A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(97)

She raised her head high as she said this and looked Holmes straight in the eyes. He nodded.

“Well said, Miss Amelia. God willing, we shall finish this creature, and you may continue to enjoy the freedom you have here.” He sketched a little salute to her; she bobbed a suggestion of a curtsey, and went on her way, head held high.

“If you and Sarah and that girl are examples of the kinds of women Isabelle Harton is turning out of her school, England is in safe hands,” he said to Nan. “Now . . . let us put our heads together and see what we can adduce from all the clues in these visions.”



Alexandre was bitterly unhappy at the moment. Alf’s initial interview with the madame had been inconclusive.

“She’s gotta virgin in th’ ’Ouse, but it ain’t one yew want,” he’d reported to Alexandre when he got in. “Too many gents ’as seen ’er an is biddin’ on ’er. I seen ’er m’self.” He’d smacked his lips. “Blimey, she’s a looker. ’Ore-’ouse born’n’raised, so she knows wut’s wut, too.” He shook his head. “Price’s gonna go ’igh, ’Ouse of Lords ’igh, an’ plenty of gents’ll wanta know ’oo she goes to. But Madame says she’ll think on’t, an’ Oi’m t’come back termorrer.” Then he’d yawned hugely and gone to bed.

Alexandre had pinned all his hopes on Alf coming back with word of success, if not in possession of a girl. His heart and courage had plummeted. And he was, frankly, too nervy and too upset to stay in the flat after that.

So Alexandre had gone out. He couldn’t bear to stay in the house with that thing so clearly able to get at him whenever it chose. But wherever he went that day, fear followed. He could not enjoy his food, or the performers at his music hall, or even the discovery of several gems at the bookstore. He slunk back to the flat, feeling exhausted, unsatisfied . . . and laboring under a weight of dull fear that prodded him with muted pain, like pebbles in his shoes that he could not rid himself of.

When he slumped into the kitchen where his man was, Alf took one look at him and went to the pantry, returning with a bottle of clear liquid. He poured a small glass full and set it down in front of Alexandre. “Drink thet,” he ordered. “All at once.”

Alexandre tossed it down—and nearly choked. As he gasped for breath, Alf put a glass of water in his hand, which he tossed down. “What . . . was . . . that?” he asked, still gasping. His eyes watered. His throat and gut felt as if he had just swallowed fire, but whatever it was, he could already tell it was going to make him drunk in a very little while.

“’Omemade stuff,” Alf said. “Somethin’ Oi make. Oi gotta liddle still. Don’ usually drink’t when yew got so much better tipple, but it’s got its uses. Don’ need it much, but . . . when yew need it, yew need it.”

It must have been nearly two hundred proof. He felt the pure alcohol going straight to his brain, fuzzing things out a little. Forcing relaxation on him. Taking the edge off his fear.

“Naow yer ready t’sit’n listen,” Alf said. “Talked t’ Madame Maude. She’s got th’ virgin auction on th’ boil, but Oi did some fancy talkin’ an’ made some promises, an’ she decided she hain’t about t’ miss out on prime money fer sorry goods what she c’n git fer free, so she’s makin’ time fer us. She reckons t’ git a gel from a work’ouse she knows. ’S run boi a lotta Bible pounders, they keeps the gels separate from the lads, an’ dragons at th’ door t’keep ’em apart. Uglier a gel is, more like she’ a virgin, but Maude’ll inspect on th’ prem’ses t’make sure. She hain’t astin’ no questions, an’ she wants five guineas.”

“Five guineas, versus having to face that thing without a virgin for it?” He shuddered. “That’s no contest. When?”

“She’ll ’ave the gel tomorrer. Oi tol ’er yew wasn’t fussy ’bout th’ face, but yer partiklar ’bout bein’ clean an’ lookin’ loik a lady. She’ll ’ave her good’n’sleepy an’ dressed up posh. Oi’ got a lad t’day an’ put ’im upstairs. ’E’s on t’outside of ’nuff beer t’put ’im t’bed, an’ when ’e wakes up, ’e’ll be thinkin’ more ’bout all the food ’e c’n eat than anythin’ else.” Alf patted his shoulder. “Easy-peasy nice an’ breezy, guv. This tiome next week, ye’ll be laughin’ an’ in clover.”

Alexandre tried not to shudder.

He went to his bedroom with great reluctance and took a brandy bottle with him. If this devil’s brew Alf had given him wore off, he wanted to renew the haze. This might not be the best way of dealing with the entity, but he’d tried keeping it out with the magic that was in the same book as the summoning spell, and that hadn’t worked—

Or had it? It might have been able to speak to him—and it might have been able to transform his bedroom door—but the protective circle hadn’t reached to the door, just around the bed. And it hadn’t crossed that.

He undressed quickly and pulled on the nightshirt. If the protective circle did work, he wanted to be inside it as soon as he could get there.

He began to feel a little better. By the time he had climbed into his bed, he had begun to relax enough that he actually was able to fall asleep.