The Last Man in London Read online

  The Last Man in London

  By Emma V. Leech

  ****

  Published by: Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2018

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN No.: B07DFCS8SG

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Flaming June

  Want more Emma?

  About Me!

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech

  Dying for a Duke

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  “Wherein we discover our heroine living by her wits and some rather dubious skills.”

  Stacking a deck of cards was a skill that Dinah had learnt many years ago while still a small child. She had practised until it was second nature. Tonight, however, under the watchful eyes of the man in front of her, she felt all fingers and thumbs. The room was dark and dingy, the smell of old wood smoke and persistent damp laying heavy on the cool air.

  Her opponent was in his early sixties, swarthy, and so obviously a villain that any young lady in her right mind would swoon in terror at the sight of him. Cheating him at cards would never enter their pretty little heads.

  The overhand shuffle was easy enough, child’s play, in fact, for one with fingers as nimble as Dinah’s. Floating the cards she wanted to the top of the deck was a little trickier, but she handled it. Taking a discreet breath to steady herself, and her hands, she used the overhand shuffle to reverse the order of the cards to place the ones she wanted on the bottom. Now all she had to do was deal the cards she wanted herself from the bottom and the rest off the top. Simple …

  A large, calloused hand slammed down, pinning her hands and the deck to the table top. Dark eyes, black and forbidding, met hers as they glinted in the candlelight. He glared at her in fury and Dinah swallowed as her stomach dropped.

  “Shoddy, Dinah,” he growled, the words low and annoyed. “Bleedin’ shoddy, I call it.”

  Dinah pulled her hands away and threw the cards down on the table top in disgust.

  “Oh, the devil take you, Joe. It would have fooled anyone else,” she retorted, folding her arms and glaring back at him. “It’s nigh on impossible to trick you when you know I’m doing it. You taught me, damn it, so you know what to look for.”

  The large hand curved, one thick finger pointing at her as his eyes narrowed. “Watch your bloody language, miss. That t’aint how a young lady talks. I taught you better than that, I know.”

  Dinah rolled her eyes, slouching back in her chair in a manner designed to get under his skin. “There’s no one here but us,” she said, keeping the words precise and clipped in the manner of the upper classes she’d spent her whole life learning to emulate. “Unless you count that useless bag of bones,” she added with contempt.

  Joe’s eyes flickered over to the chair in the corner where her maid and companion, Dot, was snoring, a soft, faintly wet sound that made his lip curl in revulsion. She was a drunkard and a liar, but they kept her on for appearance’s sake. “T’aint the point, little D,” he said, looking back to her, his voice rather softer now. “If you don’t speak proper all the time, it t’aint natural, an’ one day you’ll slip. ‘Sides, it t’aint like you ain’t a lady. Jus’ circumstances ‘ave brought ye low. If that bloody useless grandfather of yours would only …”

  “Oh, don’t start!” she exclaimed before he could begin his usual circular argument that was as pointless as it was hopeless. “My grandfather might be as rich as Croesus, but he’s also as mad as a box of frogs and he hates me.” Dinah let out a breath and tried to push down the little flicker of hope that bloomed whenever Joe spoke about the miserable old muck-worm.

  Her grandfather was wealthy, a cit, in fact. A self-made man who had earned himself a small fortune in trade. He had wanted his only son to marry a lady of quality, giving his family the entrée into polite society he could not buy with wealth alone. But his son had disobliged him by falling in love with a shop girl and then had the temerity to die of consumption with only a baby daughter to his name.

  Her mother had scratched about earning a living until she, too, succumbed to illness and despair not many years later and had died of influenza. Joe had been a friend of her father’s. Her father had always preferred rough company to the kind her grandfather had wanted for him. Joe had kept an eye on her mother, helping when things got too bad and making sure they didn’t starve. For reasons Dinah had never understood, after her parents had died, Joe had taken it upon himself to keep her from the workhouse and had been the only dependable person in Dinah’s life ever since.

  “Well, it t’aint right,” he muttered, scowling now as he gathered the cards back up into his big hands, shuffling them with more delicacy and skill than even Dinah could manage.

  Dinah snorted, mostly to cover the sound of her stomach grumbling. If Joe suspected just how hungry she was, he might do something reckless, just to put food on the table.

  “Joe,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Have you thought any more about what I said?”

  Joe’s face darkened, and he sat back, a mutinous look in his eyes.

  “Oh, come along, now,” she wheedled, knowing losing her temper would get her nowhere. “You know it makes sense. You never used to be so cautious,” she added, irked that he had taught her skills he now refused to let her use.

  He huffed out a breath, setting the cards down and scratching at his salt-and-pepper-coloured beard. “I know it,” he said, frowning and shaking his head. Dinah sat forward, hopeful he was weakening. “But … it ain’t right, you still livin’ this way,” he said, his frustration obvious as Dinah’s increased tenfold. “I’d ‘oped you’d be married and safe by now.”

