Chapter 12
Once more, Pen hurtled into him full force in front of the club. She rushed up the stairs just at the moment he emerged from the door. This time, Alworth had the presence of mind to grab the rail by the stairs to counter the impact, so he did not come crashing down.
“Oof,” Pen grunted.
“Must you insist on this manner of meeting?” Alworth complained.
“I know where he is,” she said breathlessly.
“Indeed?”
“Yes. I went to his residence and asked where he was.”
“Did you, now?” Alworth studied Pen. “Let me guess. Likely he is spending his time at various gaming hells, or other houses of ill repute, or worse.”
“He’s at Madame Beaumont’s.”
“It is definitely worse.”
“Who is Madame Beaumont?” Pen fell into step next to him as they walked along St. James’s Street.
“My infant, this is someone whose acquaintance you should be glad you have not made. But it is precisely the kind of acquaintance the Duke of Rochford prefers over everyone else’s.”
“But who is she?” Pen pressed.
“She is a, er, shall we say, certain lady of repute who runs a certain house of certain repute.”
“You are not making any sense at all,” Pen complained. “Speak clearly.”
“She’s a Covent Garden nun.”
Pen stopped in the street and stared at Alworth. “She’s a nun?”
“She is more of an abbess.”
Pen scratched her head. “Why is Rochford staying in the cloister?”
Alworth chuckled. “You misunderstand. The lady runs a vaulting school.”
“A school? Like Miss Hilversham’s Seminary for Young Ladies?”
Alworth broke into laughter and took some time to recover. “Not quite,” he managed to say, eventually. “It’s more of a… seraglio.”
Pen shook her head. “A sultan’s palace in the Orient? Like in the Mozart opera?”
Alworth dried his eyes. “A bordello. A brothel.”
Pen’s mouth formed a round ‘o’. “Why didn’t you just say so? All these strange terms.”
“It’s a delicate matter.”
Pen thought. “It can’t be Marcus, then. He’d never set foot in a brothel.”
“This Marcus seems to be a veritable specimen of morality and proper conduct. I cannot wait to meet him,” Alworth said with a satiric undertone.
Pen nodded enthusiastically. “You should. I am certain you two would get along famously.”
Alworth muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “devil take him,” but she wasn’t sure.
