Discouraged but never beaten, Charlie’s blood was up and he determined to grab this particular dilemma by the horns once more.
It was dark by the time he made his way to Blue Cross Street in Covent Garden, and there was a considerable crowd. The Colonel had gained the sobriquet of the Gentleman Gravedigger on account of his cut glass accent and the number of men who had been knocked out cold by his astonishing right fist. Charlie well knew it was only his own speed, being a much smaller and wirier fellow than the Colonel, that had saved him from suffering the full force of that terrible blow.
This time, having learnt his lesson well, Charlie waited until the Colonel’s bout was over and he was once more dressed and counting his winnings. This didn’t take long, as his opponent was big enough but lumbering slow, which Eddie never was, despite the size of him.
Charlie sidled closer, but kept enough space between him and the fellow’s fists to be on the safe side.
“Not you again!” the big man growled, green eyes darkening with anger at the sight of him.
“‘Fraid so, Colonel. You always said I was a bad penny, bound to turn up,” Charlie said, grinning at him.
“Will you get it through your head I’m not your dashed colonel,” the fellow said in frustration, pushing too-long, dirty dark hair from his eyes with a scarred hand. “Pity the poor blighter who is, though,” he muttered.
“Pity the poor blighter who is, though,” Charlie mimicked, making a mock of the man’s precise and clipped manner of speech. “Who exactly are you, then, sir?” Charlie demanded, taking a hurried couple of steps back as the big man seemed to take exception to his mockery. Devil seemed to have gained a shocking temper since Charlie had known him.
To Charlie’s relief, the big man frowned at that, but rather than answer him, he simply turned on his heel and strode away.
Charlie ran after him. “Coward, are you now, sir?” he asked with little regard for his personal safety; he was doing this for the fellow’s own good, after all. Still, he quailed as the Colonel turned to stare at him, his piercing eyes full of murder.
“What ... did you call me?” he asked, his voice soft and yet full of menace.
Charlie swallowed but stood his ground, standing to attention and saluting. “Corporal Charles Davis, reporting for duty, sir!” he barked, praying the gesture would spark some memory, however well-buried it might be.
For a moment, he thought it had worked, for instead of committing murder as he’d clearly wanted to do just moments earlier, he just stared at Charlie with an expression of such pain that Charlie could hardly bear to look at him. But to no avail: as quickly as it had been there, the pained look was cast off.
“You’re clearly insane, you poor devil,” the man said, though not unkindly. He reached into his pocket and lobbed him a coin that Charlie caught before it fell in the mire at their feet. “Now get out of my sight,” he growled, and strode away.
Charlie cursed and thrust the coin into his pocket. “I must be bleedin’ insane an’ all,” he muttered to himself, and set off in pursuit.
***
Violette clutched her cloak around herself and wondered if she had really, truly, lost her mind this time.
Coming to London alone in the first place had been an idiotic thing to do. She knew that it had. But she had done it on the spur of the moment, filled with such desperate emotions she thought she may well have been slightly unhinged, temporarily at least. At least she had believed it had been temporary. Now, hurrying once more through the filthy streets, alone and unprotected, she wondered if the shock she’d suffered had done lasting damage.
Only she knew what everyone was facing. She knew the true face of evil, for she had looked into the cold blue eyes of Lord Gabriel Greyston and seen it there.
Eddie had always warned her to stay away from him. As a foolish child who had only ever seen the man at a distance, she had created a wicked monster in her mind, some mad villain from a Gothic novel. It had long been rumoured that madness ran in the Greyston family, and it was often an insult that was thrown in Gabriel Greyston’s direction, though never within his hearing. He’d done nothing to dispel the rumours, either, as far as she knew. But as she’d grown a little older and come across him closer at hand, she had instantly recoiled and wondered if her childish imaginings had more than a grain of truth. There was something in his eyes that she could not like, some way of looking at her as though she was a possession he meant to lay his hands on, by fair means or foul.
Whilst Eddie lived, he had protected her. Gabriel was not welcome at Winterbourne and none of the staff would ever have admitted him, and even such a one as Lord Gabriel Greyston would not have acted with such depravity as to force entry, especially when she was barely out of the school room. But when Eddie had been taken from her by the war, or so she was told, Lord Gabriel Greyston, had, somehow, as next of kin, become her legal guardian.