  Dinah held back the desire to roll her eyes again, knowing he only wanted the best for her. Instead, she smiled at him and r
eached over to take his large hand, giving it a squeeze. “I know,” she said, wishing he’d let go of his pipe dreams for her, as they were so hopeless. That he loved her as if she were his own daughter was clear enough, though he never said so, but she knew he’d lay down his life for her if it came to it. Putting her in harm’s way went against the grain. Needs must when the devil drives, though, and they made a brilliant team. Joe’s methods might be a tad … unorthodox, not to mention illegal, but he’d kept a roof over her head and food on the table … mostly.

  Of late, though, he’d been reluctant to use her skills to advantage, wanting her to spend more time trying to snare a husband. But she had neither the wardrobe nor the opportunities to meet the right breed of man for a venture like that.

  “I don’t think we have any choice now, though, Joe,” she said, returning to the point of the conversation. “We need money and we need it now. I can’t risk you doing something on your own, for if anything happened to you, I’d be alone and defenceless.” She gave him the benefit of a tremulous smile.

  Joe sighed and gave her a sideways look at that, knowing he was being played as well as she did. The trouble was, it was true, and he feared that more than she did. Without Joe to keep the less savoury men in the world at bay, they’d sniff out a female alone in the world in no time. Dinah was sharp and careful and well able to look out for herself, up to a point. Beyond that point, however, was an eventuality she did not care to dwell upon.

  “If we do well and go carefully, I might need not try again for months,” she said, pressing her point now she sensed he was listening. “A year, even, if we play this right. I know this will work, Joe,” she said, trying to keep her excitement at bay and failing.

  Joe’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a sigh of irritation. “You’ve got something in mind already, you saucy prawn.”

  Dinah grinned, knowing her dimples were showing. “I have,” she admitted, as there was no point in hiding her enthusiasm now. “And if I say so myself, Joe, it’s a thing of beauty.”

  ***

  Grigsby’s Chop and Steak House on Threadneedle Street was an eating place with a busy and varied clientele. The food was well-dressed and good, if simple, fare. Dinah applied herself to her own chop with gusto, trying not to moan with delight as her poor stomach eased its clamouring for the first time in over a week. That Dot was also getting the benefit at the expense of the last of their funds was the only fly in Dinah’s delicious gravy.

  Keeping her head down, Dinah avoided the woman’s scrawny, dissipated face and kept half an eye on Joe. He had come in about ten minutes before them and was now just mopping up the last of his gravy with a thick slice of bread. Dinah hid a smile as the big man closed his eyes for a moment, his expression one of utter bliss as he chewed. Poor Joe, if Dinah had been hungry, she knew well enough that Joe must have been starving. He’d always give anything they had to her first and go hungry himself.

  She looked away now as he got to his feet and went up to pay his shot. A moment later and the owner’s voice rang out, a little strident if not outright hostile. Joe was not a man you took on lightly.

  “I ain’t lookin’ to shaft ye!” Joe’s indignant voice travelled across the table tops to where Dinah was sitting, and she looked up now, watching with interest the same as the rest of the diners. “Now, look ‘ere. I jus’ forgot me wallet, is all,” Joe carried on with his most reasonable voice. “But I tell ye what. I’ll leave you this for safe keepin’,” he said, handing over a battered-looking violin with such a look of regret and anxiety that Dinah had to swallow a bubble of laughter. They’d only bought it that morning.

  “That’s my livelihood, that is,” Joe said, his expression mournful now as the proprietor gave the battered instrument a doubtful look. “Just you take care of it and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail with your money. Right?”

  The owner, Mr Grigsby, gave a sigh, but being a skinny fellow, he was not going to strong-arm burly Joe into a better deal.

  “Right you are, but hurry,” he said as Joe raised a placating hand and hurried out of the door.

  Once Joe had gone, Dinah got to her feet, Dot trailing a little behind her. She handed her money over to Mr Grigsby.

  “Thank you so much for a delightful meal, sir,” she said, watching the little fellow puff up with pride at the compliment from a young lady. Dinah had on her best bonnet and pelisse, and though she’d never pass for a member of the ton, she looked well enough. Slap up to the echo, if she listened to Joe, which she did not. Dinah gave a little gasp as she looked over the counter to where the shabby violin sat.

  “Oh!” she said, putting one dainty hand to her heart. “Is that … no, surely not?”

  Grigsby gave her a quizzical look and Dinah gave a little laugh. “Oh, forgive me, sir. You must think me quite foolish, only my brother is a rather talented violinist and I know a little about the craft myself, and for a moment …” She trailed off, staring hard at the violin. “No, I’m being silly,” she said, but with such a doubtful tone to her voice that Mr Grigsby only looked more perplexed.

