The Clarendon Rose (37 page)

“An’ ‘ow would I collect, then?
 
‘ow do I know ye wouldn’ send the Runners after us?”

Tina frowned, examining the tray in front of her.
 
Some kind of stew, a hunk of bread and a steaming liquid that she suspected was supposed to be tea but would lay bets on actually being smouch, a vile brew of used tea leaves dyed to look new then resold to the slop shops in these sorts of areas.
 
No doubt the meat in the stew would be thick with gristle and the bread would contain the small stones that were often added to flour to increase the weight.
 
But, she would need her strength, so she resolved to eat as much as she could manage of it.

“I will leave a sum of money for you at the townhouse.
 
Do you know where that is?”

“The family town’ouse or the duke’s?”

“The duke’s.”

He nodded.
 
“I know’t.
 
Pete ‘n I’s been keepin’ an eye on it on and off for a bit now.”

“You may pick up the money at any time, in complete anonymity.
 
Just say your name is Big Ned,” Tina said.
 
His gentleness brought to mind her childhood friend, who had taught her the ways of street fighting all those years ago.
 
She hadn’t thought about Big Ned in some time, but now she wondered what had become of him.
 
Probably not much good—taken by disease, a knife in the back or one of the other dozens of ways to die here in the slums.
 

The man beside her sighed.
 
“All right, I’ll do it.”

She looked up and finally saw his features.
 
For a moment, she drew in a startled breath, thinking it was Big Ned himself, but then she saw that no, aside from the pockmarked cheeks, this fellow bore little resemblance to her childhood mentor.
 

“Wot is it?”

She shook her head.
 
“For a moment you resembled… an old friend,” she said with a smile.
 
“But it was a trick of the light.”
 
Then, her smile widened further.
 
“Thank you so much.
 
If you think of another way for me to get the money to you, tell me and I shall do it.
 
But you have my personal assurance that you’ll be able to collect the money in good faith.”

After a thoughtful pause, Tina named a sum.
 

“Yer Grace,” he muttered, looking down.
 
“Aye, that’s more’n enough.
 
I would’a done it fer less.
 
Free, maybe.”

Tina shrugged.
 
“Take it and be well.
 
I would have offered more, but didn’t want Pete’s suspicions to be roused, for I expect this will remain between the two of us.
 
But if you would like more, you may have it.”

He shook his head.
 
“No indeed.
 
I feel like it’s too much already.”
 
He snorted.
 
“Yeah, an’ ye can be sure I won’ be tellin’ Pete about this.
 
‘e’d ‘ave me ‘ide, or ‘e’d try t’ take advantage a’ ye fer more money.
 
It would be wrong.
 
Wot we done ‘ere was wrong an’ I don’ care if we lose out on the ransom.”

She sighed.
 
“Well, I thank you for trying to set it right.
 
And as for the ransom—I begin to suspect that there wouldn’t have been one.
 
The more I think on it, the more I suspect that Mr. Fitzwilliam has been toying with my husband.
 
His aren’t the actions of one who wants money.
 
All his games point at the desire for vengeance, not profit.”
 
She hesitated, then decided to take it a step further.
 
“I would also suspect that he plans on doing away with me—and, possibly, the duke as well.”

Tina glanced up to see open horror in his expression.
 
“Gawd!
 
Tha’ Pete, wot’s ‘e got us into now!” he muttered, turning away from her to start pacing.
 
“Murderin’ a bloody
duke
.
 
An’ all this time, ‘e’s bin goin’ on about ‘ow our cut ‘a th’ ransom’d set us up real good.
 
No ransom, and murderin’ a noble.
 
Bloody ‘ell, if ye’ll mind me language, then, Yer Grace.”

“Of course,” Tina said, looking away from him to take a reluctant sip of her stew, which she now discovered was barely—if at all—above room temperature.
 
She choked on the taste, then set down her spoon, knowing that even one more mouthful and she’d be retching.
 
She pushed the bowl away from her so the smell wouldn’t trigger her gag reflex.
 
She’d have to be a lot hungrier than she was to choke a bowl of that stuff back.

The sound of someone walking up the stairs had them both straightening as they exchanged glances.
 
Tina let out a hard breath.
 
“See if you can get Pete to stand in front of the bed.
 
You stand in front of him and I’ll stand with my hands ready to be tied again.
 
Then, I’ll push you as hard as I can, while you’re blocking his view, so he doesn’t expect it.
 
Let yourself fall back into him, and I’ll run,” she murmured.

He nodded.
 
“Yeh, great.
 
An’ as you said, I’ll take my time recoverin’.
 
Maybe pretend like I banged sumfin’ when I fell.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.
 
“And one more thing...”

The steps had reached the corridor.
 

“Wot?”

“It may be best if you made yourselves scarce after this.
 
I don’t fancy Fitzwilliam will be too happy with you when he learns what happened.”

“Right.”

The footsteps were approaching the open doorway.
 
Tina tried to look helpless and afraid as Pete entered the room.
 
“Honestly,” she whimpered.
 
“I swear, there’s something there, on the bed.”

“I can’t see nufink.
 
Prob’ly jus’a rat,” said her co-conspirator.
 

“You must find it!” she said, raising her voice.

“’ere, keep yer voice down,” Peter said, glaring at her.
 
“Or I’ll give ye a wallop, I will.”

“Please, maybe you’ll be able to see it!”
 
Tina tried to sound teary and hysterical.
 
She made her breath quiver as she looked at him, her face contorted as if she were about to cry.
 
“Just check for me.”
 
