"Denis isn't," Frank told her with a skewed grin. "Sober as a judge, aren't you, Denis? While we were drinking blue ruin in Cribb's Parlor, our Denis here was doing the pretty in his mama's drawing room."
"It seems fortunate one of us is sober," Denis declared. "Otherwise, we'd never get where we're going."
He could hardly take his eyes off Chloe. Once he'd been in the crypt when they'd had girls dressed as boys. The memories sent a jolt of lust through his loins, and he shifted on the seat, thankful for the gloom within the carriage. He turned his head away from the arousing sight opposite, struggling to contain the rioting images. If he wanted Chloe in that way as reward for his success, he knew Stephen would give him permission…
The carriage came to a halt, rescuing him from a train of thought that couldn't be in the least helpful to present circumstances.
"Here we are." Frank stumbled out, lost his footing on the step, and fell to one knee. Laughing immoderately, as if it were the funniest thing imaginable, he stood up again and weaved to the front to pay the jarvey.
Denis descended with an agile jump and reached up to help Chloe down. She sprang down beside him, observing cheerfully that trousers certainly made some things easier. Julian didn't appear for a few minutes; he was searching through the gloomy interior for a glove that seemed to have gone missing. Finally, however, they were all safe on the ground and the hackney pulled away.
The scene under the flickering orange and red glow of pitch flambeaux, oil lamps, and braziers seethed with life as wagons rolled across the cobbles and men and women ran to unload the wicker baskets of still-wriggling fish. The ground was wet and mired, slippery with fish scales, and Chloe wrinkled her nose at the stench of fish, both fresh and rotting.
The air was filled with a cacophony of shouts as wagon drivers urged their horses on; screams of laughter or violent oaths from women running through the crowd with laden baskets on their heads; the calls of the costermongers as they offered their wares.
"Heavens," Chloe said, listening to a particularly ripe exchange between two massive women with rocklike forearms. "They could give Falstaff a lesson."
"Who's he?" Julian asked fuzzily.
"One of those fellows in Shakespeare," Frank informed him with a knowledgeable nod. "Don't you remember?"
Julian shook his head. "Can't say as I do."
"Actually, I was referring to a parrot," Chloe said.
"Oh, no… not a parrot." It was Frank's turn to shake his head. "Quite mistaken, dear girl. Not a parrot, some fellow in Shakespeare, I remember it very well."
"Yes, but he's a parrot too… oh, never mind." Chloe gave up any possibility of having a sensible conversation with her two inebriated escorts. "Let's find some oysters."
"In that tent over there." Denis took charge, cupping her elbow lightly as he escorted her to a noisome tent pitched on a patch of grass, two lanterns swaying at the entrance, lighting the hands of a woman who was shucking oysters with a dazzling speed. She wore no gloves and her hands were thickly ridged with calluses from years of cuts from the razor-sharp shells.
"Four dozen, my good woman," Frank demanded, swaying in front of her.
"That'll be a shilling," the woman said without looking up.
"Nonsense," Denis said. "They were sixpence last night."
"What does it matter?" Chloe said in an urgent whisper. "It's not fair to short-change her. How would you like to do this night after night?"
Denis stared at her under the flickering lamplight. Her eyes were for some reason now almost purple, her mouth set in a firm line. He'd never heard anyone express such a concept before, and for a minute he could think of no adequate response.
"Chloe's right," Julian declared, fumbling in his pockets. "Quite right… always is, aren't you, Chlo?"
"Don't call me Chlo," she said, half laughing as he peered myopically into his pockets. "And I'm not always right. Except in matters of this nature."
"Here." Denis drew two shillings from his pocket and dropped the coins on the upturned box beside the woman. She cast a quick sideways glance at this munificence and simply nodded her head as her hands continued with their work.
Chloe, however, was more rewarding. She squeezed his hand. "Thank you. That was generous, but think how much difference it will make to her."
Denis offered a deprecating smile that hid his satisfaction.
"Porter," said Frank suddenly. "You get the oysters and I'll get the porter." He set off with a lopsided motion toward a wagon parked in the shadows,
"I don't think he needs any," Chloe observed with a grimace.
A platter of oysters was suddenly thrust at her by the oyster shucker and she took them with a smile of thanks. The smile went unnoticed, or at least without response, as the woman set to work on the next dozen.
Chloe tipped the luscious contents of the shells into her mouth, feeling the gliding slither as the fishy sensation passed over her tongue and down her throat, reveling in the purity of the taste.
"More?" Denis offered her the second plate but she shook her head, smiling.
"No, I'm not going to eat yours. But I do love them."
Frank reappeared, clutching four pewter tankards by the handles. The contents slopped under his uneven progress. "Success," he declared with a radiant smile of self-congratulation. He handed the tankards around and fell upon his own plate of oysters.
Julian had sat down on the cobbles, leaning against a wooden chest, his eyes half closed. He roused himself sufficiently to make short work of the porter and downed his own plate of oysters with a beatific smile.
"Would you like to walk around the market a little, Chloe?" Denis suggested. "It might amuse you."
Chloe shivered. The cropped jacket was not particularly windproof, and suddenly the adventure had lost its savor. "I'm cold and I think Frank and Julian need their beds."
"Then we'll go," he said promptly. "Come on." He tugged at Frank's sleeve. "Unless you want us to leave you."
Grumbling but acquiescent, the other two followed them away from the fishmarket. "We'll find a hackney on the corner," Denis said. He shrugged out of his coat of olive superfine and put it around Chloe's shoulders. "I should have thought to have provided an overcoat."
Chloe smiled up at him as she huddled into the warm folds. "I didn't think about it being cold either. Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Not in the least." He offered a gallant bow.
They had barely reached the corner, when a wavering lantern ahead caused Frank to shout, "The watch… I see the watch. Let's give him a run for his money."
He and Julian began running toward the watchman with his lantern on a pole.
"What are they doing?" Chloe stopped.
"Childish games," Denis said. "They're just teasing him."
Julian tipped the watchman's hat over his eyes and Frank blew out his lantern, then grabbed the pole, trying to pull it loose from the watchman's grip. The man bellowed in fury, turning around in circles as he tried to push his hat up while keeping hold of his lantern.
"Oh, stop it!" Chloe shouted, running toward them. "Stop it. Leave the man alone."
"Spoilsport," Frank said huffily, releasing the pole.
The watchman had just succeeded in freeing his eyes from his hat and now, gibbering with fury, lunged for Julian with his stick. Julian dodged effortlessly until his fool caught on an uneven cobble and he fell to his knees. The man was upon him in an instant, and Frank rushed to the rescue.
"Come on." Denis had swept Chloe out of the alley before she realized it. "Leave them to it. If you get taken up by the watch, your guardian would be justified in taking a horsewhip to me."