Down Weaver's Lane (51 page)

‘How long has Armistead had her?’

Gus avoided his eyes, longing to get away, but not daring to make a break for it with this big fellow radiating anger and alertness. ‘Twenty minutes, mebbe.’ He winced at the anguished noise Jack made. ‘Look, I helped George a bit with this place and there’s an old ladder in t’shed. I’ll help you carry it out.’

‘And hold it steady while I’m climbing the first bit?’

‘Aye.’

‘If you do that, then I’ll forget I’ve seen you tonight.’

‘Thanks, lad.’

Keeping out of sight of the windows they got out the ladder, a flimsy wooden contraption, and carried it into the yard next door. This house was dark and with a bit of luck no one in The Golden Swan would see what they were doing. Jack turned to Gus. ‘Remember, you’re to hold it till I get up there or I’ll recall your name very clearly indeed when Makepeace turns up.’

‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ Gus hesitated, then added gruffly, ‘Good luck.’

The third rung broke and sent Jack tumbling back down again. Cursing under his breath Gus controlled the ladder only with difficulty or it would have smashed to the ground. Grimly Jack started off again, going much more slowly and testing each rung carefully with his hands before trusting his whole weight to it. Another rung, this time near the top of the ladder, gave way as he tugged at it and for a moment he thought he’d lost his balance and would go crashing down to the ground, perhaps never to rise again if he fell from this height. Sweat beaded his brow as he struggled to keep hold of a narrow brick ledge. Only the fact that Gus was holding the ladder at the bottom made it possible for him to get his balance back.

When the ladder had stopped shaking, Jack rested his forehead against the next rung for a moment and felt cold sweat trickling down his face. He had to take it slowly. If he fell there’d be no one to help Emmy.

The next bit was tricky as he moved from the ladder to a window ledge, but he had a good head for heights and the skills he’d learned climbing trees as a lad and scrambling up and down the rocky slopes of the Pennine crags came back to him. He felt more alert than ever before in his whole life as he moved slowly from handhold to handheld. Blessing the person who had built the house with two storeys projecting at the rear to hold the kitchens and servants’ areas, he climbed on to the roof of that and from there got on to the roof of the main house. Sucking in a deep breath, he made his way along the roof towards the whore house.

A tile cracked under his feet and he froze for a moment, terrified that it was going to give way beneath his weight. But nothing happened so he started off again. Light streamed from the skylight, guiding him, giving him the courage to continue. Half-crouching, he moved slowly and carefully up the roof tiles towards it, not allowing himself to think of the long drop to the ground. Emmy was there. He was the only one who could save her.

 

Marcus discovered to his dismay that his body had let him down and he could not yet finish using the girl. This happened to him sometimes, as it happened to all men, but it had happened more often lately. He turned away from her for a minute, wondering how he could revive his need. His eye fell on the brandy decanter and he went across to pour himself a glass.

He raised it to her in a mock toast. He liked it when they looked like that, helpless and terrified. Seeing her fear made the urge return to him and he smiled as he sipped again, then set the glass carefully down.

 

Before George could move to put a stop to Armistead’s cruelty he heard a sound behind him. At first he couldn’t place it, then realised someone was out there on the roof. Abandoning Marcus and the girl he moved quietly towards that part of the attic, bending his head as the ceiling became lower.

As he stood there concealed he saw the shadow of someone outside fiddling with the skylight. Who the hell was trying to break in? And how had they got up there? They must be mad risking a climb like that.

Mad - or desperate.

Here to rescue Emmy? What else could it be?

With a bit of luck, this person would put a stop to Marcus sodding Armistead’s nasty little games and then George would take bloody good care such things didn’t happen again on his premises. There were enough willing lasses around, as he’d discovered since opening up his first house in Manchester. Pretty lasses, too, especially those at the upper end of the market.

There had never been any need to force a lass with so many willing to earn money that way, and he’d long regretted that he’d captured Emmy and given Armistead the idea of doing it to other lasses. Though she was still one of the prettiest lasses he’d ever seen, George thought regretfully.

