Chapter 1 #2
“That’s the perfect time, don’t you think?
None of these wild gentlemen will be dragging themselves out of bed to come here for breakfast. It’ll be empty.
Besides, this isn’t the clubhouse itself, but the club owns the house.
I heard a rumor that it has a ghost.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Don’t you think that ghost would be a little more corporeal than expected? ”
Amelia glanced up once more at the crumbling brickwork and heaved a mighty sigh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Marjory, I understand that you want to help with our finances. That means a great deal to me, you know. Mama told me I could rely on you, and so I can. She’d be proud of you.”
Moisture glittered in Marjory’s eyes. She sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Thank you. I miss her, you know. I miss Mama.”
“Yes, but she left us well-equipped to carry on in her absence,” Amelia responded, with a firmness she did not feel. “And I am the eldest, Marjory. It is my job to take care of you and Nancy. That includes preventing you from breaking into clubhouses. Or any houses, for that matter.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Amelia interrupted firmly. “Sell gossip to the scandal sheets if you must, but I cannot let you break into a house. Heavens, that should go without saying.”
“This story—”
“You shall have to find another way to discover the identity of this fellow. I won’t let you go in there, Marjory. Now come, let’s hurry and get out of this stinking alleyway. The stench won’t come out of our clothes; I shall have to soak them.”
Marjory hesitated, glancing up at the window she had planned to clamber through just moments before. Amelia tensed, poised to argue further or perhaps physically wrestle her sister away from committing a crime.
Mama had warned her about the troublesome teenage years. Marjory was clever, as everyone knew, and that didn’t always work in her favor. She had always obeyed Mama without question, of course, but now that Mama was dead and gone, could Amelia command the same authority?
It seemed doubtful.
“It’s just that I… I dropped my notebook inside the house,” Marjory confessed.
Amelia let out a ragged breath. “And how did you manage that?”
“Well, I was trying to pull myself out, and my notebook was hanging from a ribbon around my wrist, and it simply slipped off. I heard it fall on the floor just beyond the window. I shall have to climb in to retrieve it.”
“Must you? We’ll have to leave it, and you must save up to buy another notebook.” Amelia paused, her gaze hardening. “Unless you have written something inside it which could lead back to us?”
Marjory wrung her hands. “I have my name in the inside cover.”
“Oh, Marjory!”
“I am sorry! I did not mean to! Let me climb inside, and I’ll retrieve it. I’ll come back directly, I promise.”
“No, I shall go,” Amelia muttered. “I don’t want to hear any complaints. Stand at the end of the alley and keep a close watch, in case somebody comes by.”
“I’m sorry,” Marjory sighed.
“I’m not angry, I’m simply disappointed.”
“That is worse!”
Amelia threw a wry smile at her sister. “Sometimes I long to be an only child.”
Marjory only rolled her eyes at that.
Amelia unbuttoned her cloak and handed it to her sister.
Amongst the rubbish piled up beneath the window, there was a half-rotten box that might hold her weight.
She eased it over, gingerly placing her foot on it.
It held her weight, more or less, and she gripped the windowsill tentatively, hauling herself up.
It was not an easy process. The sill was wide, to be sure, and the window swung open with ease, but Amelia could not gain any purchase on the slimy bricks to push herself up.
There was no movement or cry of alarm inside the room, which was reassuring, at the very least. At last, Amelia managed to scramble upward, get her elbows onto the sill, and from there pull herself over it, plunging headfirst onto an unforgiving stone floor.
“Amelia?” came Marjory’s muffled voice from outside. “Did you fall? Are you hurt? That was a very loud bang.”
Amelia sat up gingerly, pressing her fingertips to the new bruise forming on her forehead.
“I’m fine,” she responded, wincing. “I just knocked my head a little. Stay out there, and keep a sharp eye. I don’t want to go to gaol, either.”
She rose uncertainly to her feet and took a moment to ascertain where she was.
The room appeared to be a storeroom, with a single closed door presumably leading to the rest of the building. Judging by the heavy, musty smell in the air, it was seldom used.
A few dusty, cobweb-littered barrels and crates cluttered up the corners, along with a few surprisingly well-maintained pieces of furniture, including a chest of drawers with a tarnished mirror set on top of it. The floor was plain stone, the walls whitewashed.
Movement in the corner caught her eye, and she spotted a mouse scrambling to safety.
Thank heavens I have never been the sort who shied away from mice or spiders, Amelia thought with a wince, and set to work.
Marjory’s notebook was nowhere to be seen. If she had indeed dropped it on the floor beneath the window, it could easily have slid underneath a piece of furniture or behind a box.
Amelia tiptoed between the boxes and crates, disturbing spiders and a great deal of dust. She was caught in the midst of a tremendous coughing fit when a scuttling noise drew her attention to the window, where Marjory was climbing in.
Dismay filled her.
“No, Marjory,” Amelia choked out, eyes streaming. “I told you to wait outside!”
“Well, you were coughing rather badly,” Marjory responded. “I thought you might be choking.”
“It is just from all the dust. I am going to wring your neck like a chicken when we get out of here.”
“No, you are not,” Marjory responded blithely. “You can’t wring the necks of actual chickens, so I believe that I am safe. Do you have my notebook?”
“I cannot find it. Perhaps we should just go. Even if somebody did find it and happened to read it, perhaps all will be well.”
Marjory shook her head grimly. “No, Amelia. I have other notes in there. Bits of gossip I have picked up, scandals, and so on. I have names in there, and some of it has already been published under what should have been an anonymous name.”
Amelia groaned aloud. “Why did you have to be a writer, Marjory? Why could you not have a talent for something a little less dangerous?”
“Such as finding and marrying rich men?” Marjory countered, peering at her sister over her spectacles. “As the eldest sister, I believe that is your job.”
Amelia reddened. “I think not. Men are hardly trustworthy creatures, and the rich ones are even worse.”
“Perhaps you are prejudiced.”
“Prejudiced, yes. Incorrect, no. Come, let’s hurry. I want to find that notebook and get out of here.”
Marjory wandered over to the chest of drawers, pulling open each drawer in turn.
“There are boxing gloves in here,” she remarked, mildly interested.
“Your notebook will not be inside the drawers, Marjory,” Amelia admonished.
In true little-sisterly fashion, however, Marjory took no notice.
Amelia turned from her inspection of a half-rotted crate, intending to scold her sister. The words died in her mouth, instead turning into a shrill scream that made Marjory almost leap out of her skin.
“Oh, do forgive me,” said the man in the doorway, smiling pleasantly. “I did not mean to scare you.”
“I… I…” Amelia stammered, cold dread coiling in her gut.
The man was huge, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, and his head almost brushed the frame. As a tall woman, she was used to finding herself at eye level with most men, but not with this one.
He had a broad chest to match, and a square, grim face, not unhandsome but certainly somewhat lopsided.
His nose was long and pointed, with a decided kink in the bridge.
Furious greenish eyes glittered from under heavy black brows, and overlong dark hair hung around his forehead and temples.
He smiled under her scrutiny, revealing white, sharp teeth in a truly wolfish smile.
Amelia swallowed.
We are in a great deal of trouble.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” the man said blithely. “Do continue with your robbing of my clubhouse.”