The Paid Companion | Herophine

Chapter Thirty One

Josephine

An hour later, Josephine wrapped her shawl more snugly around her shoulders and adjusted the blanket across her knees. The night was not especially cold, but one felt the chill when one sat in an unlit carriage for an extended period of time.

"I must say, this business of keeping watch is not nearly as exciting as I had expected it would be," she said.

Hero, enveloped in deep shadow on the other side of the vehicle, did not take his eyes off the entrance of the Green Lyon. "I did warn you if you will recall."

She decided to ignore that. Hero was not in one of his more mellow moods this evening. She could hardly blame him, she thought.

They were seated in an ageing carriage that he had instructed Jenks to hire for this venture. Josephine understood his reasoning in the matter. It was, after all, quite likely that his own carriage would have been recognized if it sat parked for any length of time in the street outside the Green Lyon. But unfortunately, the livery stable had had only one old vehicle left at that late hour.

It had quickly become obvious why none of the stable's other clients had selected it. When it was in motion, the heavy carriage jolted and lurched in an extremely uncomfortable manner. In addition, although the seats had appeared to be clean at first glance, it had quickly become apparent that the accumulated odours of years of ill-use had saturated the cushions.

Josephine stifled a tiny sigh and finally admitted to herself that she had anticipated that the time spent with Hero in the dark, intimate confines of the carriage would be pleasant. She had envisioned the two of them talking quietly for an hour or two while they watched gentlemen come and go from the club.

But immediately after they had taken a place in the long line in the street outside the hell, Hero had sunk into one of his deep silences. All of his attention was fixed on the door of the Green Lyon. She knew that he was reworking his master plan yet again.

She studied the entrance to the hell, wondering what it was about the place that drew such a steady stream of men. It was certainly an unprepossessing establishment, in her opinion. The single gaslight in front cast a weak glare that illuminated the faces of the patrons who came and went from the premises.

Most of the men who tumbled out of the carriages and hackneys that halted at the front steps were clearly drunk. They laughed too loudly and told bawdy stories to their friends. There was a feverish look of expectation about some of them as they made their way into the hell.

Most of those who emerged from the club wore very different expressions. One or two appeared positively jubilant. They boasted of their luck and instructed their coachmen to take them to another place of amusement. But a far greater number walked back down the steps with an air of dejection, anger or deep gloom. A few looked as though they had received word of a death in the family. Josephine knew that they were the ones who had just gambled away a house or an inheritance. She wondered if any of them would put a pistol to his head sometime before dawn.

She shivered again.

Hero stirred. "Are you cold?"

"No, not really. What will you do if we do not spot him tonight?"

"Try again tomorrow night." Hero rested one arm along the back of the seat. "Unless some new information falls at my feet in the meantime, this is the most significant clue that has come my way thus far."

"Does it disturb you that the killer chose to confide the information about my connection to Goodhew and Willis to Jeremy of all people? It cannot have been a coincidence."