Free Kissing Cousins by Joan Smith

Mrs. Nesbitt ’ s on Golden Lane, or Meg — No, he ’ d not take a lady there. He could be at Mrs. Minchin ’ s. ”
    “ He headed north up the Dyke Road. ”
    “ The Dyke Road, you say? That ’ d be Mike Skelton ’ s place, then. Odd he ’ d take her there. There ’ s no shortage of lightskirts at Mike ’ s place. ”
    Salverton fumed in silent rage. ‘“ Where is it? ”
    “ On the Dyke Road, just north of the cemetery. ”
    “ Is there a mount here I can ride? ” Mabel ’ s gooseberry eyes emitted a curious gleam, half fear, half greed. Salverton drew out his purse and extracted a golden boy. “ It ’ s urgent, ” he said, fingering the coin enticingly.
    Mabel reached out and snatched it from his fingers. “ Caesar. A gray gelding hitched to the tree in the backyard. Gelding hasn ’ t tamed the brute much. Mind you have it back before morning or Jon ’ ll have my head on a platter like the martyr I am. ”
    Salverton didn ’ t reply, but pelted out the door and around to the backyard. He heard a whicker and followed it to a spreading mulberry, where he discovered a well-groomed gray, instead of the tired jade with a spavined back he expected to see. The saddle hung conveniently nearby on the lower branch of the mulberry tree. After saddling the mount, he had some difficulty convincing Caesar he meant business, but eventually he was in the saddle and on his way north. It took every ounce of his strength to control the powerful animal.
    As he entered the Dyke Road, he left polite Brighton behind. Ahead lay a dark, lonesome path. He increased his pace to a gallop. The mount ’ s hooves thundered over the metaled road. A cold moon lent an eerie air to the countryside. Wind stirred the trees that edged the roadside. Beyond the trees lay barren fields and an occasional small dwelling. Salverton regretted he hadn ’ t brought his pistol with him. It was ideal highwayman country. But the big gray set such a fast pace, he doubted anyone could outride him. It was a magnificent mount.
    Before long he spotted the spire of a church on his right, and on his left a cemetery. The headstones and monuments shone with a wan and ghastly light. Mike Skelton ’ s gaming hell was not far beyond, according to Mabel.
    Salverton wasted no time getting past the cemetery, then he slowed to a canter. After half a mile, he spotted a low, spreading house nestled among a bank of sheltering bushes. There was no sign to indicate it was a public establishment, but the number of lit windows suggested it was more than a private residence.
    A young stable boy popped out of nowhere. “ Can I stable your nag, mister? ” he asked. “ ‘ Ere! That ’ s Jon ’ s Caesar, that is. ”
    “ What of it? Is Sykes here? ” Salverton asked.
    “ Aye, he just drove his rig ‘ round to the back hisself. Nipcheese! Too clutch-fisted to pay for a driver, and him with a lady, too. ”
    Salverton flipped the helpful lad a coin. He dismounted and handed him the reins, then strode angrily to the rear of the building. The carriage he had hired was there, empty. The back door of the house was locked, but that, of course, would provide no impediment to Sykes and his passe-partout. Salverton ’ s gorge rose higher as he returned to the front door and walked in without knocking.
    A bruiser with shoulders like a clothespress examined him and decided against ejecting him. His pockets looked deep.
    “ Come for a game of cards, sir? ” he asked, smiling and revealing the two or three teeth that remained in his head.
    “ I ’ m looking for Sykes, ” Salverton growled.
    The bruiser took one look at Salverton ’ s black scowl and said, “ Casino parlor. Upstairs to your left. And no brawling, mind, ” he called. Salverton had already brushed past him.
    He took the uncarpeted stairs two at a time, and soon found himself in a noisy corridor. The two rooms on either side of the hallway were full to overflowing with gamblers of both sexes, none of them