Page 8 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

Chapter Five

It had been an excellent idea to bring Teddy along to St Giles, Isla decided.

The man was, on one hand, hopelessly enamoured with her, and on the other, so utterly engrossed in explaining the intricate workings of clocks that he was blissfully unaware of their surroundings.

He saw nothing at all peculiar about strolling through the most disreputable alleys in London; not as long as he had Isla by his side and an attentive audience for his lecture on horology.

Teddy chattered away, absently twirling his walking stick, as he launched into a detailed discourse on the clock of St Paul’s; why it was considered one of the finest public clocks of its time, and precisely how its weights and gears functioned.

He paused mid-step, as if struck by inspiration, and glanced down at her with sudden enthusiasm. “I would love to show you a Tompion clock one day!”

“You know an awful lot about clocks,” Isla mentioned absent-mindedly as she studied the doors of the crooked little houses in the alley. Now, where was that door with the wolf emblem?

“Yes, I do,” Teddy replied. “For the greatest part of my life, I would have loved to become a clockmaker myself. I even studied with John Roger Arnold for a while, the finest chronometer maker of our time, although some may argue that that may have been his father.”

Isla lifted her head. “You wanted to become a clockmaker? In truth?”

He nodded. “Yes. But you know how it is.” He shrugged.

“Duty of our class and whatnot. My father wouldn’t have it, so it had to remain a mere passion.

These days, I like to tinker around with clocks whenever I can find the time, which is precious little.

I have even transformed an entire room to a worksho—ooff. ”

A scruffy boy shot out of a side alley and barrelled straight into him, taking the wind out of his sails.

Teddy staggered back from the impact. His walking stick flew out of his hand and clattered on the ground, and his other arm shot up in a swift, protective motion, half-sheltering her as he turned to face the boy.

The boy scrambled to retrieve the stick on the ground, and would have, no doubt, run off with his prize, when he froze, dropped it as if it were a piece of hot coal, and scrambled backwards on the ground, on all fours, away from them, until he hit the wall of the house.

“I am so sorry,” he babbled. “I didn’t mean it.” He kept repeating those two phrases, except the language he spoke was not English. “I didn’t know. I am sorry.”

“Eh?” Teddy picked up his stick and brushed it off. “What are you saying, boy?”

Isla recognised the language. “What didn’t you know?” She crouched down by the boy, answering in his language. “Tell me.”

But the boy kept shaking his head, trembling. “I am so, so sorry,” he repeated. Then he scrambled up and, before he ran off, threw some items at Teddy’s feet.

“Eh,” Teddy repeated as picked up his silken handkerchief and his purse.

“That little wretch stole my handkerchief, my purse and my stick. Except he seems to have thought better of it. Very honourable of him.” He searched his pockets to check whether there were more items missing.

“He didn’t filch my fob and pocket watch.

Maybe because both are attached to my waistcoat.

” He patted his pocket watch in relief. “Otherwise, I tend to lose them or place them somewhere, you know.”

“That was…most peculiar,” Isla observed quietly. Sh e turned around, but behind them was merely a stone house. The shutters were closed. She scanned the building with a frown. “Excessively odd behaviour. What was it that the boy saw that frightened him so?”

“The hangman’s noose, most likely,” Teddy replied as he cleaned his spectacles with his handkerchief and pushed it up his nose. “Are you well, Isla? You’re not hurt? He did not steal anything from you?”

Isla shook her head. “I am fine, and I still have all my belongings.” Her fingers gripped her umbrella as she cast a nervous look down the dark little street.

“Say, it has occurred to me for quite some time already that this appears to be a rather peculiar place for a walk. The people here do not appear to be too friendly,” he commented, as if only now becoming aware of their surroundings.

A window shutter slammed shut above them as they looked up, which caused Isla to flinch.

What Isla found even stranger was that, save for the encounter with the boy, they didn’t actually meet anyone.

The shady figures that she thought she saw in the corners and doorways melted away as they approached, so that, blinking, she decided she must have imagined them.

There were no beggars on the ground, no drunkards skulking along the walls, no ruffians threatening to relieve them of their valuables.

