The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

the yellow house for a few minutes. Did Alva want him to go away and come back later? Go away and never come back? Or maybe she did not wish to be accosted by a fine gentleman while she was playing at being a beet-toting rustic. He was about to turn around and take himself to a coffee shop to consider the problem in more comfort when he saw a window on the third floor of the yellow house raise, and a white arm emerge and beckon him. He set out across the square to his first assignation with his Guild-proscribed mistress.

* * *

Alva received him in a green and silver salon on the ground floor of the house. He had no idea how she had managed to change so quickly from her strange street clothes into a fashionable pale pink muslin dress. The Norwich shawl draped over her elbows must have cost a fortune. Her hair was dressed elegantly but without flair; she looked like someone’s respectable wife or sister. The dog was with her but clearly still in disgrace, for it sat like a statue gazing at her, and she was refusing to meet its eye. It was a bitch, part mastiff and part Cerberus.

After initial greetings were over, Nick petitioned on behalf of the animal. “She can’t help being in pain,” he said. “Did she pick up a splinter on your walk?”

Alva put her nose in the air and glanced sidelong at her pet. The animal caught the glance and perked her ears, but Alva withdrew her attention immediately. “She’s a big baby,” she said. “We bought her on the promise that she would make a good watchdog, but she befriends everyone. Then I decided she could at least help me carry things home from the market, and instead she goes lame. I never liked dogs. She eats us out of house and home, she is ugly, she smells horrible. . . .”

“Does she have a name?”

“Solvig. It means ‘Strong House.’”

“Here, Solvig.” Nick snapped his fingers, and the dog limped to him. Nick knelt down and stroked her silky ears and rubbed her between her eyes until he felt that they were good friends. “I’m going to help you, Solvig,” he said, “but it won’t be comfortable. Are you ready? Give me your paw.” She gave him her good paw. It filled his whole hand. “Not that one. Paw.”

Solvig whimpered and tremblingly gave Nick her bad paw. “Good girl.” He pulled on her ear. “You are an ugly beast, aren’t you?” he said gently as he felt the tender pads. Solvig whined and made to pull away, but Nick held the paw firm. “Yes. Good girl.” He looked up at Alva, who was watching with a half smile on her face. “She has a stone lodged between her pads. I think . . .” He focused on what he was doing for a moment, and Solvig’s whine grew sharper. “Yes . . . oh, shit. Excuse my French.”

Blood spilled from the dog’s paw onto his white cuff. But he brought away a small, sharp flint. Solvig immediately set to licking her paw.

“Let her lick it for a while,” Nick said. “Then she’ll need a bandage.”

“Yes, doctor.” Alva sat down lightly in a little silver chair. “You will find a washstand behind the screen over there.”

As he passed it, Nick noticed that the embroidered screen depicted a mildly lascivious scene of ladies with their bosoms spilling out of their clothes, and gentlemen looking slightly startled; this was the only sign that the house was something other than a genteel home and really, it was such a ridiculous image that it hardly served to stir the senses.

Nick scrubbed his hands clean of the dog’s blood. He didn’t even attempt to wash his cuff; it was clearly ruined. Then he dried his hands, taking his time. He had every intention of betraying someone, and it wasn’t going to be Julia. It was going to be Mother Guild. He pulled his ring up to his knuckle to dry his finger. Life had certainly taken an interesting turn. He draped the towel over the edge of the washstand, twisted his ring into place, and stepped back around the screen.

Alva gestured for him to take a delicate chair that was the twin of her own. “Sit down, Nick. Thank you for helping poor Solvig. Look at her. She’s in love with you now. I might as well not exist.”

Indeed, devotion shone from the dog’s eyes. She lay on the floor, licking her huge paw and staring at Nick in a delirium of adoration. “Oh, dear,” he said, disposing himself in the stiff chair. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s wonderful. You will take her home with you and I will be free of the smell, the expense, the feeling that I am constantly being watched.”

“I’m not taking your dog. Besides, who will pull your beet cart for you?”

Alva seemed to consider the problem. “Perhaps I will buy a donkey.”

“I would like to see that. You in that ludicrous outfit, leading a donkey through the streets of London. But a donkey cannot guard a house. You said you needed a guard dog.”

“Yes, I do, and Solvig is useless.”

“You’re just a big cream puff, aren’t you?” Nick asked the dog.

Solvig lumbered to her feet and came over to Nick, leaving bloody paw prints on the parquet. Alva groaned and rang for a servant as Nick stroked Solvig’s powerful shoulders and murmured endearments into her ears: “Ugly baby. Smelly puppy.” Solvig blinked her red-rimmed eyes and panted hot breath happily in his face. “Turnip face.”

Solvig responded to this last sally with a soft woof.

“Do you approve of the nickname,” Nick asked her, “or disapprove? Shall we try again? Turnip face.” The dog blinked at him and curled her black lips back in a broad grin.

An elderly footman answered the bell. Alva told him to take the dog to the kitchens, bandage its foot, and have it ready to leave with Lord Blackdown.

“I am not taking your dog.”

“Oh, but