Gilded Lily Read Free

assessment.
    â€œYou’ll not get a farthing until that dog’s running again,” the butcher warned. “If I’m not making anything off it, you won’t neither.”
    â€œI’ll be back same time tomorrow,” Freddie reassured him. “Finish it up in no time.” The butcher depended on the mechanical “dog” to run the spit on which he roasted his newest product, ready-to-eat sliced meats. He’d taken a chance by setting it up as a spectacle in his shop window, to draw the attention of customers. The prospect of losing his competitive promotional edge was clearly weighing heavily on him, and it bothered Freddie as well. Her clients among the fishmongers were closing up shop left and right lately, the result of an unusually high rate of fishermen gone missing on the job and a simultaneous decline in the numbers of local fish schools. The rivalry between butcher shops had only heated up as trade shifted to place a higher demand on them in the absence of fish.
    â€œWhy not now?” the fat man demanded. “Pressing social engagement?”
    Dan snorted into his glove, then tried to cover it with a cough. Freddie just smiled and shrugged. “When the Queen calls, Mister Armintrout.”
    He looked ready to take offense, then shrugged it off. Freddie was his only real option and they both knew it.
    â€œGive Her Majesty my best.”
    The laughter carried them outside, where Dan bustled Freddie onto the trap and down the lane in less than his usual time.
    â€œYou’ll get caught, joking like that,” he scolded once they were on the high street, safely ensconced in the noisy flow of traffic. The little trap bounced along the cobbles, tugged along behind the steam “pony” that Dan controlled with deft flicks of the levers in front of him. Most of London’s flesh-and-blood horses were inured to the steam engines now, and didn’t even shy at the noise and sudden bursts of speed from the surrounding vehicles.
    â€œI’m bound to get caught eventually. I don’t think cracking wise will make much difference one way or the other. Bloody hell, it’s warm out here for May.”
    â€œYou’re sitting right in the vent path. Told your father we needed a cowling on this thing when it was converted, but would he listen? And you shouldn’t be using coarse language, it ain’t ladylike.”
    â€œDon’t be such a prig, Dan. You sound like my old nursemaid.”
    â€œBecause your old nursemaid was my mum, or have you forgot?”
    â€œHow could I? You’re the very image of her. Oh, bother. I’ve ruined these trousers with grease. My last. I don’t suppose you could procure another pair for me tonight?”
    â€œYou’re supposed to be saving your earnings, I thought. I’ll get Mum to clean those ones.”
    â€œBut they’re not your size, won’t she suspect?”
    Dan’s laugh rang out above the noise of the street. “You don’t think she already knows? She knows everything, miss. She probably knew your scheme before you even thought of it yourself.”
    Freddie glanced around, a reflex with her now. “Don’t call me that now.”
    â€œRight. Pardon, Fred old chap. Are we headed for your piece of skirt among the quality, my lad?” He swung wide to get around a slow horse-drawn carriage, then cut through a narrow gap between two cabs and down a quieter side street.
    â€œWho’s the coarse one now? Yes, to Lady Sophronia’s.” Freddie’s closest friend and ally aside from Dan himself, Sophronia Wallingford could always be counted on to provide a hot bath and the loan of a maid when Freddie completed one of her little moneymaking ventures and needed to clean up before returning to proper society.
    â€œAh, the beautiful widow Wallingford.” Dan let his voice deepen, and his rough accent managed to make even those few innocent words sound like