Damn Eddie, for not making other provision for her when he knew what the man was capable of. But Eddie had had an unshakable belief in his own immortality.
“Don’t worry, Vi,” he’d called to her, as he rode away that last day. “You’ll see me again. Bad pennies always turn up!”
Well, as it happened, he was right. But Violette had lived the last two-and-a-half years in terror of Lord Gabriel Greyston, always on her guard, never allowing herself to be in a position where she was alone with him. Violette knew his intentions only too clearly and she wasn’t going to fall in with them, not at any price. No. She wasn’t going to allow him to take what was hers, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to take Eddie from her a second time. Gabriel Greyston believed the story that had been brought to him, though, just as she had. Though she had been overjoyed and hard pressed to keep silent, crouched and listening at the door of his office, Gabriel Greyston had been beside himself with fury. She’d known then that Eddie was in terrible danger.
Eddie was alive and living in the slums of the city, and she had to find him.
Why he’d abandoned her and everything he was entitled to, well, she just didn’t know. But she would find out. There would be a reason, of that much she was certain.
So until Eddie could prove who he was and that he was the rightful Marquess of Winterbourne, and Gabriel Greyston no better than a common grave robber she had to keep him safe. Somehow, Violette would find him and warn him and ... and they’d run to ... to Scotland or France or ...anywhere, if they had to. Far out of Lord Gabriel Greyston’s clutches, at least.
Violette pulled her cloak tighter and shivered. Fear prickled down her skin as she thought she heard footsteps behind her. Putting up her chin, she scolded herself for being hen-hearted, and quickened her step.
By the time Violette made it to the filthy little slum that Jenny had presumably lived in, she was trembling and sweating in equal measure. She had buried herself in her dark cloak, keeping her face hidden, but had still experienced an unpleasant run in with a drunk who had tried to drag her into an alley. Thank God he’d been too inebriated to overpower her, but she was badly shaken and wishing more than anything to return to the safety of Lord Falmouth’s home. More than that she wished to see Aubrey again, to see his warm smile and to beg him to believe that she wasn’t ungrateful. She was afraid, though, afraid of what Gabriel Greyston would do if he discovered who was helping her evade him.
She ran into a mean little brick building and hurried down a filthy corridor, holding her breath against the stench of unwashed bodies and desperate poverty. Hearing footsteps clattering down a narrow flight of steps, she looked up and exclaimed upon seeing a friendly face.
“Jenny!”
“Violette!” Jenny froze, the shock on her face almost comical. “Well, I’m buggered,” she said, her eyes frank with amazement. “‘Ere I was, wonderin’ how the devil I could get word to ye, and ‘ere you are!”
“Is it Eddie?” Violette demanded, catching her breath and hardly daring to hope.
“Aye,” she nodded. “Well, k
ind of, anyhow. You’d best come up.”
Violette lost no time in following the young woman up the steps and into a dingy, narrow space that seemed to serve as Jenny’s home.
Violette repressed an exclamation of dismay at seeing the conditions that Jenny and her baby lived in, and turned her attention instead to the man sitting on the edge of the bed.
He got to his feet, staring at her in appalled shock and blinking at Jenny.
“Who’s this?” he demanded, his foxy face full of suspicion.
He was a short man, not much taller than Violette, and wiry with it. Perhaps fortyish and full of repressed energy as though he might dart from the room at any moment. He also looked like he’d suffered a terrible beating.
“Calm down, Charlie,” Jenny soothed, moving to pick up her baby, who had begun to cry at the disturbance. “This is the lady what I told you ‘bout. The one lookin’ for Eddie.”
Violette gave a start of delighted surprise as she remembered the name that Aubrey had given her, of Eddie’s soldier servant. “Are you Mr Davis?” she exclaimed, crossing the tiny space and staring at him with wide eyes.
“Aye,” he said, glowering at her. “And who might you be?” he demanded, his dark eyes full of suspicion.
“I’m Violette,” she said, beaming at him. “Violette Greyston, Edward Greyston’s sister.”
