Page 5 of Lyon on the Lam (The Lyon’s Den)

T avie woke in a shadowy room and a bed that didn’t feel familiar. Her heart thudded in her ears. The windows were in the wrong places, and the colors were wrong. After a moment, she remembered both where she was and how she had arrived here.

Matthew had brought her. She ran a thumb across her fingers, recalling the solid warmth of his hand in hers.

Scents drifted in from under the door. Fresh bread came first, then roast beef. Perhaps a fruit pie.

Tavie’s stomach rumbled, and she looked out the windows to try to guess the time. The surrounding buildings hid the sunlight, making it impossible to guess, and the traffic on the street was the same steady flow as when she had arrived. But roast beef was usually served for supper.

Loud voices and rowdy laughter, mostly male, rolled up the stairs. Hildie’s barked replies were indistinguishable except in tone. Her laugh was just as loud and just as rough as her boarders.

Tavie pulled the bedclothes to her chin and watched the door. Her family hadn’t always been about Mayfair mansions and strolls in Hyde Park, but she had never been in a neighborhood like this, had never even imagined being in one. Especially not alone and in the dark.

Her stomach complained again, louder this time. She must have slept longer than she’d thought.

“Get hold of yourself,” Tavie scolded. “You are a grown woman who has overcome worse than a room full of working-class men. You can either go downstairs and ask for what you would like, or you can sit here and wait for a tray.” She threw the covers off and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress.

“And I think you’ve had your last tray in bed. ”

She lit a lamp, and the light gave her the courage to wash her face and dress in the most suitable of the three frocks she now had. They were all neat and clean, and each seemed suitable for dinner while traveling. She twisted her hair into a neat, simple style and pinned it securely.

It took more pins to hold what felt like fewer strands. Was she losing her hair, or had it always been this thin?

The doorknob was cold against her palm, a reminder to fetch her gloves. Tavie lifted them, stared at the leather fingers, and then set them aside. Society women wore gloves at dinner, and the less she looked like one of them, the better.

The hallway had white walls, which brightened the space even in the low light used to conserve candles, but it was still narrow enough that she had to move aside as a young maid approached with the makings for a fire. “Good evening.”

The girl dipped a quick curtsy. “Same to you, ma’am. Granny said I was to come knock so you’d know it was dinner, and to tell you to go down the back stairs to the kitchen. While you’re down there, I’ll make a fire in your room.”

“Thank you…” Tavie trailed off, hoping for the girl’s name.

“Kate, ma’am.” A blush tinged her cheeks before she went on her way.

The back stairs were narrow, but well lit and clean, and they ended in an orderly kitchen. A table was tucked into a corner near the fire, and a teapot and cup waited there. An empty plate sat beside a steaming roast, potatoes and carrots, and a loaf of bread.

Tavie took it as an invitation and helped herself before taking a seat, careful to sit where the hearth would hide her from the door. A whimper of appreciation escaped as the tasty beef all but melted in her mouth. The vegetables did the same.

The door swung open and Hildie bustled in, her skirts still clean and her apron stiff. The tray in her hands was stacked high with dirty plates and empty tankards.

Tavie rose to help, but the other woman shook her head. “I have it stacked just right. One shift of the weight, and it’ll all go crashing to the floor.”

Instead, Tavie found an extra teacup on a nearby shelf and poured a second cup of tea. “My grandmother had a tea cozy much like this.”

“Kate knitted it for me last Christmas.” Hildie released a deep sigh and joined her at the table. “Thank you, miss.”

Miss . Tavie liked the sound of it. She liked even more the conspiratorial wink that Hildie gave her. They were bonded by the pretense that Albert simply didn’t exist.

“This dinner is the best I’ve had in years,” Tavie said as she watched gravy pool against a carrot-sized dam. It drowned the potatoes instead.

Hildie motioned for her to keep eating. “We’re known for good food and clean rooms.”

And, apparently, for protecting those under their roof, given the fight she had given Matthew earlier in the day. “I cannot tell you how much I—”

Hildie waved her off. “We have to stick together, don’t we?”

Something in the way she said it made Tavie wonder how many women had taken refuge here, and whether Hildie was hiding herself. Perhaps that was why the wiry old woman was such a fearful guardian.

Before Tavie could ask, someone shouted Hildie’s name on the other side of the door. She finished her tea in a gulp before standing.

