Saint Sin Read Excerpt

Chapter 1

      The alley stank appallingly.  Ariella Lyndgate tried not to breathe in too deeply as she made her way down the narrow passageway behind the buildings on St. James Street.   She stepped carefully in her half boots, avoiding the piles of refuse and puddles of filthy rainwater.  A movement down the alley caught her eye, and she saw that she'd disturbed some black creature—either a cat or very large rat.  It slunk through the piles of broken gin jars, sodden newspapers, rotting orange peels and dung and escaped out into the cobblestone street. 

       Ariella longed to do the same. 

       But she wouldn’t give up yet.  Not until she'd come face-to-face with Mr. Jeremy Watling, the greedy scoundrel who'd fleeced her brother.   She'd already knocked on the front door of the gambling den, with its gleaming lacquered finish and polished brass fixtures.  When there'd been no answer there, she'd decided to attempt the back entrance. 

      She had nearly reached her goal when she tripped on a pile of broken bricks.  "Damn and damn again!" she swore as her ankle twisted.  She stooped to rub it, then continued on.  Staggering the last steps, she grabbed for the knob on the heavy wooden door, righted herself and rapped sharply. 

        Again, there was no answer, and desperation welled up inside her.  She envisioned Timothy in prison, growing old and bitter, rotting away amid other unfortunates who'd sunk themselves hopelessly into debt.  But no, he would never be able to endure such confinement.  More likely, he'd put a dueling pistol to his head and pull the trigger.  Her stomach lurched at the thought.   She knocked again.   "Please!" she cried.  "Please answer!"

        A window on the upper part of the door abruptly opened.  The small space was filled with a great blob of a nose and two squinty eyes.  "What the 'ell do you want?" the repulsive apparition growled.  

       "I…I've come to talk to Mr. Watling."

       "’e's not here!"   The opening slammed shut.

       "Please!" Ariella cried.  "Please listen to me!   I must speak to him.  It's most urgent.  I've come on behalf of Lord Lyndgate.  It's about the money."

        The aperture was thrown open.  "Ye 'as the money, ye does?"

        "Some," Ariella lied.

        She licked her lips and drew a sharp breath as she heard the latch being unlocked.  The door creaked open, and Ariella gasped.  Standing before her was a giant.  The man had huge gnarled hands the size of her head, a vast chest and shoulders, and an enormous, brutish face with thick lips, beak-like nose and those narrow, squinty eyes. 

     Ariella felt her knees begin to knock together.  She wasn't very tall, and this man made her feel as small and helpless as a child.  "Mr. Watling, please," she said.   The giant glared down at her.   Ariella clutched her reticule more tightly in her hands and stood as tall as possible.  "Mr. Watling," she said again, in her crispest, most authoritative tones.  She reminded herself that her brother was now a viscount, which meant that she had some claim to social status herself.   She wouldn’t be put off by a crude hireling, no matter his size or fierce mien.  

         The man frowned at her a moment longer, then waved her in with an arm the size of a tree limb.  She followed him down a narrow, dark passageway.  He paused before a door and knocked, then said in a surprisingly gentle voice, "Mr. Watling, sir.  There's a young woman to see you.  Mentioned the Lyngate swell.  'as some money, she does."

        Ariella heard rustling sounds, then the door opened.   A man stood in the entrance, his face obscured by the shadow cast by his massive servant.  She felt his gaze upon her, and was once again vividly reminded of her diminutive stature.  "And you are what to Lyndgate?" the man asked in a rough, gravely voice. 

       "His sister," Ariella answered.  "Ariella Lyndgate." 

       Sensing his gaze upon her reticule, she clutched it more tightly.  Mr. Watling gestured and the giant moved aside so she could enter the dimly lit room.

      Compared to the squalor of the alley, the elegance of Mr. Watling's office was astonishing.  A plush cream and crimson Turkey carpet cushioned every step.  The walls were covered in coffee colored silk moire.  Crystal and brass lamps cast a warm glow on furniture of polished black wood that Ariella thought must be ebony.

       "Please be seated."   Mr. Watling motioned to a graceful armchair with a seat and back of burgundy velvet.  As he moved behind the large writing desk and sat down, she sized up her opponent.  Mr. Watling was of average height and build, his face coarse and pockmarked.  He had shrewd blue eyes, thin lips and black hair sprinkled with gray.   Although not nearly as imposing as his massive servant, he struck Ariella as much more dangerous.  There was something hard and cruel about him. 

       "How much do you have?" he asked.

       "How much…?" 

       "Money."

        Ariella licked her lips nervously.  "How much does my brother owe?"  She’d tried to get this information from Timothy, to no avail.  It was only with great effort that she'd managed to find out whom he owed, and then with even greater effort, where the man might be found.

       "Twenty thousand pounds."

       The amount staggered her.  It seemed ridiculous.  She said as much.  "I find that quite unbelievable.  According to my brother, he came here only once."

      Mr. Watling shrugged.  "He played deep.  I assumed he could pay."

      Twenty thousand pounds.  The yearly income from the family estate was a fraction of that.  It would take years for them to pay off this debt!

        "Miss Lyndgate," Watling prompted.  "I assume you don't carry that amount on your person.  But I need to know when you will be able to pay."

       "The wool crop," she answered desperately.  "It all depends on the wool crop.  They start the shearing in April.  By May, I should be able to give you a portion of it."

       "A portion of it?" Watling repeated.  Ariella didn't like the tone of his voice. 

       "Yes.  Perhaps four hundred pounds.  Five if we're fortunate."

       Watling's voice grew harsher still.  "I don't think you quite understand.  Gambling debts are normally honored within a few days of being incurred.  This isn’t a charity house.  If your brother doesn't have the money, he'll have to borrow it.  I'm not waiting months.  And I won’t accept anything less than the full amount."

        "He can't borrow that much," she said.  "He's already tried."  She could feel her panic rising.  Timothy had been so distraught when he'd come to her the day before.  She'd struggled to calm him.  To tell him that everything would be all right.  That somehow she would fix things.  It had always been like that.  Timothy was the volatile, mercurial one.  She'd had to be cool-headed and practical. 

        "Well, I guess he's done up then," Watling said flatly.  "He knew the terms when he came here."

        "Did he?  Did he really?"  Ariella's voice rose in anger.  "I think you took advantage of him.  He's never been in London before.  He may be twenty-three years old, but he's like a child in some ways.  You knew he was inexperienced and still you encouraged him to keep playing, to keep losing!"