Edith Layton (20 page)

“Aye, could be,” he granted, his head to one side. “I’ve heard worse tales and some of ’em true. And you speak like a lady, s’ truth. But it’s too late now, whatever you are,” he added with awful resignation.

Camille flexed her wrist, tried to spin the iron band that encircled it, pushed and pulled at it. But though the prisoner’s bracelet the guard had clapped on was loose enough to twist, it was too narrow to slip over her hand. It kept getting hung up at the base of her thumb. If she’d had a knife, she’d have
cut her thumb off to be free. She looked at her wrist with fury. She felt like bashing it against the floorboards. But she wasn’t such a fool. If the metal circle wouldn’t budge, then the chain was her only chance.

She was about to tug it again to see if she could slip it off whatever held it fast when she realized that the wagon’s wheels were no longer clanging over cobbles but rather seemed to be going over a rutted road. She gritted her teeth against the sudden jouncing. “How much further?” she whispered frantically.

“If it’s the nearest ship, we’ll be there in twenny minutes,” her self-appointed friend whispered back, his small fingers running over her iron bracelet, testing it too. “If it ain’t, then an hour, mebbe more. No hurry, miss. We ain’t going nowhere after we gets there either, y’know, ’cept on to the hulk. Most of us’ll never get off it.”

The night was still again. Camille bit back tears. They’d do her no good and would likely terrify the poor child trying to comfort her. She sat still and thought hard. She was doubtless bound for a life of insult and humiliation. She was on her own, with no one to help her, alone in the midst of a pack of helpless boys. It was an impossible situation. She wanted to close her eyes and pray for Eric, her big, strong, capable love.

She sat up straighter. Pray for Eric? Yes, she’d do that—when and if she could find nothing else to do for herself.

T
he man was dressed like a gent and looked like a savage. His great fists were bunched, his white teeth were clenched and bared. But it was the expression in his wild eyes that silenced everyone in the tavern. He looked like the kind of man who had raged out of the north and ravaged this island a thousand years before. Even the most ignorant man in the place now suddenly remembered that he knew that bit of history. The fellow might be dressed like a toff in his fine coat and boots, but he was the very image of a berserk Viking. He looked like he should be holding an axe in one hand and a spear in the other instead of just a promise of murder in those blazing eyes of his.

“Yes,” the gentleman with him said. He was cool
and arrogant, more easily recognizable, the kind that had ruled men like themselves for hundreds of years.

A silence fell over the taproom.

“My friend’s not a patient man,” the cool gentleman said. “He wants to kill someone. It was his fiancée who was spirited away last night by a gent who is bound for death and damnation. You all must know about it, as well as of Lord Dearborne, the villain of this piece. There’s no mystery, he’s confessed to it.”

Murmuring filled the room.

“Dearborne? But ’e’s loped off, they says,” one burly fellow volunteered. “Left Lunnon, entire.”

“So he may have. What we want to know is what became of the lady he snatched,” the tall, thin gentleman said reasonably. “He didn’t do it by himself. Whoever helped him has to be known to some of you. Tell us their names and direction, or tell us what they did with the unfortunate lady, and you’ll profit hugely. Come,” he said gently. “They’ll be found, you know it. It’s too foolish a crime. The lady’s brother is a viscount, no less. We’ve a great many influential people involved, and the Runners are already on it. But why should they be the only ones to profit from this?”

The huge man with him made an impatient gesture. “The man who tells us what we want to know will be a deal richer, immediately, and in gold. The man who knows and doesn’t tell will wish he had.”

His every word was put so plain and grim that
those listening who had knives touched and fingered them secretly where they were hidden in pockets of jackets and trousers. This made the denizens of the tavern look as though they’d suddenly been seized by a plague of fleas. That wasn’t unusual, since many of them were already so afflicted.

It was a very low tavern, and fleas were the least of what a man could catch there if he wasn’t careful. It was both a hiring hall and a clearinghouse for members of the lower criminal fraternity. Gin and ale, loose women and tips on prizefights, dogfights and cockfights could be had there, along with information about which houses might have a maid willing to leave an upper window open for a price or a kiss and what foolish gent customarily took which route as he reeled home alone after dark. The patrons of the Dog and Bell regularly pinched the weary barmaids’ bottoms as well as other citizens’ handkerchiefs, hats, horses, laundry, and whatever else they could get their eager hands on. And since all of those things except one were hanging offences, it was a hard-bitten lot who sat there tonight.

They were all members of the same fraternity and didn’t trust each other any more than they trusted themselves. But gold was their common goal and god, and the very word caused them all to fall still.

