Page 53 of Again, Scoundrel

She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed and then a shadow of resolution pass across his features.

“I was working,” he said, “to find the funding for the shipping and trading company that McGann and I will start together. I am going to ask my father to invest. McGann had an altogether different plan. He was to—”

Alistair stopped speaking sharply, his head jerking up. Violet turned to see what he was staring at and found a small, ragged-looking boy standing in the doorway.

“Is this the clinic?” the child asked.

“It is,” Violet said at the same time that Alistair asked, “How can we help you, sir?”

“I ain’t a sir,” the boy said solemnly, and Violet suppressed her smile. “We need a doctor. Or my sister does. If you can come right away, gov?”

Violet stepped forward, ignoring the itchy film of sweat that clung to her beneath her heavy work gown and her aching feet.

“What’s wrong with her?” she asked.

“She’s having a baby,” the boy said. “But it ain’t happening right.”

Violet blanched but tried to hide it. Childbirth was exceptionally dangerous. Once it had gone wrong, it was nearly impossible to set right again.

“And?” she asked the boy. “What more?”

“There’s nothin’ more. That’s the problem. She’s been having the babe for over a day now and he ain’t come out.”

Violet closed her eyes for a moment and sent up a prayer.

“I’ll get my bag,” she said. “We must hurry.”

Chapter

21

Alistair and Violet followed the small boy out of Nowhere and into the dark, twisty alleyways of Covent Garden. He insisted that Violet walk ahead of him, between himself and the child. He wanted no one taking her unawares from behind.

This part of Covent Garden, as it led into St. Giles, was the very seediest part of London. The streets sloshed with filth and dirt and a smell so repulsive it made even a hardened sailor like him wince.

“Are you okay?” he whispered to Violet, worried that she was too delicate for a place like St. Giles.

“I’m fine,” she said. “But this—” She looked around her. “No wonder they thought it was miasma.”

Alistair nodded and took careful note of his surroundings as they moved; he’d be damned if he would leave them to be reliant on the child that was leading them into this hell to also lead them back out again. St. Giles had been a place of dire poverty all his life and had somehow become even worse in the years he’d been away.

Hell’s teeth, he thought as he watched Violet’s straight spine move ahead of him through the darkness.

She shouldn’t be in a place like this.

The putrid smell alone could make one cast up one’s account. But it was the feel of a multitude of eyes on them that really put Alistair on edge. And the sound of rats skittering out of their way as they moved even further into the rookery. He didn’t want her here.

But a part of him was glad the boy interrupted their conversation. He’d almost told her about McGann’s inane plan to marry her for her inheritance. There was no need for her to know that piece of information, only that he was working hard on a plan for the future. For their future.

That was what he should tell her, and only that. Nothing more.

“Are we almost there, boy?” he called out.

“Aye, gov. We’re here.”

The boy stopped in front of a low, dark hovel that was more rattrap than home. Alistair was almost glad for the darkness that hid the squalor he was sure the child lived in. He’d seen similar levels of poverty abroad, but it shocked him to the core to find it right here in London.

“She’s in there, gov,” the boy said, but Alistair only shook his head and gestured to Violet.