Page 23 of The Lyon Rampant

It was in this optimistic frame of mind that Belinda helped her friend down from the carriage on the street adjacent to the Lyon’s Den for what must be the last time. She would continue cooking at home, of course—but she’d be choosing the ingredients herself and not be at the command of an exacting head cook.

She was still smiling cheerfully to herself as she and Caroline rounded the corner, and the smart frontage of the gambling club came into view.

Suddenly she froze, bringing Caroline to a halt as well.

“What is it?”

Belinda edged out of sight, taking her friend with her.

“There’s something peculiar going on. Do you remember that urchin, Tom Haggar, who I thought had tried to steal my reticule when we saw the balloon ascent?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Well, he’s standing in the doorway of the main entrance to the Den, you know—the one the gentlemen use. He’s not alone.”

“Oh—I suppose he must be with Mr. Darvill. We suspected that Darvill used him as an errand boy on occasion, did we not?”

“Not Mr. Darvill. He’s deep in conversation with Roland.”

Caroline’s expression mirrored her own astonishment.

What on earth was going on? Belinda’s optimism fled, and all she could think about was the significance of this association. Something untoward was going on and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s kitchen and the soup were going to have to wait while Miss Belinda Bellamy tested her skills at espionage.

“Caroline—would you mind waiting here a moment? I don’t want to go in straight away—I want to hear what those two are saying to each other. And I don’t wish to walk into the Lyon’s Den right under Roland’s nose, even though he knows all about it now. Can you bear to be apart from your Mr. Starveling a little longer?”

“You’re going to eavesdrop on them? Oh dear, Belinda—I thought you were above that sort of thing.”

Belinda chuckled. “You sound like my guardian, not my friend. Don’t worry—I can hide behind that brewer’s dray and pretend I’m having difficulty with my bonnet or something.”

“You won’t hear much of the conversation, not with those barrels thundering down into Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s cellar.”

“I’ll take my chances. Now, then—are you prepared to wait a little longer? Go for a stroll down the street if you wish—I doubt I’ll be more than a few minutes.”

Her heart raced in excitement as she slipped along the shadowy side of the street and took up position close to the stationary dray. From there, she could see Tom’s face, but only the back of Roland’s head. Whether she’d hear anything was, as Caroline had said, a long shot, but she might learn something of value, so it was worth a try.

“So, I tells him that I’ve seen the boy. He looks well enough, although it seems his ma washes his hair more than is natural.”

“How would you know what level of cleanliness is considered natural, young Tom? I bet you haven’t had a scrub behind the ears for a month.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “A month? If I had a wash every month, that would be—” He counted on his fingers. “Twelve times a year! No, no need to do it that often. I suppose gentry folk might think it necessary, for all the balls and things they go to.”

A barrel was rolled down the ramp at that point so Belinda couldn’t hear the next bit of the conversation. But since it seemed to have directed itself to matters of cleanliness, she wasn’t missing anything vital.

As the barrel rumbled away into the depths, she heard Roland saying, “You’ll get your just deserts.”

Tom’s face paled in the patches visible beneath the dirt. “That doesn’t sound very nice, mister.”

Roland’s next utterance was drowned out by the dray horses stamping irritably and whinnying to one another. Belinda resisted the urge to edge closer—she’d already been here too long, and if anyone happened to be looking out of the windows of the Lyon’s Den, she’d be in plain view. One of the veterans was bound to emerge to find out what she was up to.

“Do you think his ma will give up the boy?” Tom was asking, still looking anxious.

What was going on? Had Roland threatened him? No—that wasn’t like Roland. But it sounded as if there was another boy whose life was about to change.

Then she heard Roland say “Darvill” and her heart beat even faster. She edged as close as she dared.

“Mr. Darvill can be very persuasive. He has the right, anyway.”