An Unnatural Vice (Sins of the Cities, #2)

by K.J. Charles

There, there. You saved for two years to look for your lost children, and you’re spending the money on a spiritualist instead of a private detective. You hopeless, soggy mopstick.

In fact he’d had less than nothing because he’d had no loss to show the world. No status of grieving widower, no reason to wear black, nobody outside the Jack who recognised his bereavement or offered sympathy.

When have you ever had to decide between keeping your pride and filling your belly? Why

“For the record,” Nathaniel said at last, “I brought you down here out of nothing but sincere concern for your safety. But if this is how you’d like to spend your time as my guest, consider me at your service.”

Fucking hell, Nathaniel, I tell lies about the afterlife for a handful of shillings. Your father does it and they give him cloth of gold.”