 

Jack tugged at the skylight and found it to be locked. Pulling his sleeve down over his hand, he thumped the side of his fist down on the glass. It cracked and a few pieces broke off and tinkled to the floor beneath. He waited to see if anyone had noticed, but when no one came to investigate he knocked enough of the splintered glass away to let him unscrew the lock.

Lifting the skylight, he eased his body inside till he was hanging by his hands and then dropped. It wasn’t far, but he made a thud on the bare boards that sounded very loud to him.

He was up almost immediately, ready to defend himself. Light was coming from beneath a door, so he tiptoed towards it and as soon as he heard the voice inside the room he knew he had come to the right place.

He flung the door open to see Marcus Armistead advancing towards a bed where Emmy was tied up with most of her clothes torn off. Red rage surged up in him as Jack roared, ‘Get away from her, you bastard!’

Marcus spun round and gaped in shock as he recognised the man Emmy was supposed to marry. How the hell had the fellow got in here? There were guards on both front and back doors. As Jack rushed across the room, Marcus flung a chair at him then scrabbled for his sword stick, twisting it open quickly to uncover the blade.

Jack growled in anger and snatched up the fallen chair, using it to keep Armistead away from the bed and Emmy.

For a moment there was a stand-off, then Jack began trying to push Armistead backwards. ‘This is the last time you do this to a woman.’

Marcus jabbed, but the fellow was too quick for him, so he edged backwards, feeling behind him with his left hand for the doorway.

Jack let him do it. He wanted the fellow out of this room and away from the helpless Emmy. He kept his gaze firmly on the small man who was wearing only a shirt and whose face was now a sickly shade of white.

‘Keep away from me or I’ll have you arrested for assault,’ Marcus panted, brandishing the narrow blade which was not much longer than a dagger.

‘It’d be worth it to assault you.’ Jack feinted with the chair and sent Armistead skittering back another couple of paces. ‘What I’d really like to do is break your bloody neck, like they do with other vermin.’

Marcus raised his voice and yelled for help, sounding shrill and more like a woman than a man.

Watching them through the open doorway, George frowned. If anyone came up here now they’d think Jack Staley the criminal then Armistead would be free to hurt and kill other women. Suddenly Madge’s face appeared in George’s mind with a pleading expression on it. Was her killer to get away scot free? No, he bloody wasn’t! He moved out from the shadows.

Marcus let out a squeak of relief at the sight of him and Jack froze. If he had to face two of them, and one a man as big as himself, he would have to stay in the doorway to hold them off when he was desperate to back into the room and release Emmy so that she could clothe herself again. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Emmy love!’ he called.

‘Very touching!’ Marcus mocked, relieved that his partner was with him. Now he could have this fool arrested and they’d probably hang him for burglary and assault. He threw back his head and laughed, feeling power throb through him once more. Having Emmy whimpering beneath him was only postponed.

But George didn’t move forward and his expression was as grim as Jack’s.

Marcus’s laughter faltered in the face of that stony stare. ‘Deal with this fellow, will you? You’re the one with the brute strength in our partnership.’

George took a step towards him, not even looking at Jack. ‘You killed Madge,’ he said. ‘I heard you telling the girl. For no reason you killed a poor old sot that never did anyone any harm. Why did you beat her to death. Why?’

Marcus took a step backwards, suddenly nervous. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Of course I didn’t kill anyone.’

‘I was watching through the spy hole and I heard you boasting to her daughter about how you’d killed Madge. Boasting about it!’ George spat on the floor and took another step forward, menace radiating from him.

Jack stared from one to the other, keeping very still.

Marcus skipped hurriedly backwards again. ‘George, we’ll discuss this later. I can explain everything. You’ve got to stop that fellow. He’s trying to rob us.’

‘He’s trying to save his lass from you.’ George moved forward again. ‘I’ve done a lot of things in my time, but I’ve never killed anyone, an’ there are only two things I really regret. One is capturing that lass and handing her over to you, and the other is turning her mother out that same day. If I hadn’t Madge would still be alive. Well, I can’t do owt about her, but I can stop you harming the daughter, by hell I can!’

