He scanned the dusty shell of the building where he was now going to have to bunk in resignation. Parts of the connecting walls between the three buildings were either sporting holes or fully demolished already, replaced by jacks and lintels. That meant that the drafts from every warped, cracked, or ill-fitting window whistled around the cavernous space. With the temperature outside more than cold enough to freeze the knackers off a brass monkey, and this winter’s perpetual snow falling again with a vengeance, those drafts were bitter. Ladders, tools, and building materials were piled everywhere. Where there wasn’t the necessary chaos of a full-scale renovation, there was rubble from the works, yet despite the evidence of a week of fevered activity, the decrepit stench of years of neglect still overpowered the fresher scent of sawdust.
All a long way from the luxury of his cozy suite of rooms at the Albany.
His ridiculously expensive suite at the Albany, too, so maybe this was actually a blessing in disguise as far as his pocket was concerned. With his funds already stretched almost to their limit, the savings on his rent would come in handy.
He’d slept in worse places in his life, he supposed, and the Claypoles’ nocturnal shenanigans needed to be nipped in the bud before they did real harm and left his precious club floundering unfinished.
Having won his battle, Mr. Evans was magnanimous and thanked him for his understanding. He even sent one of his boys to the nearby shops to fetch Gal some dinner, candles, a newspaper, and firewood for the long night ahead.
The only fireplace he could find that wasn’t blocked was in the attic, which he had already earmarked as his future apartment, so he made his camp there among the discarded old roof struts. Once the fire was lit and roaring, fearing for his teeth if he tried to bite into the solid, stale loaf in his food parcel, he ate half his lackluster stew instead until he could stand the bland, oily taste of it no more, then read the newspaper from cover to cover rather than mull overhersome more, until his eyelids began to droop.
As he had all those years ago when he’d slept rough for almost two winters, he found himself a tight corner, wedged his body into it, and, much to his surprise after years of finer things, fell into a deep slumber.
He was still in it when a noise down below woke him with a start. It wasn’t a loud noise, more the quiet protest of a rusty old hinge, but just like when he had slept under the stars, his body went instantly to full alert at the interruption.
Gal sat bolt upright. His candle had long extinguished and so had his fire, but instead of the pitch-black darkness he had expected to find in the middle of the night, the attic was filled with the shadows of the December dawn. Rather than alert the intruder, or intruders, to his presence, Gal stayed as still as a statue while he listened to the sound of boots entering the premises stealthily, then forgetting to creep once they had closed the door behind them.
Good.
They had no idea he was here. That gave him the advantage of the element of surprise, and he would be sure to surprise Venus’s miscreants in the act. Catch them red-handed. Then march them back next door with matching fleas in their identical ears before he put some in hers, too, for either unwittingly or—more likely—wittingly putting the Claypoles up to it with her flagrant hostility toward him.
Somebody said something, but as it was three floors below, Gal couldn’t make any of the conversation out. There was more movement. Doors opening and closing. Something being dragged. The sounds ofexertion, as if whatever mischief the twin terrors were making took effort.
In case they gave him away, Gal gently toed off his boots, then unfolded himself from his corner slowly before creeping on stockinged feet toward the staircase door. With aching slowness, he turned the knob, cracked it open, and craned his ears.
“The higher the better, I reckon.” Although the twins’ voices were as identical as their faces, he knew that instruction had come from Tommy and not Sydney. Tommy ruled the Claypole roost and Sydney did as he was told. “If we shove ’em in the attic, they’ll be harder to remove. They’ll be even harder to get rid of if we nail the window frames shut, too.”
The boys cackled at their own evil genius.
The clonking sounds of Mr. Evans’s tools being disturbed were closely followed by footsteps on the stairs.
“We’ll teach the blighter not to mess with us.” The eager edge to this threat suggested that the loyal Sydney was keen to impress his brother. “We don’t want no Sodom and Gomorrah bleedin’ den of iniquity next door and we won’t stand for it!”
“Too bloody right, Syd. We’ll show him.”
Something rustled as the brothers cleared the first staircase; it sounded like wicker. Or at least something moving against wicker. Wrestling against wicker? Squawking against wicker?
What the hell is that sound?
“Wish I could see their faces when they find this lot.” Gal wasn’t sure quite which twin said that, but both tittered at the brilliance of their latest childish plan to send him packing.
They did not pause at all on the second floor, and as the first foot landed on the final set of stairs leading to the attic, Gal pressed his body flat against the wall to lie in wait for them, hidden behind the door.
He held his breath as the boys reached the landing, his fingers flexing in readiness so that he could slam the door shut behind them the moment they foolishly entered his lair.
Then they’d be trapped. Like rats in a cage. Thwarted and neutered in one fell swoop. Inadvertently playing into his hands because he would be gracious when he personally delivered them back to Venus.
Merciful.
Because contrary to her current opinion, hewasnoble and honorable to his core, and it would do her good to remind her of that fact. After all, how many would be as forgiving of a gold watch being stolen as he had been when Billy Tubbs had lifted his? Hardly any, that was for certain. Even less would forgive a second transgression with quite so much magnanimity—but he would.
For her.
Still.
Despite her continued and unreasonable belligerence.
Despite all the sensible reasons why he was better off without her.
