Little Coquette by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

lightskirt.”
    She pokered up. “I see. How—convenient that you know women like that.”
    “Yes, wasn’t it?” he replied, refusing to take offense. Lydia Trevelyn had become a demmed prude, and it was time someone opened up her eyes. “They make a pleasant change from prudes and bores,” he said.
    “Are you saying Mama is a prude and a bore?”
    He directed a pointed look at her. “No, not your mama,” he said.
    It was Lydia’s turn not to take offense—or to pretend not to. “What is the address?” she asked.
    “Maddox Street, just off New Bond.”
    “That must cost Papa a good deal.”
    “It’s hardly a lavish address. Is it the money he spends on her you resent?”
    “He was very happy when I didn’t want to come to make my debut in April. He said he was a little short. No wonder!”
    “A mistress is cheaper than gambling. A man must have some relaxation.”
    “Does it have to be a degrading relaxation? Did they never hear of books?” she said angrily.
    “Books are a fine adjunct to living. They are hardly a replacement for it, even at Sir John’s age. For youngsters,” he added with a meaningful look, “they are either a waste of time if one reads trashy novels—”
    “I do not read trashy novels!”
    “You didn’t allow me to finish. There is a time for things. The time to read good literature or philosophy is after one has lived a little. Otherwise, such heavy stuff is pretty well meaningless. One has no frame of reference to understand them.”
    Lydia sat digesting this while they drove to Maddox Street. It was true she could not make heads or tails of half the stuff she read. It occurred to her that she spent an inordinate amount of time with her nose in a book or journal, not living but reading about life. If she had been more in the world, she would know about such things as mistresses and gambling. She would have realized the temptation her papa faced, and urged her mama to go to London and keep an eye on him.
    “I believe you’re right, Beaumont,” she said with a glint he could not quite trust in her eyes. “It is time I started living.”
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Chapter 5
    The brown brick house on Maddox Street was not grand enough to infuriate Lydia, but it was by no means derelict, and it was enormous. “Look at the size of it!” she cried. “It must require dozens of servants.”
    “Many of these houses have been divided into flats,” Beaumont explained.
    They left the carriage and went to the front door, where a discreet sign indicated there were four households within, two downstairs and two above. Miss Shepherd occupied flat 2A downstairs. Beaumont tried the front door and they entered a small, tiled foyer with a staircase leading to the next story and doors on either end. The door on the right said 2A. A tap of the acorn knocker brought no servant to admit them. When they tried the door, it was locked.
    As there was no one about, Beaumont drew out a clasp knife and began to work on the lock. When the blade didn’t work, he tried the corkscrew. After five minutes, he said, “I’ll go around to the back and see if I can force a window open.”
    Lydia removed a nail file from her reticule and took a turn at the lock. Beaumont watched her work for a moment, then went out the front door, assured that she would not succeed where he had failed. When he reached the back window, Lydia was there, waiting for him. She unlocked the window and leaned out.
    “Do you want to go around to the door, or come in this way?” she enquired with a triumphant smile that annoyed him to no small degree.
    He clambered into a spotless kitchen without acknowledging verbally that she had outdone him.
    “We’ll have to move quickly,” he said. “The servants may return at any moment.”
    “There is no one staying here.”
    “My dear girl, an empty flat does not mean—”
    “No, but an empty larder does. There is no milk, no butter, no eggs. The stove is cold, and in fact, there is a film of dust on