Chapter Two
The Ogress Barlayhurl commanded her fleet of hedgehogs to carry the Princess to Mount Runemor, then took her leave through the brush. Amsonia was borne aloft toward the dragon’s lair on a teeming mass of spiny backs, enduring the pricks bravely. “I know not what awaits me on this journey,” she murmured to the beasties, “but I hope to meet more helpful souls like you along the way...”
—The Dragon and the Blue Starby Analise Crewe
Ana closed the front door of the boarding house gingerly. If only she could make it to the stairs undetected. She tiptoed down the hall, wincing with every floorboard creak and groan.
“Miss Crewe, is that you?”
She leaned her brow against the wall, the worn wool flocking of the paper covering pressing gently into her skin like the buds on a willow tree in spring. She let herself stay still for a moment as the inevitable sank in. Nothing for it but to face the dragoness in her lair. If only Ana could weave an enchantment that would wipe the concept of rent clean from her mind!
“Yes, Miss Flanagan.”
Her landlady reclined on an overstuffed settee in the frontparlor, bodice askew, hair piled in messy curls, lips painted scarlet, and a string of threadbare pearls around her neck. “Miss Crewe, you do know what day o’ t’ month it is?”
“The first day,” Ana said brightly, praying for a miracle that wouldn’t arrive.
“Rent day, it is!” blared Miss Flanagan, emitting a soporific mist of gin. “Where’s me dough? Pay up or you’ll be out on yer ear, an’ no mistake. I’ll hear no more o’ yer excuses, luv.”
Ana handed over the last of her coins.
Miss Flanagan tested the weight of the bag. “This can only be half. I’m not in the habit o’ giving away free housing, y’know.” She gave Ana as sly a look as she could muster with her gin-lubricated facial muscles. “’Ow about some more of that jewelry you arrived with? That necklace was a beauty! I could see my way to letting you stay a few months if you had some o’ that t’ pass along.”
Ana flinched, thinking of the empty jewelry box upstairs in her room. “I have no more to sell. You’ll have the balance of my rent by next month, with interest, I swear. I met today with Mr. Norwood of Norwood & Pennington and he’s keen to publish my manuscript after I make certain revisions.”
“Yer living in a fantasy world, girlie mine. It’s time for you to face the facts o’ the matter. Your best asset hain’t yer quill, ’tis what’s beneath yer cloak.” She eyed Ana’s slight form. “That’s where t’ profit is, and plenty of it, just ask me sister Maggie.”
According to Miss Flanagan, Maggie ran a well-attended house of ill repute somewhere near the docks. Ana had never met the woman but had received an unwanted offer of employment from her via her marginally more respectable sister. As Ana’s funds had diminished along with her prospects, Miss Flanagan had applied more and more pressure in that direction, extolling the money tobe made in that old-fashioned profession. Leaving out, Ana felt sure, the odious hardships that must surely accompany it—and, no doubt, the cripplingly large cut the elder Flanagan would extract from any of her wages.
“I’ve made myself clear on the subject. I won’t work for your sister.”
“Miss High and Mighty, eh? Too good to be a working girl. Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leaned closer, burping blithely, and Ana fought the urge to back away from her gin-heavy breath. “Beauty don’t last forever. I was far prettier’n you in me own day. A celebrated beauty, that I was. I didn’t turn me nose up at earning a living on my back, and look at what it got me? It got me this ’ere house. Left t’ me by a generous lord, it was. And now I earn me living fair ’n square. All thanks to Maggie.”
By charging exorbitant rates and funneling vulnerable young girls from the countryside into her sister’s bawdy house. There was a reason Miss Flanagan was an inebriate. She drank to forget. She drank to survive.
“You’ve done very well for yourself, Miss Flanagan, and I do appreciate your continued leniency as to the matter of my rent. I swear to you that you’ll have it, with interest, just as soon as—”
“No more promises. No more daydreams. Maggie always says a bird in the ’and is worth two in the bush. All is business and business is all, she says. She’s found a protector for you, and a very fine gentleman he is, too. Very interested, he is, in young gels who ain’t seen much of the world. Titled and wealthy. ’E’s not reckoned to be handsome, but he’s not one of the cruel ones, neither, although Maggie don’t turn them away. Think of it, girlie, you could be living in a fine apartment in Mayfair, dinin’ on pheasant and dressin’ in silk. Wouldn’t you like that, now, luv?”
For the briefest of moments, Ana almost entertained the notion. She was so tired of scraping by and living on the perilous edge of poverty. Maggie, by all accounts, would be a ruthless boss, but Ana had fallen so far that she felt hitting the bottom at last might at least feel like stability. At least she’d have the address in Mayfair. Perhaps her earnings might enable her to hire an actor to portray her fiancé? Ridiculous. One hint that Ana was a kept woman and Mr. Norwood would spit in her face.
Miss Flanagan never really listened to anyone else, she carried on as if she were standing on a ship’s deck, running full sail, shouting into the wind. The only way Ana would escape this distasteful conversation was trickery. She removed the publisher’s velvet gift bag from the inner pocket of her cloak. “I brought you a present, Miss Flanagan,” she interrupted.
Miss Flanagan paused, belligerently set on her current line of discourse but eyeing the rich blue velvet and gold embroidery with interest. “I won’t be distracted by presents, not this time. I want me rent in full, or yer—”
“Oh, then, if you don’t want to know what precious treasures are inside this...” Ana shrugged her shoulders, making a show of sliding the bag back into her cloak.
“Hold a moment...” Miss Flanagan fluttered an unsteady hand. “What’s inside, then?”
“Only a very expensive bottle of port and a gold bracelet. But you said you didn’t want any presents, so I’ll just keep it for myself.”
Miss Flannigan lips fell slack. Greed was one of the primary motivating factors of her life, second only to alcohol and the procurement thereof. She snapped her fingers at Ana. “Let’s see it.”
Ana held out the bag and Miss Flanagan snatched it from herfingers speedily, opening the gold tasseled string and peering inside. “You’re a right beauty, ain’t ye?” Extracting the bottle, she cradled it in her arms like a baby. With great effort, she managed to uncork the bottle and inhale deeply from its stem, her reddened nostrils flaring. Her expression turned dreamy. “That do smell lovely.”
Ana made herself stay still, as much as she longed to run for the door. It was almost safe. The hare was almost in the trap, all that remained was to set the final bait. “Have a nip, why don’t you?”
Miss Flanagan poured a measure of spirits into a cup and took a sip. “Cheeky li’il baggage, thinking you can butter me up wi’ expensive spirits.”