Love & Folly (17 page)

Terrified for their safety, he limped along the footpath, shoving strangers out of his way as he
went, trying to keep Maggie's bright head in sight. He saw them, as he thought, trampled underfoot and
poised himself to leap into the swirling Mob, then caught sight of them again in their fragile zone of safety at
the cart's tailboard.

Then he, too, was swept along the street, up with the surge of the crowd and back. When he
spotted the cart once more, the girls had disappeared.

Spent, his leg aching from the abuse he had given it, he leaned against the shuttered front of a
shop, caught his breath, and tried to think. Where had they gone?

The cart was moving along slowly, still headed north. They had been farther down the street
when he lost sight of them. He straightened, gritted his teeth, and began to limp back down the walkway,
jostled by excited onlookers as he went. When he thought he had reached the spot where he was pulled into
the crowd, he began asking. Had anyone seen two young women caught up in the Mob? He described their
dress, Maggie's betraying hair, the passing cart. No one had seen them.

Just as he reached the point of despair, a stout motherly woman in a drab cape and rusty
bonnet--probably a procuress, in that neighbourhood, he thought sourly--gave him positive word of the girls' escape.
But Maggie, it seemed, had been hit on the head and taken up lifeless.

Johnny's heart lurched. "By whom? Where was she taken? For God's sake, madam--"

The woman, who had been retailing the details of Maggie's injury with gruesome relish, sobered
and pointed to a bookshop. It was shuttered and looked deserted.

Johnny banged on the closed door with the stick he had miraculously clung to throughout his
ordeal. No answer. He banged harder.

The door opened a crack, then flung wide. "Wonders never cease," said Colonel Falk. "Come in,
Johnny. We're in the devil of a pucker here and you're just the man to pull us out of it."

Johnny slipped past the older man and squinted as his eyes adjusted to semidarkness. Maggie lay
on the dusty floor with her head in Jean's lap, the pop-eyed proprietor was wringing his hands beside his
till, and, Colonel Falk, his back to the closed door, looked decidedly ruffled.

Johnny bent over the girls. "Is she all right? That woman outside said she'd been hit by a paving
stone."

"Brickbat," Colonel Falk said tersely.

Maggie moaned.

Jean had removed her bonnet and her red hair stood up in sweaty tufts. Her eyes were red with
weeping, her face curd-white under a mask of grime. "Oh Johnny, we've sent for a surgeon. She has a knot
on her head like an egg and she doesn't want to wake up. What shall we do?"

Colonel Falk drew up what appeared to be the only chair in the establishment. "Sit," he said
rather as if Johnny were a good dog.

Johnny sat. The relief was so exquisite he closed his eyes for a moment.

"We'll wait for the sawbones," Falk said. "Then, if he says we may move her, we'll have to find a
conveyance--"

"My hackney," Johnny interrupted.

"You have a carriage in this melee?"

"The driver said be would wait in Compton Street."

"Too far for Lady Margaret to walk, even when she regains her wits." Colonel Falk drew a long
breath. "If you will go find the jarvey and convince him to drive here, we shall pull through this engagement
after all. The thing is, Dyott, we must avoid drawing attention to the young ladies."

Johnny nodded his emphatic agreement. If the girls' presence in Crown Street during a riot were
made known, the scandal would probably ruin them. The Duchess of Devonshire might bestow campaign
kisses on the electors of Westminster with social impunity, but that had been in a wilder time and besides
the duchess was a married woman of mature years. Maggie and Jean were seventeen-year-old
maidens.

The patronesses of Almack's would not look with favour on the girls doing anything so indecorous
as being caught up in a riot. Especially unescorted. Especially romping about in disguise like a pair of woolly
Caro Lambs.

Johnny could only hope no member of the Ton had been anywhere near Crown Street or Soho
Square that morning.

Or Bond Street, he thought glumly. The hope was faint and fading.

He rose, not without a twinge. "I'll be off."

Falk's eyes narrowed. "Have you crocked up your leg again?"

"It hurts," Johnny admitted, since there was no point in hiding the obvious, "but it will
hold."

"Never mind. You deal with the sawbones. I'll go for the jarvey."

"But--"

"Your man has probably driven off. If so, I'll find another. I didn't want to leave the young ladies
without an escort."