Jack continued to watch them in horrified fascination. He did not dare turn to help Emmy until he was absolutely sure George was on his side. And he wasn’t sure of anything yet.

‘You were boasting to her daughter that you were going to kill her as well tonight when you’d finished with her,’ George said, still in that quiet but emphatic tone, like a man reciting a lesson to a stupid child. ‘What sort of creature kills a lass for sport? Only a madman.’

‘I was just - trying to frighten her. That’s all. I’d never kill anyone.’ Marcus’s voice was shaking.

Jack could see that Armistead was getting dangerously close to the top of the stairs and from the way George shot a glance along the floor, he guessed what the other man was trying to do. He didn’t speak out to warn Armistead. He had never felt so coldly sure that someone deserved to die, that the world would be a cleaner, safer place without him.

With a suddenness that took even Jack by surprise, George yelled, ‘You filthy pervert!’ and rushed forward. Armistead yelped and stepped backwards into space. His shriek echoed in the enclosed stairwell as he tumbled and bounced down the steep stairs. Then there was silence.

George moved rapidly down after him and Jack crept forward to the top of the stairs to see what had happened.

Armistead was still alive, lying horribly twisted, still gasping out pleas.

Without a word George bent and gave the other man’s neck a quick twist. The pleas were cut short. All sound seemed to have stopped.

With a faint gasp Jack moved backwards, feeling sick. He could not have done that. He did not think he could kill anyone in cold blood. But he was not going to let George know what he had seen, nor would he tell anyone else what had really happened. When rich men were in trouble, they could pay fancy lawyers to get them off any charges the police might bring. Poor men had to resort to subterfuge.

‘He’s broke his neck,’ George yelled up the stairs. ‘He’s dead.’

Taking a deep breath, Jack yelled back, ‘I saw him fall. I’ll bear witness you didn’t push him.’ He had to stand very still for a moment and swallow hard against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. But he meant what he said. Other women’s lives would be saved by what George Duckworth had just done, so he would not betray him.

Sound resumed very suddenly, pounding footsteps and a babble of voices. Jack went back into the attic room. On the way he picked up the sword stick.

Emmy sobbed in relief as she saw him.

‘It’s all right, my darling. Armistead’s dead. Fell down the stairs and broke his neck.’ He used the blade to cut the ropes that tied her to the bed, wrapped her in a sheet and pulled her close.

She was shuddering and shaking, and all he could do was hold her and murmur soothingly. He didn’t know whether she’d ever recover from this, whether she’d ever want a man near her again, but even if he could never touch her as a husband should, he intended to marry her and cherish her for the rest of his life. His love for her was the most important thing in the whole world to him.

Footsteps made him look up.

Eli was standing in the doorway, his expression grim. ‘Were you in time to save her, lad?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘I’m not sure,’ Jack replied equally quietly.

Emmy raised her head to look at the constable. ‘Is that man really dead?’

‘Aye, lass,’ he said gently. ‘He fell down the attic stairs, it seems, and broke his neck.’

‘He did,’ said Jack. ‘I saw it.’

She stared at him then began sobbing, this time from relief that she would never again have to fear Marcus Armistead. It was a while before she could calm down enough to explain this to Jack.

As Eli left the little room, Isaac came to stand in the doorway. ‘Mr Rishmore’s carriage is outside. He says you can use it to take her home, Jack. We’ll do whatever is necessary here, then hire a carriage for ourselves.’

Jack looked down at Emmy. ‘Do you want to go home now, love?’

She was lying spent against his chest. ‘Yes. To Mrs Tibby’s cottage. Just you and me.’

He picked a blanket up from the foot of the bed, wrapped her in it with infinite care, then lifted her gently into his arms, for her clothes were too torn to be of any use. ‘Then that’s exactly where we’ll go, my little love.’

When they got out to the carriage they found Hercules sitting inside.

For once the dog didn’t jump all over Emmy. It was as if he sensed her anguish and knew she needed treating gently. He pressed against her and risked only an occasional careful lick.