Tavie glanced at the door. The shouting man sounded large, rough, and drunk. It was fine to imagine that she was in her own granny’s kitchen, but she wasn’t.

“The boys here are gruff and loud, but they’re more afraid of losing good food and a clean bed than they are of getting their leg over.” Hildie put a gentle hand on Tavie’s shoulder. “But they can’t keep their mouths closed, especially about a pretty girl. So it’s best they don’t see you.”

She left the kitchen carrying the remainder of the beef, and the door muffled her good-natured scolding. The men quieted as they finished their meal. Tavie did the same.

Outside the window, the neighborhood had quieted. Steam from the kitchen clouded the glass, which was thick and bubbled anyway. It gave the impression of a watercolor, though no one ever painted a watercolor of the dark.

Kate came through the back door lugging a bucket of water, which she sloshed into the kettle over the fire.

Both hissed and popped in protest. The girl backed away, lifting her skirts to avoid the ashes even as she pushed her damp hair from her face.

She was a small girl with a frame not built for firewood and buckets that likely weighed more than she did herself.

Tavie lifted her now-empty dishes and walked to the basin. “Let me help.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh no, miss. You’re a guest, and Granny says—”

“ My granny said that if someone gave me a good meal and a soft bed, I was to repay the kindness however I could.” Tavie lifted an apron from its peg and slipped it over her head. “This is the best way I know.” She surveyed the mountain of dishes awaiting them. “I’ll wash. You dry.”

Kate brought a pitcher of hot water and filled the basin so they could go to work.

“Have you always lived in London?” Tavie asked.

“No, miss. I came to live with Granny after my mother died. We lived in Nottinghamshire when I was small.” Kate scrubbed the towel over the dish, drying first the front and then the back. “My papa still lives there.”

It was a common practice for families, especially widowed fathers, to send their daughters to live with other relatives, but Tavie couldn’t imagine not having her parents in her daily life.

She paused. That would change soon. There was no possibility her parents would understand her need to bring Albert to justice.

“My family has lived in Suffolk for generations. I loved living there.” She had felt more herself in the country, where she could walk in the fields and talk to the farmers who supplied the grain for her father’s business. “London has been…difficult for me.”

“But you’re a lady ,” Kate said. “You get to go to parties and balls, and the opera.”

“Balls aren’t all they’re made out to be,” Tavie said. “And Society is rather like a pretty cage.”

“I’d trade you for that cage any day.” Kate snorted. “It beats being a kitchen skivvy.”

Tavie’s whole body ached, as though they’d been doing dishes for days rather than hours. She gritted her teeth and made herself continue, fighting the frailness her life had forced upon her. “What would you rather do? If you didn’t work in your grandmother’s kitchen.”

“I’d like to be a seamstress,” the girl whispered as though Hildie would toss her out into the street for even thinking of another job.

“I’m good with a needle. I could alter that dress you were wearing when you came in this morning.

” She cast an eye over Tavie. “And this one could be more fashionable without much work.”

“I might let you.” Tavie smiled as she lifted a few large bowls that were taking up drying space. It was one thing to be on her own, and quite another to be in shabby clothing. “Where do these go?”

“In the pantry.” Kate led her around the corner and took the bowls from her hand. She placed them on a shelf and kept walking into the shadow. “Let me show you this.”

She stopped at a wall lined with hooks. Housekeeping tools hung from each. Kate tugged the one that held a duster made from thin feathers that were white near the handle and gray at the ends. The wall swung out.

“Granny made this when I was little, so I could hide if I got scared when I was here alone.”

The space was large enough to walk into, and it went to the left and back. The inky darkness and musty scent sent a shiver down Tavie’s spine.

“It goes until you’re under the stairs,” Kate said. “But you can’t take any light, not even a candle. They’ll see it through the planks.”

Tavie stared at the girl as her words sank in, then she snatched her into a hard hug. “Thank you.”

“Where did you girls get to?” Hildie called. “Come out here, miss. You have a visitor.”

Tavie’s heart sped as her mouth went dry. She’d been careful in planning her escape from Mayfair, but what if she’d made an error? What if she’d overlooked something, or been followed or seen? What if Albert—

“Gran won’t let anything happen to you,” Kate said as she pulled away and reversed direction, keeping hold of Tavie’s hand as they exited the pantry. “I’ll go first just to make sure.”