A banging on the door announced the surgeon's arrival.

Falk let him in. "In good time, sir."

"You can put up your shutters," the young man said irritably. "The louts have hared off toward
Canton House and good riddance. Time for the Riot Act, in my opinion. Now what is it? Ah, another
whack on the noggin, I see. Fourth case I've treated this morning." He knelt by Maggie and went about his
examination briskly.

Johnny and Colonel Falk exchanged glances.

"I'll hunt up a hackney," Falk said. "Do you have the wherewithal to pay the man's fee?"

Johnny flushed. His purse must have been taken at some time during his wild career up Crown
Street.

Falk fumbled in his pockets and gave Johnny a sovereign and a handful of lesser coins.

"Thanks."

Falk nodded and slipped out the door.

By the time he returned Maggie was coming round, the proprietor had taken down his shutters,
and some kindly soul had brought water and vinegar from a nearby shop. Jean was bathing Maggie's
temples.

The surgeon seemed to think Maggie would be able to ride to Grosvenor Square without
aggravating the injury--he had peered into her eyes, taken her pulse, probed the edge of the lump on her
skull. He was a brusque man. Johnny did not like him. He was relieved when the surgeon departed.

Somehow they got Maggie to the carriage, which was not the seedy vehicle he had hired in Bond
Street.

At Soho Square, the driver turned west and began a winding traverse of that unsavoury borough.
Unsavoury as it might be, the streets were less risky than Crown Street with the mob in full cry.

Johnny and Jean propped Maggie between them, and Colonel Falk sat opposite. Maggie was still
faint and her wits still wandered, a circumstance that made Johnny extremely uneasy. At Colonel Falk's
direction, the jarvey drove with great care. it seemed forever before the carriage reached the new Regent
Street.

They crossed the broad avenue at Maddox Street near Hanover Square, and the way was suddenly
smoother, the traffic lighter.

"Why Greek Street?" Johnny burst out. They had ridden in a silence punctuated only by Maggie's
groans.

Jean, thus addressed, set her jaw. "It was a lark."

That be damned for a tale,
Johnny thought resentfully. He took a calming breath. "When I
reached Bond Street, the jarvey I hailed said you had given him an address in Greek Street then spurned his
services when he tried to warn you that it was a low neighbourhood."

Jean sat up. "Warn us! He insulted us...me. He was extremely rude."

"And extremely right," Johnny snapped. "I want to know what took you to Greek Street, of all
places. If Davies--"

"It was my idea of an adventure," Jean insisted. "We were tired of being pent up and escorted
and spied upon." Her grey eyes flashed.

Johnny winced.

"So we decided to dress in disguise and explore London."

"But why Greek Street in particular?"

"We'd never seen it."

"You've never seen Billingsgate, either. I repeat, why Greek Street?"

"Why not Greek Street? Mr. Lawrence lived there. It was very interesting." Jean burst into
tears.

"Let be, Dyott," Colonel Falk interposed. "This is not the place to be cross-examining
witnesses." He handed Jean a clean handkerchief.

The hackney swung onto Grosvenor Street. Jean sniffled. Johnny fumed in silence. At last they
entered the Square and the jarvey drew up before the Conway town house. The butler and two footmen
were at the carriage door instantly and Johnny could see Lady Clanross, her hands clasped, watching from
the foyer.

Colonel Falk got out first. "Quietly, gentlemen, if you please. Lady Margaret is unwell."

The butler helped the bedraggled Jean down, then took Maggie in his arms without betraying
curiosity or in any way impairing his dignity. Flanked by the two impassive footmen, he bore Maggie up the
stairs and into the house in stately parade.

Johnny slunk after like a dog following a regimental band.

* * * *

Elizabeth sent for Anne's discreet practitioner at once and bundled Maggie into bed. Jean
hovered. Maggie moaned and muttered and complained of the headache--and no wonder. The knot on her
skull was large as a hen's egg.

Mercifully, Dr. Stroud responded within the half hour. He accepted Elizabeth's explanation--Jean
and Maggie, escorted by Johnny and Colonel Falk on an expedition to the Tower, had been set on by the
Mob. It was a thin story and Elizabeth hoped it might not embarrass the two men excessively. The physician
tut-tutted, and gave Maggie a paregoric draught when he had assured himself that she was not seriously
concussed. Finally, sponged clean and tucked into a fresh night rail, Maggie fell asleep.

