Page 16 of A Deal with the Devil

It was not a question. Kitty answered anyway. “Yes. With my aunt’s assistance. And my father’s.”

Priya’s expression was a terrifying thing. It was also a comfort that reached into Kitty’s chest and pried some of the thorns free. “That is unacceptable.”

“Our father owes money to many men, most of them just like Portsmouth,” Kitty forced herself to say. “But most of all to Lord Portsmouth.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t know where else to hide her while we consider our options.” It did not need pointing out that the difference in their social standing was vast. Insurmountable.

“We crawled out the window and over the rooftop,” Evie said, passing the towel to Kitty.

“Without shoes,” Priya said. She had heard the command Devil threw at her. “That, at least, we can remedy straightaway. And find you proper clothing.”

“Thank you. Can Evie stay here?” Kitty did quick calculations in her head as to how many books she would have to sell to cover the cost of meals and anything else Evie might require. She would have to part with her prized edition of The Mysteries of Udolpho that had once belonged to her author Ann Radcliffe herself. There was a collector who had been coveting it for months.

“Of course she can,” Priya said as though that had never been in question. “That’s why we’re here. Because men like Portsmouth have the run of Society and they don’t deserve it.”

“Did he really murder all three of his wives?” Evie asked in a small voice.

“Yes,” Priya said bluntly. “But he shan’t have you.”

Evie and Kitty were shown the library, parlors, and a room built over a large pool of water for swimming. Kitty had never seen anything like it. She had not known such things even existed. There were plants everywhere, giant, soft ferns, spikes of lilies that scented the air, delicate orchids, lemon trees and hibiscus from India.

They were introduced to the other ladies in the house: Ladies Emmeline and Matilda, and a Miss Cunningham, who was being taught how to wield a sword in the ballroom. Kitty wondered if they would lend her a sword. Perhaps if she poked Lord Portsmouth with it enough times he would bugger off.

Unlikely.

And she did not like the idea of passing the problem on to some other woman, some other older sister.

Finally they were taken to a small bedroom on the third floor, with a yellow-striped coverlet on the bed and a lovely view of Hyde Park through the window. There was a chair in the corner, a writing desk, and an armoire filled with dresses for women of every size. Evie was clearly not the first girl to be hidden in this room.

“This one should fit you well enough.” Evie handed Kitty a deep rose walking dress trimmed with ribbons and silver buttons.

“I can’t wear that.”

“It will flatter you.”

“It’s meant for a lady,” Kitty pointed out. “Furthermore, for a lady who is about to promenade or dance a quadrille, or whatever it is proper ladies do. I will stain it with ink and dust and God knows what within ten minutes of being at the shop. Especially if that sour old Mrs. Battersea keeps throwing rotten eggs at the door.” It was a lovely fabric, though, a thin muslin so soft Kitty could not help but stroke it once. Then she reached for a perfectly presentable dress in a dark blue with white stripes. “This will do well enough.”

“There’s not a single ruffle to that.”

“I’m too short for ruffles.”

“Too stubborn, you mean. You know I have a better eye for these things.”

“Why are we arguing about ruffles?”

She knew she ought to tell her sister what she had done to Clara, but then Evie would insist on taking on some of the culpability, feeling as though it were her fault because Kitty did what she did in her determination to protect her. But it was Kitty’s fault entirely.

Well, perhaps her father and her aunt could shoulder a little blame for putting them in this blasted predicament in the first place.

“Aunt Priscilla will eviscerate you,” Evie said as Kitty washed her feet in a basin and changed into the dress and a pair of walking boots more comfortable than any pair she had every owned. “Perhaps you ought to hide here as well.”

“I can handle Aunt Priscilla.”

“I’m not sure the entirety of the British Royal Navy could handle her.” Evie’s tone was wry, but she sat on the edge of the bed, looking lost, clutching Galahad’s gold cage to her chest.

“Try not to worry,” Kitty said. “No one would think to look for you here. And I shall sort it out.”