They were in the middle of Gin Lane, one of the most crowded, filthy, dangerous alleys in all of London, a street where they said that once you entered it, you were unlikely to leave alive, and no soul was to be seen.

As soon as people saw them approach, they disappeared in the doorways, houses, and shadows, as if the very air had swallowed them whole.

Only the wind blew several lonely stray leaves along the ground, and a cat hissed and spat at them as they passed by.

There was something wrong.

Growing increasingly nervous, Isla pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Gripping Teddy’s arm, she dragged him along the alley, trying to remember where the place had been where she’d stabbed the man.

The narrow streets looked so similar, and it was difficult to remember where exactly it had been.

“Where is that clock that you wanted to show me?” He paused, looking around.

“We’re close. Was it here?” she said to herself, as she pulled Teddy into a narrow side street. It did look vaguely familiar.

“Clocks aside, I find this a rather curious place to find oneself,” Teddy commented.

“Lots of gin sold here.” His face brightened.

“Here they are, the clocks.” He pointed with his stick at a dilapidated pawn shop.

Through the dirty shop window, one could see an assortment of pocket watches.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” He studied the items displayed in the window with great interest. “Some of these are interesting specimens.”

Isla smiled brightly. “Indeed.” It was a lie, naturally, for dragging him to St Giles to show him a clock had been merely an excuse; but the pawn shop appeared at a convenient time.

Teddy pulled out his own watch. “Most of them are punctual, too,” he praised.

Isla was about to answer that these watches were, likely, stolen goods, when her eyes fell on the door next to the pawnshop.

There it was.

The red wolf.

She gasped.

This was the place. There were the stairs where she’d stabbed the man. He’d staggered backwards and crashed against this very door.

After a moment’s hesitation, she lifted her gloved hand and knocked against the door.

No one opened.

“Did you want to visit the pawnshop? The door is over here,” Teddy said, pointing at the door on the other side. But the moment he’d uttered that, a sign in the window appeared, saying it was closed. “But it is closed,” he added, frowning.

“What do you make of this?” Isla pointed at the emblem of the door.

“It’s not a friendly image, is it?” Teddy tilted his head to one side, then to the other. “Is that blood dripping from its fangs? A vampyre, mayhap?”

“Not quite. It is a wolf. Though now that you mention it, one can’t help but wonder whether that association was intentional. Haven’t you seen this emblem before?”

He bent down to squint at it, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

Isla tapped a finger against her cheek. “It’s the third time I’ve seen this image within two days.

I must say, I’m curious. I’m very, very curious.

And, as you should know about me, if I’m curious about something, I don’t give up until that curiosity is satisfied.

I can be more stubborn than a bulldog locking its jaw around a piece of meaty bone. ”

Teddy looked at her, awe-struck. “Truly? How very useful to know—I mean, since we’re to marry, and all, it is useful that we know of each other’s traits.

I tend to be similar. If something arouses my curiosity, I spend hours in the library until I find the answer.

” He regarded the wolf again and scratched the back of his neck. “It does look rather fearsome.”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes as she studied the wolf.

“That must have been intentional. What do you think? Could it be the emblems of smugglers? To brand their contraband with? Or a secret code used by criminals? Should we find out?” She knocked again, but once more, no one answered.

“Could you bang against the door with the handle of your walking stick, with all your might? It would be louder than my knuckles.”

Teddy did as she requested, and it worked: after three thumps against the door, it finally opened with a creak.

A greasy-looking, half-bald man with a dirty apron tied about his waist stood in the doorway. Isla recoiled, thinking the stains on the apron were bloodstains.

The man looked at them suspiciously through narrowed eyes. “Yes? What d’ye want?”

Teddy, who had his hand lifted in the process of knocking a fourth time, lowered his cane, and took an involuntary step back.

The man stared, and his face transformed. He backed away and attempted to slam the door shut again, but Isla had the presence of mind and placed her foot into the threshold.

“What d’ye want?” he repeated, his eyes flitting from her to Teddy and back again.

“Just one question,” she said hastily.

He backed off into the shadows of the house, so that she could no longer see his face.

“The sign on your door. The wolf. What does it mean?”

The man did not reply.

“What does it represent?” she insisted.