  “What is it, Miss?” he asked, staring at the violin himself now.

  Dinah bit her lip and lowered her voice. “Do you think I might look at the instrument for a moment?”

  “Well,” Grigsby said, frowning a little and no doubt remembering the size of Joe’s fists. “All right then but be quick. The fellow what left it instead of his payment could be back any minute. I promised I’d look after it.”

  “You mean that big, rough fellow that was in here?” Dinah said, with a disgusted look on her face.

  Grigsby nodded. “Aye, that’s the fellow,” he said, handing the instrument over to her.

  Dinah sucked in a breath, running one reverent finger over the curves of the grubby violin. “My word, I don’t believe it. It is! It’s a Ruggieri,” she said, eyes wide as she took in Mr Grigsby’s astonishment.

  “A what?” he said, sounding awed. “You don’t say?”

  “Oh, but I do say,” Dinah continued, placing the violin down with tender care. “How on earth that big, rough fellow came to have it, though, I don’t understand.”

  “Probably stole it,” the man replied, his sage tone provoking a glimmer of rage in Dinah that she strove to tamp down.

  “Most likely,” she agreed, her tone even. “But to see such an instrument abused so.” Dinah sighed and shook her head. “When I think my brother would pay a small fortune for the opportunity to own something like this.”

  “He would?” She could almost see Mr Grigsby’s eyes light up at her words. “How small a fortune are we talking here?”

  “Well,” Dinah said, her tone considering. “I’m no expert, but would think … oh, at least two hundred pounds.” She ignored the round-eyed wonder in Grigsby’s eyes as his mouth dropped open. “He’s been looking for one for such a long time. Years, in fact.” Pursing her lips, she turned back to Grigsby. “I shall fetch him at once.” Reaching out she put a hand on the man’s arm, her expression grave and imploring. “Whatever you do, when that fellow comes back, do not let him have the violin.”

  “But how ...” the fellow began.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Buy it from him,” she said with all the imperiousness of a well-bred female. “My brother will make it worth your while,” she added, a little smile curving over her lips as she saw he had taken the bait.

  “All right then,” Mr Grigsby said, as visions of making himself a large sum of money swam before his eyes. “I’ll do it.”

  ***

  Dinah leapt to her feet as Joe waved to her and ran across the street to him. She’d ditched Dot by letting slip there was a small bottle of gin hidden in the kitchen at home.

  “Well?” she demanded, bouncing on her toes with impatience. “How much did you get?”

  “You’ll never believe it,” Joe replied, looking a little dazed. “Ten pounds!”

  Dinah’s mouth hit the floor. Ten pounds was an unimaginable sum. Enough to ke
ep them safe a little while yet. “My word, Joe!”

  Joe picked her up and span her around in a circle. “You little beauty,” he cried, and then grew serious, his smile falling away. “You’re too damn good at this, little D,” he said, looking anxious all at once. “Don’t think this is going to be your way of life, ‘cause it t’aint. You hear me? You’ll come to no good.”

  Dinah sighed and gave Joe her most innocent expression. “I know, Joe. But just think, ten pounds!”

  “Aye,” Joe said, grinning at her. “Come along then, as I reckon I know what we need to spend the first part on.”

  “Oh?” Dinah said, hurrying to keep up with him. “What’s that?”

  “We’re gonna get you a new frock!” he shouted, pulling her by the hand and towing her down the street. “Then you can catch yourself a husband.”

  Chapter 2

  “Wherein our hero endures the hangover from hell, his family from the same vicinity, and an enthusiastic lecture.”

  Ben groaned, the sound echoing through his skull, which didn’t help matters at all. Nonetheless, he did it again because … hell and damnation, his head was throbbing like a bloody cart horse had kicked it. With no hopeful expectations, he cracked open one eye. Oh, good Lord. An unfamiliar room swam into view, full of lace and feminine fripperies. What the devil, or rather, who … had he done now? Turning his head and gritting his teeth as the movement made him want to vomit, he stared at the woman beside him. She was his type. Chestnut brown hair lay over the pillow in a dark swathe and the covers were low enough to reveal a voluptuous landscape of soft curves. She was sleeping still, the soft huff of her breathing the only sound in the room.

  There was a God.

  Ben slipped from the bed and then scrabbled to lean against the wall as his head span. “Oh, God, never again,” he murmured, and then gave a snort as he realised how many times he’d said it before. Too many for comfort for certain. Dressing with stealth borne of many such sordid adventures, he picked up his boots by the heels, to avoid marring the mirror-like sheen of the polish and tiptoed out of the room. It was at least early enough to avoid the busy, bustling nosiness of the woman’s servants, not so early that light wasn’t already brightening the skies, however, searing his eyeballs as though it were a dazzling midday.