Page 8 of The Lord I Once Loved

I shrugged, handing him the flask.

“Never too early. Besides, I have the day free. Want to get up to some trouble?”

Cavendish examined the flask for a moment, and then drank the entire thing in one go. I clapped his back, grinning. This was the Lord Phillips I remembered from Eton.

“Why not. For old time’s sake, eh?”

Bytheearlyafternoon,both the Duke and I were riotously drunk. We had made our way to St. Giles, the seediest neighborhood of London, in search of some girl that Cavendish remembered from his younger days.

I had little optimism we would actually find her – I mean, what were the odds? I could hardly remember the faces of the women I had been with, much less locate them.

But, to my surprise, Cavendish’s memory was exacting, and we ended up at the exact brothel he’d frequented as a teenager. The girl of his memories was no longer there, but there were plenty of others to choose from.

I left him there with my blessing. He was clearly in need of female company, but I wasn’t in the mood. I’d had plenty of fun with Juliana the night before, that was certain.

I found myself walking through the dirty streets of St. Giles by myself, not sure where I was headed. The alleys were bustling with all sorts of roguish characters, which made it an interesting place for a drunken jaunt.

My countenance and attire certainly set me apart, and the crowd parted as I walked through it. I didn’t love that about being who I was – I mean, at the heart of it, I was a drunk like any other man in the slums of London… It just so happened that I was a veryrichone.

It also brought about unwanted attention. Wherever a Lord went, money was sure to follow, and the scoundrels of London knew that better than anything.

I slipped into a quieter alley, eager to escape some of the stares and begging children.

Surrounded by tall brick walls on both sides, the lighting was dim, and the air smelled putrid. From somewhere above, a woman threw her dirty washing water down from a window, and then immediately ducked inside when she saw me.

I pulled out my flask, taking another drink. Of all the places to be sober, a dirty alleyway in St. Giles wasnotone.

As I stepped forward, I suddenly noticed a small plume of silver smoke billowing out of an open door a few yards before me. I walked up to the door, peering into the dark room inside, and immediately froze.

What I saw inside gave me a sickening feeling.

In the smoky, dark room, there were several people lying about on divans and couches. One might’ve thought they were asleep, if it weren’t for their half open eyes, milky white below heavy lids. The silver smoke was pooling around their bodies, consuming them like some kind of monster.

The smell, the setting… it was unmistakable. This was an opium den.

And I felt as if I were about to choke.

I had seen them in the seedier parts of Europe, but never in London, though I certainly knew they must have existed. My own family had made quite a bit of money off of the opium trade in the East Indies.

And then, of course, there was my mother…

The smell of the smoke grew stronger, and I threw my hand over my mouth. A man inside the room suddenly noticed me. He sat up, his eyes foggy, though still lucid.

“Ah, my Lord, come in. We have the finest selections from Asia…”

My eyes wandered to the woman beside him, who was lying in an opium-induced stupor. Her body was frozen, her limbs draped over the divan; the only signs of life were her chest moving slowly, up and down, and her hazy eyes blinking.

It was as if she was in a deep, never-ending sleep. Not dead, yet not alive.

Before the man could say another word, I turned on my heel, nearly running down the alleyway. I ran until I couldn’t see the door anymore, nor the plumes of smoke. I ran until I could almost forget I had ever seen them at all.

But I couldn’t forget. I couldn’t get the image of the woman out of my head.

Finally, panting, I leaned against the dirty alley wall. Across from me was a dark window, and I found myself staring into my reflection. My eyes were dark and tired.

For the briefest moment, I saw my mother staring back at me – her eyes dark, tired… and milky with the haze of opium.

I slowly pulled my flask out of my pocket, downing the remainder in one go. I felt the liquid burn in my throat, sending a warm feeling up my chest.

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