She made herself remember how it felt to have little feet crawling up her body as she lay in bed.
 
She shuddered.
 
“If I have to go back and it’s still there, I swear I’ll scream and I won’t stop!”

Pete looked like he was about to slap her anyway, when her friend intervened.
 
“’ere, just do it.
 
‘o knows but the guv’nor might not like it if we rough ‘er up.”

Pete hesitated a second, then growled impatiently.
 
“Ye always was too soft, Stan.
 
Always thought so.
 
All right, all right.
 
I’ll ‘ave a look,” he said, walking over to the bed.

With the three of them in it, the room had become decidedly cramped.
 
Tina stood and took a deep breath.
 
It was now or never.
 
Stan gave her a quick nod.
 
He was in position, just between her and Pete.
 

Tina pulled back and shoved her weight against him. The two men collided and fell amid loud bangs, thumps and exclamations.
 
Tina rushed from the room, grabbing the door as she went and pulling it shut.
 
She could hear them shouting as she ran down the hall.
 
Then, grabbing the rickety banister to lever herself forward, she dashed down the steps, acquiring a few splinters in the process.
 
No time to pay them any mind—she darted through the common room below.

She caught the briefest glimpse of a few startled, bleary-eyed faces before she was out on the street, stepping squarely into a pile of fresh dung.
 
Shaking her foot, she slipped into the nearest alley and grabbed a piece of discarded paper, wiping the dung from her foot as best she could.
 
Couldn’t have it leaving a trail that would give her away.

After a quick glance that confirmed the men hadn’t yet emerged, she darted back onto the street and took the first turn she found.
 
Then another, using her childhood ability to keep a clear sense of direction in these warrens and prevent herself from sketching a circle back to the house she had escaped.
 
Once she thought she had gained enough distance, she slipped into an alley once more, gasping and trying to regain her breath.
 

For once, she was glad of her unmannerly ways—and of the fact that despite the dowager’s admonishments, Tina had loved to run through the fields and the forests surrounding the estate when she thought no-one was looking.
 
But, despite all those clandestine runs, this dash had taken its toll and she needed a few moments to recover.

Unfortunately, she was not to get them, for even as her breathing began to slow, two shadows stepped into the alley.
 
She looked up, wondering how they could have found her so quickly.
 
But it wasn’t the kidnappers.

“’ere, wot ‘ave we got, then?
 
A sweet ‘andful, and none I’ve seen ‘ereabouts, neither.”

“Ger, I don’t fink this is such a great idea.
 
Look at ‘er.
 
She’s dressed like Quali’y.”

“An’ what’s Quality doin’ in these parts, then?
 
Askin’ fer trouble’s wot I say,” said the first as he stepped into the alley.
 
“An’ found it too, sez I,” he concluded with a leer.

Tina straightened and tried to stare him down.
 
“I would suggest you desist, young man, or you will regret it,” she said in her roundest tones.

Her attacker just laughed.
 
Tina just managed to avoid a grimace as he took another step forward.
 
She wasn’t sure how much further back the alley went, but she had noted it was a dead end when she first darted in.

She allowed herself one step back, glad the passage was only narrow enough for one of them to approach at a time.
 
Her eyes darted over the man’s body, assessing his weak points.
 
She noted the hilt of a dagger peeping out from his belt, but he hadn’t thought to draw it.
 
Good.
 
He didn’t expect her to put up much of a fight.
 
She allowed him to step closer, forced herself to keep her hands by her side.
 
Tried to look helpless—like someone who wouldn’t even know how to begin defending herself.

One more step…
she thought, though she could already feel his sour breath on her cheek across the distance between them.
 
She could smell the ripeness of his body—dried, rank sweat, grime, and other odors she avoided identifying.

He stepped forward and grinned down at her through rotted teeth.
 
Grabbed her arms as he leered at her chest.
 
Tina swallowed.
 
Now!
she thought and brought her knee up to his groin.

He let out a groan and released her arms.
 
She grabbed his hair with one hand, trying to ignore the greasy, matted texture.
 
Pulling his head up, she shoved the flat of her palm against his nose, and felt rather than heard the moist crunch as it broke.
 
Blood flooded out, providing him with another, more lasting distraction and point of pain.

Hopefully that’ll keep him down,
she thought, even as she reached down and grabbed at the hilt of his dagger.
 
Then, releasing his hair, she slipped by him and shoved him with her body, so that he staggered a little further into the alley.

Now to deal with this other one before the first recovers,
she thought, her gaze darting over him.
 
He still seemed to be shocked that she would attack, but he was reaching for his own blade.
 
Tina dropped to the low crouch of the street fighter, which allowed her to retain a long reach, while minimizing the amount of body that was exposed for attack.

Before he reached his shiv, she slashed out at the hand, slicing his forearm then pulling back.
 
He yelped in pain, staring at her, wide-eyed.
 
She could hear movement from behind, so she risked getting in closer and plowed a fist into the soft flesh of his stomach, winding him.
 

Too late.
 
The man behind her had turned and grabbed at one of her arms.
 
She felt the press of his body against hers.
 
Without thinking, she raised her foot and smashed it hard into his instep, then elbowed him in the stomach.
 
He released her and she decided she’d best make a run for it.
 
The fellow in front of her was still recovering his breath, one arm dangling at his side, the other curled around his midriff.
 
She grabbed his loose hand and bent it backwards, hard.
 
He gasped in pain, his body moving to one side as she pushed.
 
Then, she was out of the alley.
 
Releasing his hand, she shoved him against his friend and spun around, poised to run.