“Dearborne’s gone?” one ratlike individual dared say. “’E’s loped off? Well, it may be. But if ’is lordship
ain’t
loped off, whoever peaches on ’im will get ’is ’ead
lopped
off, that’s certain!”

It was a witticism, and relieved some of the ten
sion. Chuckles were heard, before they slowly trailed off. The big gentleman with murder in his eyes did not laugh.

“Be damned to Dearborne,” he growled. “He’ll be reckoned with in time, I promise you. The lady was kidnapped. I want to find her and fast. Don’t tell me names if you worry about doing that. Right now the who doesn’t matter so much as the how. I need only know what was done and where she is. I believe the answer is here because you’re wise coves and nothing’s ever a secret in these streets. Someone must know something. It will make him rich. Anyone who can tell me what I want to know will be rewarded.”

“We understand that it mightn’t be prudent to divulge such information in public,” the cool gentleman added. “But there’s not time for you to come to us. Therefore we’ll be outside for the next half-hour. We’ll be discreet. You have our word on that. We look forward to hearing from you. Until then, good evening.” He tipped his high hat, and, taking his grim friend by the arm, he left, leaving the men in the tavern to look at each other.

One of the two gentlemen was known to them, and they knew his word was his bond. The earl of Drummond had bought their services before, during the long war and after. As for the other? In the way that dogs smell dinner on the wind, they knew what was going on in the better parts of town. So they knew who Eric Ford was too, all about his mission, and that he was good for the money or the punishment he promised.

They looked at each other and away. Some scratched, some spat, some drank. Conversation began again.

“Well,” said one fellow eventually, rising from his table, “I got to go piss.”

Another looked at him, nodded, and got up as well. “I’d like to have another cup of the creature,” he announced, “but my old woman would skin me. She needs me t’ home.” He plodded to the front door.

Another rose, stretched. “Was up all night on a cloak-twitching lay,” he said with a yawn. “I needs to kip out.”

In short order ten of them got up and left by the front door and out the back to the alley.

Eric and Drum waited in the cold in front of the tavern. Eric had never felt so useless, weak, and stupid as he did now. He clenched his hands into fists. His Camille was in dire straits, and he could do nothing—but wait. He’d been a good soldier because he’d known how to accept fear and then let it go. Perhaps because of his size and his strength or faith in himself, or his youth when he’d been in battle, he’d never been afraid of much.

Now he realized he’d never been so afraid in his life. He didn’t move or speak, because he couldn’t. He was nearly paralyzed with fear and frustration.

“Softly, softly,” Drum said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “All her friends and ours, as well as the Runners, are working tonight. Someone will find
her or word of her. If no one comes to us soon, we’ll go on to the next rat hole and have better luck.”

Eric looked up at the sky. A muscle moved in his clenched jaw. “The night is growing old,” he managed to say through clenched teeth. “And I’m just standing here!”

“There’s nothing else to do. We laid bait, we must wait by the trap.”

“And you think that we’ll learn anything standing here?”

“Oh, I do.”

“Honor among thieves?”

“Never that,” his friend said on a huff of a laugh. “Dearborne isn’t long for this world. He’ll soon be finished. The men we just spoke to know that if his sickness doesn’t do him in, we will. Our gold is a powerful argument for them talking too. But they’ll do it their way, cautiously. Unlike the agents we worked with in the old days, these fellows belong to a fraternity, a guild of sorts. And they have rules. If one man comes to speak with us, others will too, even if they have nothing to say. That way no one can ever say just who it was who peached on Dearborne. It ensures their safety. Patience.”

Eric willed himself not to think. But he could feel, and his whole body ached as well as his head and heart. While the minutes ticked by, a freshening breeze began to blow the clouds from the sky. “We were going to announce our engagement at mid
night,” he suddenly said, the words pouring from the silent roiling fury that was building in his head.

“Yes,” Drum said with a small smile. “I know. The worst kept secret in England. I was very glad for you—I
am
very glad for you. In spite of what’s happened, I still offer you my congratulations. She’s a wonderful woman.” His eyes were steady and solemn in the dancing light of the lantern that hung on the door of the Dog and Bell. “You will be merry, Eric, I will dance at your wedding. I was both surprised and delighted when I heard about it.”

“Surprised? You think I’m too old and too sick for her?”

“Of course not. It’s just that I didn’t know events had progressed so far between you two.”

“Dearborne did,” Eric said bitterly, “because of Nell, no doubt. I curse the day I met her, though I should not. Ironically, it was the same day I realized how I felt about Camille.”

