Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

end-paper to the Fragonard drawing-room fire. She returned to the third floor and began to collect end-papers and frontispieces from the shards of books on the floor. If Tigg and the others were to advance beyond the four times table, she would need something to write on. She tucked them in her satchel and surveyed the bedrooms. What else? Linens? No. There were no beds to put them on. Basin and ewer? Smashed. Clothes? She was hard put to carry the trunk she had. No point in bringing anything else along.
    The painful truth was, she could not bring anything from her old life with her. Nor could she bring Snouts and the others here, sensible though that idea was. They could not be coming and going in Mayfair without danger of arrest simply for being who they were. It was up to her to resign herself to living rough until she had done what she had promised to do.
    But in the meantime, life could be made a little easier, could it not? Back on the fourth floor, in Mrs. Morven’s room, she found a spare packet of tooth powder and a bar of soap. The good lady would not begrudge them, and Claire would reimburse her as soon as she could. She scooped up the mother’s helper and it immediately stopped moving. Tucking it under her arm, she descended the stairs.
    Where was Mrs. Morven? And Gorse?
    She had no way to tell them she was safe, and no way to find out if they were. All she could do was leave a note in their shambles of a kitchen and hope that one of them would return and find it. She wrote something brief and cheerful on an end-paper and left it on the chopping block. Then she picked up half a dozen metal forks and two slightly bent knives from the floor and tucked them in her satchel, with the mother’s helper going into the basket. If there was to be food today, at least they would have the wherewithal to eat it.
    Food. Her stomach must surely be sticking to her backbone. In this house of plenty, could she not at least find something to keep body and soul together? At the very back of the cold cupboard, she found an apple, aged and wrinkled. With relief and a sense that she was behaving very much like poor Rosie, she devoured it in seconds. It did not fill her stomach, but at least she could face the long walk back to the squat with something approaching fortitude.
    The squat. Another night lying on the rag-pile. And the prospect of Jake, who would have knifed her if his fear hadn’t overridden his hatred.
    Outside on the step, she ran a gentle hand over the panels of the door as it did its best to close. For a moment, she leaned against it, eyes closed, breathing in the smell of paint and slightly splintered wood. Then she turned her face to the street and steeled herself to leave home once again.

Chapter 21

    “Twenty quid! Twenty quid!” Snouts riffled the ragged pile of bills in Claire’s face and danced a jig around her. “I’m the king of cowboy poker and I’m rich!”
    With a laugh, Claire watched him attempt to polka with Tigg, who pushed him off with a “Garn, ya big lummox!” Then she folded her arms. “You mean to say, of course, that we are rich. Since this was a community effort, we all share in the spoils.”
    “Ah ... but it was me puttin’ me ’ead in the lion’s mouth, as it were.”
    “Nonsense. The lions were drunk as lords and too bleary-eyed to see. It was a case of superior apprehension of strategy on your part, timing on Tigg’s part, and a lavish stake on my part. Which I would like returned, if you please.”
    Whatever else he might be, she had observed that Snouts was a practical boy. Not only was he outnumbered, but the outnumbering parties were hungry, anxious, and not too proud to take him to the ground if he gave her any more guff. He dug about his person and produced the emerald ring. Claire’s fingers closed around it with an internal prayer of thanks. Then she slipped it on the middle finger of her right hand—the only one it fit—and held out her left hand, palm up.
    Snouts eyed her. “Now, lady, even you will say it’s fair for me to ’ave me winnings once you’ve got your property back.”
    “I’m grateful to have my stake returned. But as I’ve said, the winnings belong to all. We must save five pounds to stake the next game. Each member here receives two, to spend as they wish. That leaves five pounds for you, Mr. McTavish, which you must admit is far more than you would otherwise have had without our help.”
    “An’ what about them chemicals?”