Inamorata

Chapter Seven - The Little Bird

Chapter 7. Author's note: Did you know I have a Patreon and a Ko-Fi account? So many of you have said that you're looking for a way to express your support and this is a great way! By supporting me on Patreon or Ko-Fi, you're allowing me to turn a passion into a career!

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Nightingale, when David had left, stalked out of her room. She was curious - and apprehensive - to see how things had gone over with Michael. She figured that she would get the best insight from Rose - the girl she'd sent to deliver a message to the man.

As she made her way down the corridor, she saw Magenta hanging out of her room, leaning against the doorframe and talking to Lace, a fairly young Inamorata, but not a new, green one like Rose.

As she passed, she stopped, seeing both Magenta and Lace eyeing her. The look in their eyes was both envious and appreciative and made Nightingale pause in mystification.

"There she is, the woman of the hour," said Lace, smiling. Nightingale's eyebrows rose as she looked down at the tiny, high-voiced brunette.

"I worship the ground you walk on, Gale," added Magenta, bowing obsequiously. She twirled her hand and her nose nearly scraped the ground before she straightened up, grinning broadly. Nightingale noticed, with a pang, that there was a bruise on her face. "You have made our day."

"How?" asked Nightingale, laughing.

"Your client - just how rich is he?" asked Lace.

"Which client?" asked Nightingale blithely, grinning teasingly.

"Cheeky bitch," said Lace affectionately. "But you know who we mean. The client you saw last night. It was the talk of the bordello."

"Such quality gossip," mocked Nightingale lightly. "But I suppose you mean Mr. Beckett?" She was careful not to let herself refer to him as David or as Detective Beckett - he'd expressly told her to keep his government position a secret, and she knew also that referring to him by first name was dangerous.

"Yes," they answered in unison. Nightingale smiled again.

"He's filthy stinking rich," said Nightingale. "But what's so great about that?"

Magenta and Lace looked at each other and began to mutter. Nightingale glared irritably as they murmured, every once in a while eyeing her with a fair amount of doting suspicion and incredulity, all the while tittering.

"She doesn't know," remarked Lace.

"That's really weird. I can't believe she doesn't," said Magenta.

"Are you two going to stand there giggling and pointing like drooling clients, or will you please tell me what the fuck is going on?" snapped Nightingale.

"Easy there," retorted Lace, glaring. "You're quite the grumpy birdie this morning."

Nightingale grimaced. She had no idea what made her so short with the two of them. And she knew that, by their wounded expressions, she should not have compared them to clients. That was a touch below the belt.

"My apologies. But would you please-" she began.

Magenta cut her off. "It's Bobby. I'm not sure what you did to Mr. Beckett, or what he said to Bobby about it, but Bobby's been singing and dancing and sashaying about like it's the best day of his life. He kissed me on the mouth and told me I was - and I quote - 'a darling, wonderful girl'. Which, considering how many times he's beaten me, is fairly out of character."