Chapter Twenty
RICHARD WALKED THE streets aimlessly before unconsciously making his way to the rookeries. In his current mood, the filth and squalor was more comfortable than the neat and opulent homes of Mayfair.
The smell of rotting debris assailed his nose. Fleet Street, just beyond the dingy streets of Drury Lane and Covent Garden, was teeming with a night life beyond anything Richard had imagined. Even in his more wild bachelor days, he had not ventured into this area at night for fear of footpads or worse. He had heard that many young bucks would frequent these East End pubs for fun, but always in a group.
Children who should have been tucked safe in bed were left sleeping on the streets while their mothers solicited the attentions of gentlemen passers-by. Their fathers, if they
