A Broken Vessel Read Online Free

of that clock instead. I’ve never much cared for it—it has such a disapproving expression.”
    Sally and Dipper spun around.
    “I thought you was out, sir,” Dipper stammered.
    “Evidently.” The gentleman in the doorway smiled. “I ought to come home early more often—I’ve obviously been missing a good deal.”
    “This ain’t what it looks like, sir,” said Dipper.
    The gentleman looked at Sally more closely. “No, I see it isn’t. I beg your pardon.”
    “What for?” she demanded.
    “Because I can see this is a family party. You and Dipper are as like as you can stare.”
    “Sally’s me sister, sir. We met up in the street tonight. We hadn’t seed each other in more than two years. And I saw as how some cove had darkened her daylights, and she seemed pretty down pin, so I brought her back here.”
    Mr. Kestrel’s face changed. He crossed quickly to Sally, holding up his candle to look at the black eye she half tried to conceal. “Dipper, go and knock up Dr. MacGregor and tell him we need him.”
    “I ain’t having no doctor!” Sally exclaimed. “He’ll send me off to hospital, and shut me up with folks as has the pox and the influenzy! I’d as lief be in the stone jug as there!”
    “Dr. MacGregor would be the last person to send you to hospital. He’s from the country, and I believe he thinks there’s never been a patient so ill that a London hospital couldn’t make him worse.” Mr. Kestrel put down his candle and pushed a plush scroll sofa nearer to the hearth. “Please sit down, Miss Stokes.”
    Sally guffawed. “You hear that, Dip? He called me Miss!”
    Dipper shifted from one foot to the other. “Shall I make up the fire before I goes, sir?”
    “All it needs is a bit of nudging back to life, and I think I’m equal to that. Go, for God’s sake! Your sister will be safe enough till you get back.”
    “It ain’t me he’s worried about,” said Sally, grinning.
    Mr. Kestrel’s brows shot up. “You don’t mean to say you’re afraid to leave us alone on my account? What in the devil’s name do you suppose she’s likely to do to me?”
    Dipper waved his hands, as if to say, it boggled the mind. But he gave it up and went off to fetch Dr. MacGregor.
    “Won’t you sit down?” Mr. Kestrel repeated, indicating the sofa.
    “I don’t mind.” She sauntered over, keeping an eye on him all the while. She could not make him out. Why was he trotting out all these airs and graces, just for her? It made her want to be rude and provoke him, just to scratch his surface and see what he was really thinking.
    She looked him boldly up and down. He was about Blue Eyes’s age: five- or six-and-twenty. His hair was dark brown, his eyes lighter, with a greenish glint. He was not handsome. He did not need to be, to make you want to look at him twice. He had keen, alert eyes, arresting brows, and a wry smile always at the ready. He was not tall; he did not need to be that, either. His figure was proportioned just right: slender but solid, masculine but graceful. He wore a frilled white evening shirt, a dressing-gown of bottlegreen silk brocade, and black trousers in the style called eelskin, fitting closely as a glove. Well, he had the legs for them—no doubt about that.
    She lowered herself onto the sofa—carefully, for her back and sides felt like one large, smarting bruise. He watched her, his brow creasing with concern. Why? What was she to him? Just his servant’s sister. She said, with deliberate impertinence, “I could do with some’ut to sluice me ivories.”
    “Of course. Brandy and water?”
    “Leave out the water, and it’ll be something like.”
    He fetched a bottle and two glasses. But after an instant’s thought, he poured her brandy into one of the little gold-rimmed glasses she had admired. That small gesture touched her; she forgot to be saucy. She clinked glasses with him and took a swig. “That’s bang-up, that is!”
    “I’m glad you like it.”
    He went to