Unhappy with the awareness of just how cruel Society could be, she downed the remainder of her tea and took her leave of Melody, who promised she’d be in touch soon.
Samantha returned to the carriage, climbed in, and proceeded onward to her next destination.The beautiful Mayfair architecture slid past the window, dimming and transforming as they travelled farther along Piccadilly and closer to where St.Giles began.
Façades began showing signs of cracked paint, the fencing looked increasingly broken with occasional boards missing, and there were significant signs of rot in the wood trim around the windows and doors.It only got worse when they turned onto Dyott Street.The homes here were squatter, more crooked, and jammed together so tightly they looked like they clamored for air.
The light was dimmer here too, as if a large cloud had darkened this part of the city where washing lines hung between the buildings and stray dogs trotted about searching for scraps.This was where the forgotten resided – those the wealthy wished to ignore.
Samantha noted the scrawny woman slumped in a doorway, her tattered clothes covered in filth and her hair in complete disarray.It was impossible to tell if she was dead or alive.
Shuddering, Samantha patted her arms and thighs before checking her hair, just to be sure the weapons she carried were still secure.Her heart raced a bit faster.She wasn’t afraid of what she’d find here.Whatever threat might present itself, she’d be prepared, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d never actually killed a person.
She knew how, had trained repeatedly to do so, but if it came to it, would she be able to thrust a blade into a man without blinking?
Harlowe believed her capable.
The first time is always the hardest.Not because you can’t handle it, but because you will always second guess yourself until you get past that initial death.
Her gaze fell on some boys who wore the expressions of men who’d returned from war.It wasn’t fair that their childhoods were stolen.She wished their lives would be easier.Unfortunately, if they lived here, their lives were far more likely to get even harder as they grew older.
The carriage slowed and drew to a halt.This was as far as the coachman would take her.If she was to seek an audience with Wycliffe, it wouldn’t do for her to arrive with the arrogant pomp and circumstance attributed to the upper class.Rather, she’d approach him on foot.
Samantha opened the door and stepped down, neatly avoiding a grimy puddle.She sent the coachman a nod, confident he would wait for her to return, and started walking.Keeping her stride quick and precise, she weaved her way through the narrow streets, moving deeper and deeper into the slums.
The smell, a stench of dead carcasses mixed with refuse, made Lady Heathbrooke’s parlor seem like a fresh country meadow.A legless man sat on the ground, his torso propped against a wall while he gobbled down some piece of food.Two women dressed in revealing clothes sewn from vibrant fabrics and lace laughed at her as they approached from the opposite direction.
“Fall on hard times, did ya?”One of them, a plump red-head, crooned.She stepped into Samantha’s path and dragged a finger along the length of her arm.“You’re welcome to join us.”
The other woman, a brunette with a sharp nose and drawn cheeks, chuckled before licking her lips.“A young thing as pretty as you will earn a good wage.We’ll happily teach ya, in exchange for splittin’ the profits.”
“As lovely as that sounds, I’ve business to attend to.”Samantha shook off the first woman’s touch and hardened her gaze just enough to make her retreat.Then, smiling broadly, she said, “I’m seeking Mr.Wycliffe.”
The women assessed her from head to toe and finally snorted.
“I hope ya know what ya doing,” the brunette muttered before shoving past.
“Tell him Regina will give him a month for free in exchange for your gown,” said the red-head as she, too, recommenced walking.Their laughter echoed against the slanted walls of the mismatched buildings that lined the alley.
Samantha took a deep breath and continued onward, stepping over a dead rat that floated belly up in a filthy gutter.Rounding a corner, she entered the street on which Wycliffe reputedly lived.
A small group of men had gathered up ahead, busily smoking and chatting.Samantha kept her chin down, her back straight, and her stride deliberate.Slowing her breath to keep her pulse even, she felt for the blades she’d concealed in the carefully sewn channels inside her spencer’s long sleeves.
Their hard metal presence calmed her nerves as she drew ever nearer to where the men stood.Without missing a beat, she aimed for the red brick building with the black door, intent on finding Wycliffe without courting trouble.
“Oi.”A gruff voice stopped her.“Who the devil are you and where’d you think you’re goin’?”
She clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders while raising her gaze, taking a split second to assess her surroundings.There were five men in total.One held a blade while another drank from a bottle that could be turned into a makeshift weapon.
The man who’d initially spoken stepped forward.He was large, stocky of build, and a good head taller than she, but his movements were sluggish.The rest of the men were slimmer.One had a pair of fierce eyes while the one holding the blade was marked by an angry gash on his cheek.The last two were barely more than boys, one with a scruffy mop of black hair, the other, who drank from the bottle, nearly as blonde as she.
“Are any of you Mr.Wycliffe?”she asked.
The stocky man scowled and took a step closer to where she’d halted, his cheroot dangling between his lips.“No.”
She offered a venomous smile.“Then I’m none of your business.”
He sneered at her while letting his gaze slide over her body.“I beg to differ.”
It came as no surprise to Samantha when he tried to reach for her arm.She’d anticipated the move several seconds before, so sidestepping it proved easy.He growled in irritation as she swept past him, her attention already upon his fierce-eyed companion while keeping her senses attuned to the stocky man’s movements.