Charlie stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment for a moment before exclaiming. “Lady Violette! Good God in ‘eaven, what the devil are you doing ‘ere? If Eddie knew he’d ... he’d ...
“He’d lock me up and throw away the key,” she said with a wry smile. “Yes, I am aware, Mr Davis. But I’m afraid that he’s in the most terrible danger.” She moved closer and gripped his arm in a terribly unladylike manner, but she had to know. “Have you really seen him? He’s really, truly alive?”
Charlie nodded, though his face was grim. “I seen ‘im alright, but the blighter don’t remember who ‘e is. I seen it afore after a battle. Might’a been a knock on the ‘ead, maybe just the shock of it all. Takes a fellow strange sometimes, you see.”
Violette’s knees felt all at once as though they couldn’t hold her and she was forced to sit, moving rather heavily to the bed and putting her head in her hands. “Forgive me,” she muttered, taking a breath as she was smothered in a heavy sensation of guilt. “I ... I couldn’t understand before. Why? Why all this time he’s left me alone. When I heard he was alive, I was so happy and ... and so very angry! I was angry he’d left me behind. Oh, poor, poor, Eddie.”
Charlie shifted from foot to foot, casting beseeching looks at Jenny who was too occupied with the baby to notice. “Now, now, Miss ... er, your ladyship ... You weren’t to know,” he said, looking awkward and utterly miserable at the idea she was going to cry.
Violette was made of sterner stuff, however, and simply took a deep breath to calm herself. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I did know. I knew something was wrong. I always knew. But now we shall put it right.” She looked up at Charlie who seemed to be eyeing her determination with cautious approval. “Lord Gabriel Greyston means to see him dead.” She saw her words came as no surprise to Charlie, who nodded.
“Aye. Reckon it was a couple of ‘is thugs what cornered me tonight,” he said, touching a finger to his blackened eye with obvious trepidation. He sucked in a breath and let his hand fall again. “I was followin’ Eddie meself, see, when I saw ‘em. I distracted ‘em to draw ‘em off, but the poor fool don’t realise ‘e’s in danger. An’ if they found ‘im once, they’ll do it again. It’s the second time I’ve ‘ad a run in wiv ‘em already, and I don’t fancy me chances of escaping the blighters a third time.”
Violette leapt to her feet with a gasp. “Then there’s no time to lose!” she cried as fear for her brother clasped her heart in its cold grasp. “We must warn him.”
Charlie nodded but his face was grim. “I ‘ave warned ‘im, but ‘e won’t listen. An’ I’d warn ‘im again an’ all, but I don’t know where ‘e’s holed up. Always was a slippery devil. Kept ‘im alive durin’ the war, too. Mightn’t be so useful a skill now, though.”
Violette sighed with frustration. “Well, if you can’t find him, perhaps they can’t, either?”
The fellow gave a snort and shook his head. “They’ll find ‘im soon enough. He’s been fightin’, see, bare knuckles. He’s set to fight again at Blue Cross Street, tomorrow night.” Charlie narrowed his eyes at her, his face considering. “You got any money, then? ‘Cause if you ‘ave, might be I could hire a bit o’ muscle to back me up. That ways I might ‘ave a chance to get him away afore they can do for ‘im.”
Violette fumbled under her cloak to reach the place she had secured the money she’d stolen from Lord Falmouth with a slight twinge of guilt. She would pay the man back, she reasoned, once Eddie was safe. At least she’d learnt not to wander alone carrying all her money in her reticule.
She grasped the roll of notes and thrust it out to the man who gasped, eyes wide. “Bleedin’ ‘ell!” he exclaimed and then reddened. “Beggin’ your pardon, lady, but put that away.”
“But you need it!” she replied, perplexed.
“Aye,” Charlie said, looking strangely insulted. “Not all that, though.” He stood, looking thoughtful for a moment, before demanding an amount that was a bare fraction of the money she had with her.
“Is that enough?” she asked, anxious that he should be able to hire the whole army if he needed to, but Charlie just gave her a curt nod.
