A Broken Vessel by Kate Ross

wrinkled her nose. “Did you see her?”
    “I couldn’t. There was a dragon guarding the door.” He described his encounter with Mrs. Fiske. “At least we know the woman who wrote the letter is still there, assuming she really is an inmate. Mrs. Fiske says no inmates have left in the past few days.”
    “What’ll we do now?”
    “We could find you something warmer to wear than my dressing-gown.”
    “I don’t want nothing else. This is plummy, this is. Feels like heaven next me skin!”
    “Where did you get it?”
    “Out of your wardrobe.” She shrugged, as if to say, where else? “Suits me, don’cha think?”
    “Yes. It does.”
    A slow smile spread over her face. “You fancies me, Mr. Julian Kestrel.”
    “I think you’re very fetching,” he said politely.
    “Bender! I know when a cove has the itch. You likes me in this here dressing-robe of yours, but you’d like me a sight better out of it. Wouldn’t you, now?”
    He began drawing off his gloves. “What’s become of Dipper?”
    “He went to fetch me traps from me lodging in Seven Dials. But first he brought me up a tub of hot water, and I washed meself all over. Even me hair and under me nails! I never done that afore.”
    Julian looked rather blank.
    “Scrubbed meself raw, I did. On account of, Dip’s so swell now, I has to live up to him. And you—! Cor, I never seed a cove so splash. Dip says you changes your linen every day. I’m glad it ain’t me as does your washing, that’s all!”
    He suddenly realized he had not yet asked how she was. She seemed so gay and lively, he had all but forgotten what she had gone through last night. He wondered how much of her cockiness was pure, stubborn courage. In all the time she had been here, he had never heard her complain, though she still hobbled a little, and there was a mottled bruise over her left eye.
    She saw him look at it. “Regular rainbow, ain’t it? Looks worse nor it is, though.”
    “I’m sorry, Sally.”
    “It ain’t nothing.” She gave a little wriggle, as if to shake off his concern. “You ain’t said what we was going to do about that letter. You mean to ask Blue Eyes about it?”
    “I’d rather not. It may have nothing to do with him—and if it does, it’s probably a personal matter he wouldn’t relish my knowing about.” After the Bellegarde murder, Julian was not anxious to receive any more forced confidences from the erring aristocracy. “I still think the most tactful and sensible course is to find the writer, and see what she wants done with the letter.”
    “But you said you can’t get in that place.”
    “ I can’t, no.”
    “Then how—Oh, I’m down upon you! You wants me to have a try!”
    He did not answer at once. It was true he had meant to ask her to go to the refuge, and he sensed that she would do it without hesitation—whether to keep on his good side or because she was curious herself, he could not say. But the realization that he had this power over her made him think twice about using it.
    “If you’re willing,” he said at last. “It’s a grisly place—I wouldn’t blame you for avoiding it like the plague. But Mrs. Fiske told me they had room for a few more inmates. And if you could once get inside, I shouldn’t think it would be difficult to find the writer. There can’t be many women like her there—educated and gently bred. You’ve only to tell her we have the letter and ask her what she wants done with it, and then you can take yourself off.”
    “It might be a lark, at that! I’ll do it. I’ll go slap off!”
    “I didn’t mean you should dash off this instant. Wait till you feel more the thing.”
    “I’m in high gig now.”
    “I can see that. But wait till tomorrow, for God’s sake. A day won’t make any difference.”
    “Oh, all right, Mr. High and Mighty. You do order a gal about!” She cocked her head at him appraisingly. “I been wondering: have you got a woman? I asked Dip, but he wouldn’t tell