Whisper To Me of Love by Shirlee Busbee Page B

with plucking some ripe pigeons today at the sparring match.”
    Ben was on the point of making a teasing comment when there was a sharp rap on the door. Instantly, whatever lightness there had been about them vanished, each one instinctively reaching for the knives they always carried. Swiftly they spread out in the room, Jacko silently approaching nearer the door.
    â€œWho is it?” Jacko demanded gruffly.
    â€œNow, who do you think it is?” came back from the other side of the door, the irritation in the cultured voice obvious.
    There was only one person who talked that way in St. Giles, and all three Fowlers stiffened.
    â€œThe dimber-damber!” Pip whispered urgently. “What can he want? We have our plans for the day.”
    Jacko shrugged and opened the door.
    It was indeed the dimber-damber, and without a word, he stalked through the opened doorway, taking in with a single glance the aggressive stances of Pip and her brothers. A humorless smile curved his thin mouth and he shook his head slightly as if he was amused by their actions.
    The dimber-damber was a well-made man and there was such an air of malevolent power about him that he appeared to dominate the room, dwarfing everybody and everything in it. Today, as usual, he was dressed all in black, from the black hat pulled low to the swirling black velvet cape and the gleaming black boots upon his feet. He carried a long black cane with a silver top, a cane that Pip knew concealed a sword in its slim length, and black leather gloves were on his slender hands. Even his skin was swarthy, and the few strands of hair that showed from beneath his hat were dark. The one eye he still possessed was black, and where the other should have been, he wore a black silk patch, which gave his already sinister appearance an even greater impact.
    An aura of darkness surrounded him, something cold and evil entering the room when he did. He was the uncrowned king of St. Giles, his tentacles everywhere, his wishes carried out instantly and without question.... To disobey was certain death. It was whispered that even various members of the aristocracy feared him, that the dark deeds he committed for those unwise lords and ladies who were desperate enough to request his help became shackles that bound them to him.
    He was a villainous, mysterious figure. Not the members of the aristocracy whom he held in his power, nor the minions of St. Giles who dared not thwart him, knew much about him. Not his past, nor his name, not where he lived, nor where he had come from, nor where or how he had come to lose his eye ... There were ancient thieves and worn-out old harlots who told tales about him stretching back for over thirty years, and yet he did not look to be more than forty-five years of age. Some claimed that he had made a pact with the devil. Because he was fastidious in his dress and manner and his speech was impeccable, even among the members of the knot, there was speculation that he was the bastard child of a great lord but had been raised as befitted the son of a member of the aristocracy. Gossip claimed that, using intricate disguises, he moved freely from the houses of the wellborn and wealthy to the hovels of the wretched and poor. As many people as there were in London, so were there as many stories about the dimber-damber.
    Ignoring the not-precisely-welcoming air of the three inhabitants of the room, the dimber-damber commandeered Jane’s chair, and seating himself, he remarked idly, “Expecting someone else, my dear children?”
    Ben hunched a shoulder and reseated himself at the table. “It’s a dangerous world we live in—how could we know it was only you?”
    â€œOnly me! You know, I almost think that I am insulted,” the dimber-damber remarked cuttingly as he ran his fingers up and down the long, black cane.
    Used to his acerbic manner, the Fowlers were not dismayed by his words; Jacko and Pip slowly seated themselves,