.How could he?
Years ago he'd been ousted so thoroughly he still mounted this stupid pretense that it was his choice to let Marietta divorce him and leave him without a name. Christ. If he'd had his way, he'd have damn well ruined her.
But he hadn't. How could he when he'd been as much a pawn on that damnable board as the pieces he'd watched that strawberry-haired idiot make such a complete balls-up of earlier? Play chess? As a carthorse might prancing about the board. In fact it could probably do a lot better.
How immeasurably foolish he'd look if Chiltern now won this round thoiugh. The man was a dolt, barely capable of knowing the difference between a king and a pawn.
The whole world would know why he'd lost. Babs had chosen Baxby because Kendall wouldn't marry her, and it had cut him when nothing ever did. No. He couldn't let it. He'd have to leave London. And he couldn't. Marry her either. Was she mad? A game for fools.
"Hoi ....Oh, 'cuse me, sir ...No, no trouble. Allow me. A fine gent like you shouldn't dirty himself."
The ruddy-faced man took one look at Stillmore, his coat, his cravat and bent down to pick up the pieces of paper that were lying in the gutter. The ones Stillmore had knocked from his hand as he rounded the corner. Stormed round it rather. Wanted notices-hundred guinea ones-for the whereabouts of some women or other. A tidy sum here in these parts for anyone willing to hand them over. It wouldn't be just any women either. The man had the look of a Bow Street Runner. If the Runners had had proper uniforms he'd know for certain. But what ordinary man would be distributing posters like these, after all? Runners didn't come to an area like this for nothing either. They came to catch thieves of which there were surely plenty here. Having gathered up the papers in his large, calloused paw, the man straightened his broad back.
"You haven't chanced to see any of them in your travels here at all, have you, sir? Only trail's gone a bit cold on this lot unfortunately, for some reason."
"I don't tend to travel here." Stillmore hauled his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket.
"That's a pity then. The Starkadder Sisterhood. Yes. Who'd have thought to see the day they was no more. Of course, we got that Diamond woman what done for old Starkadder himself under lock and key. Marielle, I believe her real name is. French woman. All the way from Paris, though Paris, or London don't make no difference to the way she tore his guts out and left him for bits in the gutter. Had enough of him so they say.She'll swing, make no mistake but it would be nice if she had a bit of company on the day in question to awing along with her, the trouble that lot has given us officers of the law down the years. Topaz ... Amber ..."
"Quite."
Stillmore glanced at his fob watch. Half past six. Time for an early supper at his club, then home for a night cap, or two. Maybe even three. Anything to dull what thudded in his head.
"Won't you at least take a look, sir?"
"What? At some woman's face with my boot print right across it?"
Not when play recommenced at ten tomorrow, and he had arranged to meet her boyship at his club at eight.
"No. I'm sorry. I've better things to do. Now, if you will excuse me?"
He pushed past. Of course, he could be mistaken about her being Nathan, but he doubted it.
Remove Nathan's spectacles and untie his hair and he'd have Lady Splendor. Strong- jawed and, while not exactly his type, not unpleasant looking. A bit big-boned, a bit too tall for his tastes too but all right if you liked that kind of thing. Now that he'd been entirely reasonable about allowing her to remain in the competition and intended helping her toward the ten thousand, she would do what she was told.
Exactly what she was told. Without giving him that imbecilic grin about it either.
"Fine then, sir. Have it your own way," the man called after him.
"I always do."
He slipped the watch back into his pocket.
"You better just hope none of them are still about and will ever rob you."
"Don't worry. That will never happen. Once bitten. Always shy."