Dr. Stroud examined the bruise on Jean's arm, and the bruises and blisters on her feet, and
prescribed bed rest. Jean was inclined to resist, but she finally lay down on the daybed in the girls' dressing
room. When Elizabeth returned from showing the physician out, she found Jean sound asleep.

Balked for the moment of an explanation, Elizabeth sought Johnny Dyott. She had not far to seek,
for he was hovering in the first-floor hallway, looking miserable. She led him into her small withdrawing
room.

He was inclined to be remorseful.

Elizabeth said kindly, "My dear Johnny, it's not your fault. Indeed, I'm grateful to you for
following after them so promptly. What a miracle you found them at all."

He explained about the spurned jarvey and Greek Street.

"I see."

"I cannot understand their presence in Soho. Unless Davies put them up to it."

"Up to what?"

Johnny buried his head in his hands. "I've no idea. Lady Jean insists they were out for a lark, that
it was her idea."

Elizabeth felt her mouth curl in an unwilling smile. "The scheme certainly has the earmarks of
Jean's invention."

"But why Greek Street? I could have sworn she and Davies had no opportunity to contrive a plot.
I have been remiss..."

"Johnny," Elizabeth interrupted, "I'm the twins' sister. If anyone is to blame it is I. I should have
had their confidence. Let us hear no more of your responsibility. As I know to my cost, when my sisters
make up their minds to a course of action, they are neither to hold nor to bind."

"If you say so." He looked doubtful.

"I do. Now, if you please, a plain account."

Johnny told his story with reasonable despatch. When he came to the point at which he lost sight
of the girls in the whirling crowd, the hair stood up on Elizabeth's neck. The twins had indeed had a narrow
escape.

"I couldn't reach them," Johnny concluded with obviously unfeigned distress. "I have never felt so
powerless. I should have been able--"

"No should-have-beens," Elizabeth reminded him. "Well, Greek Street remains a mystery, but
neither you nor my sisters could have foreseen that the Mob would sweep through at that moment. I am
glad you were there, Johnny, and I hope your leg has suffered no harm."

He flushed. "It aches a bit but I'm sure it will be all right."

"Then go rest it and be sure. I've sent for Tom, and I know he'll want your account of today's
adventure, but indeed, Johnny, you are not to blame yourself. I particularly admire your discretion."

"That was mostly Colonel Falk."

"Then I must thank him as well. Go rest your leg," she said again, rising when he showed a
disposition to repeat his apologies. She hoped he would someday outgrow his exaggerated sense of
responsibility. It was a trait he shared with Clanross, endearing, on the whole, but occasionally
exasperating.

She found Colonel Falk in the book room.

He was stooped over the escritoire, writing, and straightened as she entered, laying his pen aside.
"Lady Clanross."

"Colonel."

"I trust the sawbones was satisfied with Lady Margaret's condition." He pulled a chair for
her.

Elizabeth sat. "He seems t think she'll survive. Do you always write standing up?"

"Only when I want to use my right hand as a paperweight," he said coolly.

Elizabeth bit her lip, chagrined to have been so tactless. "I beg your pardon. It must be difficult--"
She drew a breath and started over. "I've sent for the sherry tray, sir. After the alarums of the day, I find
myself in need of a composer. Perhaps you will join me in a glass."

He inclined his head, eyes wary.

"I have to thank you for your good offices today."

"Glad to be of service." He seated himself in the companion chair. Between them on the hearth
stood a vase of spring blossoms. The scent was rather heavy.

"How in the world did you happen to come on the scene so conveniently?" Elizabeth asked,
unable to restrain her curiosity.

"I was gawking at the rioters like everyone else." He smiled slightly. "I delivered a chapter of my
manuscript to Murray in Albermarle Street, and I had some time to while away before meeting my solicitor
in the City. So I decided to browse the bookstalls. When the Mob began to gather, I prudently retired to a
doorway out of the range of flying brickbats."

"Then it was chance."

"The purest coincidence, Lady Clanross. The sort I shouldn't dare use in a novel."

Elizabeth smiled. "Life being stranger than fiction--"