“Plenty,” he replied with a satisfied smile. “Now then. We must see about getting you back somewhere safe. God knows what Eddie will say when ‘e comes back to ‘is senses and finds you wanderin’ the Dials alone. Be enough to turn the blighter’s ‘ead again, t’will.”
Before Violette could make any objection to this plan, there came a fierce hammering on the door and a man’s voice shouting for them to open up.
Jenny shrieked, and the baby wailed with alarm as Charlie strode forward, pushing the two women behind him.
“Stay quiet and don’t move,” he said in an undertone before calling back.
“Who goes there?”
Chapter 9
“Wherein feelings run high.”
“There,” Tommy said, gesturing to of a row of identically appalling brick structures that lined the narrow, filthy street.
Aubrey looked the place over with disgust. “Yes, I can see how you’d believe I would allow my son to be raised in such circumstances,” he muttered, not bothering to hide from his friend the bitterness he felt..
“Oh really, Aubrey,” Tommy said, his face full of distress. “I’ve apologised already, and I do most profoundly beg your pardon. But you must allow that it was dashed odd, the things you said, and ... and everything that’s happened.”
“Yes,” Aubrey snapped. “And far be it from me to expect my friends to have my back.”
“Oh now,” Tommy remonstrated, his usually mild face darkening with something close to anger. “Coming it too strong. We might have reproached you to your face, but it’s not like we allowed anyone else to say such things!”
Aubrey let out a sigh and shook his head.
“I suppose,” he allowed, though with little grace. “Let’s say no more about it.” Terror at the idea of Violette alone on the streets around the Dials was making him devilish prickly. It had taken him far too long to realise that she might have sought out Jenny once again, and to go and enlist Tommy’s help to find the address. Tommy, only too pleased to be given a chance to redeem himself, had insisted on accompanying him and his cousin, and Falmouth’s men.
Aubrey and Tommy waited for Falmouth to catch up, as he’d stopped to give his motley crew of - well really, they could only be described as pirates - a raft of instructions which they set off to fulfil with respectful nods. The biggest man (if man you could call him, as he looked like he’d been sired by a damned giant) stayed behind and at his employer’s elbow.
“In here,”
Aubrey called, his patience all used up as he entered the building. To his annoyance, the giant pushed past him and began taking the stairs three at a time. “What the devil!” he exclaimed, flattening himself against the crumbling wall in an attempt to avoid being crushed.
Falmouth snorted with amusement. “Sorry,” he said, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Mousy hasn’t been out much of late, this is the most excitement he’s had in weeks.”
“Mousy?” Aubrey echoed with disbelief, though Falmouth ignored his indignant expression and simply nodded.
“He’s finding married life a tad restricting,” Falmouth said with a slight smile. “If he doesn’t get to break someone’s head soon, he’ll be quite unbearable, I assure you.”
Aubrey followed the giant up the stairs as fast as he could. “He does know it’s a lady we’re looking for?” he demanded in alarm as Mousy began to hammer on the door.
A female shriek of alarm and a familiar squalling sound made it clear that the room was occupied, and then a man’s voice rang out.
“Who goes there?”
Aubrey ran forward, scowling at the giant who scowled right back. “Jenny, are you there? It’s Aubrey Russell.”
“Aubrey!”
The sound of his name spoken with such surprise and happiness and by the person who had occupied every waking thought since he’d met her was a profound balm to his growing terror. So much so that Aubrey almost cried out with relief.
“Violette?”
The door opened and he paused as the man on the other side of it stared at him with suspicion and then with growing apprehension as his eyes fell on the giant at his back. Aubrey suddenly saw why Falmouth should value the brute so very highly.
Before Aubrey could voice any of the questions crowding his tongue, Violette had pushed past the fellow, her eyes glittering with excitement.
“Aubrey, this is Mr Davis! Mr Charles Davis,” she added, seeing his momentarily blank expression. “He’s seen Eddie!” These innocent words were spoken with such undiluted joy that Aubrey knew his own hopes had been utterly foolish. Whatever the relationship between Violette and the mysterious marquess, she clearly loved him. The impoverished son of a mere baron was never going to present much of a challenge against such a noble and heroic fellow, after all.
Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell Page 8