French Postcards

An excerpt from French Postcards

Morton paid all the girls for their modeling. For her willingness with the champagne bottle, Delia was particularly rewarded. "Oh thank you! This will just pay for a bit of coal and a shawl to warm my dear old mother's shoulders against the cold."

Her manner left Morton uneasy. The toad-like man followed her down to the street discreetly. The girl crossed the street and looked once or twice over each shoulder. Then she got into a fine carriage that sat waiting. The carriage moved off, pulled by a pair of good quality horses. Morton went quickly down the block and hopped a ragged handsome cab.

"Follow along behind that two-in-hand," he hissed at the driver. "And not too close."

Into the Drunsbury section of town they went, the fine houses stretching up like towers, gated fronts standing like a line of fortifications. Delia's carriage turned in to one.

Morton paid the cabby and stepped quickly in behind Delia's carriage before the gate closed by some unseen hand. He stayed behind the carriage as the girl exited and went to the door. A matronly woman came out of the house in pearls and a fine dress.

"Ah, Cordelia," she said to the girl. "Back from your lessons? I hope you enjoy them."

"Oh I do, mother!" the girl said enthusiastically."I do so enjoy them, I must say." And she went trippingly into the house.

Morton pushed open the gate and slipped out, the gears and cogs inside his round little head turning like clockworks and a sly sneer coming slowly over his toad-like face.