Miss Jenny

Locating one person in a city of virtually two million was a dangerous task. It assisted if that person's attitude was reliable and he could usually be located in a hotel or gin shop.

Still, it would not be easy.

Chad, where are you?

Miss Jenny Anderson felt desperate as the wagon wheels clanked along the cobbled street. Needy, vicious, troubled Chad. Some persons when faced with outrageous conditions, are completely ... broke.

Such was the case with her previously dashing and reliable brother. At this point, he was possibly beyond all hope of rehabilitation.

"We will find him," Jenny mumbled with a confidence she did not believe.

She stared at the Gypsy who sat opposite her. As usual, Marvyne exhibited no attitude.

One could be pardoned for speculating Marvyne was a man of exclusive sentiments. He was so cautious that even after staying with the Anderson clan for fifteen years, he still had not mentioned anyone his first name.

They had recognized him solely as Marvyne ever since he had been found, wounded and lifeless, beside a stream that ran through their estate.

When Marvyne had regained consciousness to find himself encircled by strange Andersons, he had responded violently. It had taken their organized actions to keep him in bed, all of them clamouring that he would make his wounds worse, he must lie quiet.

Jenny's father had assumed the boy was the survivor of a Gypsy search, a violent process in which provincial landowners ride out on horseback with guns and bands to divest their properties of Romany encampments.

"The lad was possibly left for extinct," Mr Anderson had discovered gravely.

As an intellectual and forward-thinking fellow, he had complained of turmoil in any form.

"I am afraid it will be impossible to discuss with his people. They are presumably long gone by now."

"May we retain him, Papa?" Jenny's junior sister Susan had sobbed eagerly, no doubt considering the unruly boy (who had disclosed his canines at her like an imprisoned wolverine) as a delightful new sweetheart.

Mr Anderson had gleamed at her.

"He may stay as long as he wants. But I don't think he will reside here lengthier than a week or so. Romany Gypsies—the Rom, they name themselves—are a migratory people. They loathe remaining under one roof too extended. It makes them stand imprisoned."

However, Marvyne had waited. He had begun out as a small and relatively subtle lad. But with adequate supervision and everyday meals, he had prospered at a near-alarming rate into a man of vigorous and influential probabilities.

It was impossible to say actually what Marvyne was: not quite a household member, not a helper. Although he laboured in numerous capabilities for the Andersons, working as a driver and jack-of-all-trades, he also dine at the clan table whenever he wanted, and acquired a bedroom in the major part of the house.

Now that Chad had gone missing and was probably in difficulty, there was no doubt that Marvyne would assist locate him.

It was barely sufficient for Jenny to go unescorted in the confidence of a man like Marvyne. But at the age of twenty-six, she assessed herself beyond any desire for chaperonage.

"We shall start up by eradicating the areas Chad would not go," she said.

"Churches, museums, locations of increased knowledge, and civilized communities are generally out of the question."

"That still quits most of the city," Marvyne groaned.

Marvyne was not enjoying London. In his view, the workings of the so-called knowledgeable community were unending and more inhuman than anything that could be discovered in essence.

Given an option between consuming an hour in a cage of vicious boars or a sketch room of a luxurious firm, he would have preferred the boars without indecisiveness.

"We should perhaps begin with inns," Jenny began again.

Marvyne gave her an opaque glance. "Do you know how various inns there are in London?"

"No, but I am confident I will by the time the night is out."

"We are not going to commence with inns. We will go where Chad is prone to find the vast trouble."

"And that would be?"

"Jenner's."

Jenner's was a notorious gaming organization where gentlemen went to act in ungentlemanly directions. Initially established by an ex-boxer called Ivo Jenner, the organization had reversed employees upon his demise, and was now controlled by his son-in-law, Lord St. Raphael.

The less-than-sterling prestige of St. Raphael had only enhanced the organization's charisma.

A membership at Jenner's rate is an achievement. Typically Chad had argued about entering instantly upon inheriting his crown three months ago.

"If you plan to drink yourself to casualty," Jenny had notified Chad calmly, "I wish you would do it at a more accessible place."

"But I am a viscount now," Chad had retorted nonchalantly.

"I have to do it with technique, or what will people say?"

"That you were a waste and a clown, and the crown might just as well have belonged to a monkey?"

That had aroused a smirk from her good-looking brother.

"I am certain that comparison is quite unfair to the monkey."

Turning bitter with heightening concern, Jenny clasped her gloved fingers to the aching skin of her forehead. This was not the first time Chad had fled, but it was certainly of an extended period.

"I have never been inside a gaming organization before. It will be a narrative experience."

"They won't let you inside. You are a lady. And even if they did authorize it, I would not."

Slumping her hand, Jenny stared at him in astonishment. It was unusual that Marvyne restricted her to do anything. This may have occurred the first time. She found it irritating.

Speculating that her brother's life might be at risk, she was just going to quibble over jovial conveniences. Besides, she was inquisitive to see what was inside the honoured masculine withdrawal.

As long as she was condemned to continue as a spinster, she might as well appreciate the small liberations that came with it.

"Neither will they allow you inside," she pointed out.

"You are a Roma."

"As it appears, the director of the organization is also a Roma."

That was incredible. Remarkable, straight. Gypsies were recognized as criminals and tricksters. For one of the Rom to be authorized with the computation of money and credit, not to speak of arbitrating debates at the gambling plateaux, was nothing brief of amazing.

"He must be quite extraordinary person to have accepted such a stance," Jenny said.

"Very good, I will permit you to escort me inside Jenner's. It is apparent your behaviour will persuade him to be more forthcoming."

"Thank you."

Marvyne's voice was so dehydrated one could have forced a match off it.

Jenny stayed strategically speechless as he drove the concealed brougham through the increased attention of glamours, stores, and cinemas in the city.

The badly sprung wagon shook with abandon along the broad highways, enacting gorgeous courtyards streaked with columned buildings and neatly fenced greens, and Georgian-fronted buildings.

As the highways became more luxurious, the brick walls lent route to stucco, which soon offered a stone path.