He fell silent, as though he’d said too much. His friend didn’t prod him to speak. It was all the emotion Eric was trying to bury that would not be suppressed which finally made him go on. “I used to wonder why it was that all my friends were so busily falling in love and marrying and I was the one going on alone. Even hard cases like you met your match, and I remained blithely single. But why?” He shrugged. “I was as puzzled as my poor parents were about that. After all, I’m an easy man to get on with, I think.”

“So you are,” Drum agreed.

Eric nodded. “I had many friends, both male and female, but though I became interested in decent women, it was only ever that: interest. It never grew to anything more. I told myself it was because I kept admiring the women my friends wound up with. Yes,” he said on an embarrassed laugh, “I admired your Alexandria—before she was yours, of course—even though she wasn’t small and dark. But I also noticed Annabelle and other dark beauties, though I knew I didn’t have a chance with them. Nor they with me, I suppose, since my heart was never involved. In fact, I was beginning to consider a marriage of mutual convenience, as soon, that is, as I could find an amiable female I was attracted to. A fellow has to have something more than children from his marriage. Some men, after all, are not made for love. I believed I could honor a wife well enough, and knew I’d care for my children. I like children.

“That was my predicted fate—at least, it was until that night I met Nell. It was also the night I really met Camille. I rode out with my old friend’s sister every morning,” Eric said with a small smile, as a fond, far-away expression crept into his eyes. “A lovely young woman. We discussed sports and horses and politics. She wasn’t a girl who simpered or flirted. She was as up to date on news and events as any man. I told myself that in time she’d find someone more suitable and forget about me the way a girl forgets about her kindly uncle when she meets a promising young man. I accepted that—until that night.

“Because that night, Drum,” he said with wonder, “I came to visit my friend Cammie and instead saw a new woman in her place. She wore a new gown and a new smile. She curtsied to me. It was as though the world tilted on its ear. I always knew she was beautiful, I’m not blind. But that night when I thought about taking her into my arms for a dance, I understood how much more I wanted to do. She wasn’t like any of my previous interests. I’d always preferred dark beauties. Camille is fair as a May morning, and she’s built along queenly lines, like some lovely, supple lioness. Suddenly, small, dark women looked meager to me, fragile, birdlike, and insignificant. My mate, I realized, could only be a lioness.”

He grinned. “I met my match, Drum. I was already half in love with her, but because of my age and possible state of health, I refused to fall the rest of the way. But I had no choice. That,” he said, shaking his head, “was what I’d never realized. You don’t have a choice when it comes to love. That was what I never knew. I tried to deny it. I tried to escape it. I couldn’t. And now,” he said, his voice growing grim, “I also don’t have a choice. By God, Drum, I cannot stand this!”

“But you will and you must,” Drum said. “It will be all right. Dearborne is a coward. He won’t do anything to really enrage us, he’s just pulling our tails.”

“Dearborne is a coward, yes,” Eric said, his expression bleak. “But I’ve heard that he’s deathly ill.
This is his last stab at us. When a man is dying, how much of a coward can he be?”

Drum said nothing.

Eric stood silently, thinking of Camille, of all the things they’d done and all the things he wanted to do with her so that he wouldn’t think of all the things that might be being done to her. Whatever happened to her, he would find her and heal her and share the rest of his life with her. Because that life wouldn’t mean much without her. He thought of her laughter and how she’d returned his kiss. He remembered her tilted smile and the way she’d kissed him. He hadn’t told her everything he felt for her, and that hurt him. But he’d wanted what he said to be said perfectly and thought he’d have years to find the right words. And he wished with all his heart that they’d had the time to do more than kiss.

The wind picked up, blowing the dark smell of the river toward them. Men left the tavern and entered it, some nodded good evening to them, some offered them more.

“’Tis a cold night, gentlemen,” one aged fellow said, as he paused at their side. He puffed on his clay pipe as though he hoped the smoke it emitted would hide his face. “Happen I know of a place where the women are warm and cheap.”

“If you’re interested in fine linens, gents,” another furtive fellow whispered, this one already bouncing on one foot, prepared to run. “I knows where there’s a shipment, hot off the boat from the
Continent, for sale for next to nothing, at least to gents like you.”

One after another they came, offering women, liquors, jewels, French perfumes, and silver plate.

To each offer Drum made polite refusals. And each exchange made Eric’s face grimmer.

Then a thin man left the tavern and stayed to chat for a moment. Drum’s usually impassive expression grew sharper as he listened, and he exchanged a quick glance with Eric. Eric’s eyes widened. He nodded. Drum opened his purse and gave the fellow a handful of something that glinted in the dim lamplight before he quickly shoved it into his own pocket. He handed Drum a small parcel of wadded newssheets, so it would look as though he’d bought something more tangible than information, and then hurried away.