hide them.
He picked up the deck and saw that they were relatively new. New enough that one might not suspect that they were marked. He held them up to his nose, not in the least surprised to detect the scent of tobacco and opium. He had already guessed where the seamstress got the pack, but this just confirmed his suspicion that she’d fallen in with the likes of Demon Damon, owner of one of the worst gambling dens in London.
Bad lot that and bad for the future of this little dress shop. He would have to warn Miss Shoemaker to distance herself from these people immediately. Of course, that would be hard given that they were obviously her friends and the only people who would take care of her and Tommy.
Best resolve the situation with her shoe store immediately, then. He was on the verge of grabbing Miss Shoemaker and doing just that when a woman entered the workroom. Sadly, he was so engrossed with thoughts of Miss Shoemaker, that he didn’t hear her entrance until she all but screamed.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a voice that would carry upstairs should anyone up there be listening.
He spun around, dropping the marked deck into his pocket. Cheating offended him as a general rule. Demon Damon went well beyond the usual type of villainy, so Samuel had no qualms about keeping an illicit deck of cards if it in some way tweaked the miscreant.
Meanwhile he pasted on a genial smile for the newcomer. She was a thin woman, dressed in mourning, but of the highest cut and style. He did not recognize her, which meant that she did not frequent the usual rounds of ton parties. That told him she was not an aristocrat, but a wealthy cit. And most telling of all, there was the unmistakable odor of the docks about her. She might be well dressed, but expensive wools absorbed scents just as much as the cheap ones did. Given that she had come into the back area as if she ought to be here that told him that she was the buyer for the shop. And therefore a formidable woman if she went toe to toe with ships’ captains as she negotiated for wares.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a slight bow. “I am Mr. Samuel Morrison, and I’m here to assist Miss Shoemaker.”
“Miss Shoemaker isn’t here. And that is not her station.”
“No, it’s not. They are all upstairs, I believe. Doing…” He lifted his shoulders in the universal male gesture of ignorance.
“Hmph,” she said, and he could tell that she tended toward the suspicious sort. But then a moment later, she appeared to change her mind. “Come along then,” she said as she jerked her head out the workroom door. “If you’re here, you might as well be useful.”
It wasn’t until they were outside that he realized she was cannier than he’d expected. Her intention was to grill him while she kept him busy with hauling for her. She had a small cart loaded down with bolts of fabric and a few boxes of buttons. He hadn’t really thought of the different types of buttons in the world or that a single box could weigh a ton, but there were and it did. And the woman hefted it as if it were no more than a hatbox. Then she dumped it in his arms.
“So how long have you known Penny?” she asked as she plopped another box on top of the first.
“Ugh!” was all he managed to say and she paused as she grabbed no less than three bolts of fabric to peer at him.
“What’s that?”
He swallowed. “Just met,” he said.
“Really.” A statement, not a question, but there was a wealth of meaning hidden in there and most of it was suspicion.
“Really,” he answered firmly. They started moving toward the workroom door. There was no way he could open the door for her like a true gentleman, not with his arms filled with two ton of buttons, but she paused nonetheless, her brow arched as if in challenge.
He rose to the occasion, though his muscles were screaming as he braced the boxes between the wall and his shoulder to free up one hand for her.
“Mind, don’t
He picked up the deck and saw that they were relatively new. New enough that one might not suspect that they were marked. He held them up to his nose, not in the least surprised to detect the scent of tobacco and opium. He had already guessed where the seamstress got the pack, but this just confirmed his suspicion that she’d fallen in with the likes of Demon Damon, owner of one of the worst gambling dens in London.
Bad lot that and bad for the future of this little dress shop. He would have to warn Miss Shoemaker to distance herself from these people immediately. Of course, that would be hard given that they were obviously her friends and the only people who would take care of her and Tommy.
Best resolve the situation with her shoe store immediately, then. He was on the verge of grabbing Miss Shoemaker and doing just that when a woman entered the workroom. Sadly, he was so engrossed with thoughts of Miss Shoemaker, that he didn’t hear her entrance until she all but screamed.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a voice that would carry upstairs should anyone up there be listening.
He spun around, dropping the marked deck into his pocket. Cheating offended him as a general rule. Demon Damon went well beyond the usual type of villainy, so Samuel had no qualms about keeping an illicit deck of cards if it in some way tweaked the miscreant.
Meanwhile he pasted on a genial smile for the newcomer. She was a thin woman, dressed in mourning, but of the highest cut and style. He did not recognize her, which meant that she did not frequent the usual rounds of ton parties. That told him she was not an aristocrat, but a wealthy cit. And most telling of all, there was the unmistakable odor of the docks about her. She might be well dressed, but expensive wools absorbed scents just as much as the cheap ones did. Given that she had come into the back area as if she ought to be here that told him that she was the buyer for the shop. And therefore a formidable woman if she went toe to toe with ships’ captains as she negotiated for wares.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a slight bow. “I am Mr. Samuel Morrison, and I’m here to assist Miss Shoemaker.”
“Miss Shoemaker isn’t here. And that is not her station.”
“No, it’s not. They are all upstairs, I believe. Doing…” He lifted his shoulders in the universal male gesture of ignorance.
“Hmph,” she said, and he could tell that she tended toward the suspicious sort. But then a moment later, she appeared to change her mind. “Come along then,” she said as she jerked her head out the workroom door. “If you’re here, you might as well be useful.”
It wasn’t until they were outside that he realized she was cannier than he’d expected. Her intention was to grill him while she kept him busy with hauling for her. She had a small cart loaded down with bolts of fabric and a few boxes of buttons. He hadn’t really thought of the different types of buttons in the world or that a single box could weigh a ton, but there were and it did. And the woman hefted it as if it were no more than a hatbox. Then she dumped it in his arms.
“So how long have you known Penny?” she asked as she plopped another box on top of the first.
“Ugh!” was all he managed to say and she paused as she grabbed no less than three bolts of fabric to peer at him.
“What’s that?”
He swallowed. “Just met,” he said.
“Really.” A statement, not a question, but there was a wealth of meaning hidden in there and most of it was suspicion.
“Really,” he answered firmly. They started moving toward the workroom door. There was no way he could open the door for her like a true gentleman, not with his arms filled with two ton of buttons, but she paused nonetheless, her brow arched as if in challenge.
He rose to the occasion, though his muscles were screaming as he braced the boxes between the wall and his shoulder to free up one hand for her.
“Mind, don’t
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