Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1

by Lively, Padgett

  She ran to the dressing room door and flung it open. Wu’s cot was empty. The blankets were thrown back hastily. Running through the dressing room, she opened the other bedroom door to find Fancy sleeping peacefully.

  Back in her bedroom, Odette leaned over the supine figure of her friend and hissed, “Cara. Wake up.”

  Cara propped up on her elbows and looked at her groggily. “What? It can’t be morning.” She plopped back down and turned over on her side. “Go away.”

  Odette shook her. “Cara, get up. There’s someone in the garden.”

  Cara sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Someone in the garden?”

  “More than one, I think. And Wu is not in his bed.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We go down and take a look,” a voice said firmly from the dressing room door. Both women turned to see Fancy standing with a fireplace poker in her hand.

  She looked vulnerable even holding the heavy piece of iron. The short, rumbled hair framed her pale face and her petite hourglass figure was covered in a simple cotton nightgown. Yet her fierce expression left little doubt that she was perfectly capable of bashing someone over the head with a poker. Odette grabbed the other poker from their small hearth and handed Cara the heavy silver candlestick from the dresser.

  They gathered quietly on the landing. Hearing no sound from below, the women crept cautiously down the staircase. Odette led the way with the other two close behind, their various implements at the ready. In some part of her brain Odette registered the absurdity of the situation. Her subconscious gave a spurt of laughter as her hands tightened on the poker, remembering all too vividly the nightmare carriage ride with the wounded Fancy. She noted for the first time that none of the stairs creaked and gave silent thanks to the late staymaker for not skimping on the tradesman’s quarters.

  Like children playing choo-choo train, they shuffled down the short hallway. They had barely reached the sitting room door when a crash from the dining room split the silence and sent them running toward the noise. Odette stopped at the threshold trying to comprehend the rapidly paced action in the small, darkened room. The large wooden hutch had toppled over, and a sprawled figure lay face down beneath it. Wu was on the table dancing just beyond the reach of a sword wielded by a large masked man.

  “Get back!” Wu yelled. “Get back upstairs!”

  But his plea fell on deaf ears as Fancy rushed into the room swinging her poker. She slashed viciously at the man’s booted legs but missed. Odette gasped and moved frantically to intercept his downward thrust toward Fancy’s exposed side. Her whole body vibrated with the impact of his sword on her upraised poker.

  Fancy scrambled out of range. Odette knew she could never lift the poker fast enough to ward off another blow. Wu was quicker than either she or the unknown assailant. His foot swung out and with amazing force struck the man full in the face. A loud crack followed by an agonized groan was evidence that Wu’s blow had caused significant damage. The man dropped his sword arm and covered his nose with his free hand. Blood flowed profusely from between his fingers.

  Wu feigned toward him, but his sword quickly rose again. Venom glittered out from the eyes behind the mask. Odette knew that wounded though he was, the man was still very dangerous. The stand-off stretched on for several seconds until suddenly the man stepped back and plunged his sword into the inert form of his trapped comrade. He then leapt over the wooden hutch and ran out into the night. Wu ran after him disappearing like a ghost into the mist.

  With a loud clang, the three women dropped their weapons as one and ran to the mortally wounded man. Cara and Fancy lifted the hutch just enough for Odette to wedge a stool under it. They all gently pulled him from beneath the heavy piece of furniture. He groaned faintly as they turned him over. His eyes barely registered their presence and his jaw worked as if he were trying to speak. Odette leaned closer, but instead of words she heard his teeth grind together and a labored swallow. She stood back appalled as his body convulsed and foam issued from his twisted lips. The agonized spasms lasted only seconds. Finally his rigid muscles relaxed, and he lay motionless.

  The three women stood back open-mouthed and stared down at the inert form of the masked man.

  Stating the obvious, Fancy said flatly, “Well, it's for certain sure he's dead.”

  *

  Hershel Gordon surveyed the shambles. The small dining room appeared to serve more the purpose of sewing room and kitchen combined. Miss Mills’ materials were undisturbed, neatly stored in the cabinets along the inside wall. There were three doors. One opened out into the kitchen garden, another into the hallway, and the third into an ample pantry beneath the stairs. The large hutch was propped up on a small stool with broken crockery and glass strewn around it. Beside it lay the body of a man. He was large and heavily muscled with close-cropped blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

  When Hershel arrived shortly past dawn, the body was covered with a blanket. He had pulled the blanket back to reveal an unknown man wearing a mask of unusual design. He stood now turning the length of black silk over in his hands. It was a hood of sorts, fitted over the head with the mask reaching half way down the face. A long, narrow rectangle of material was cut out from temple to temple, allowing for complete range of vision. Two wide lengths of silk were ties that secured neatly at the back of the head. The silk was soft and heavy—an expensive mask for a common thief.

  He turned and walked the few short steps to the sitting room where the three women waited. They were disheveled and clearly tired, but Hershel had to admit that they made a pretty picture. Each was wrapped securely in a modest yet expensive dressing gown, silk slippers on their feet. He was surprised at the short tresses of the two younger women, an unusual, if strangely becoming style. They sat arrayed on the sofa and large armchair. The youngest one was drooping off to sleep.

  It was a lucky happenstance that he, or anyone for that matter, had been at the rotation office when the young Oriental boy had alerted Bow Street to this latest outrage.

  Hershel was one of the few runners to come to his profession with a relatively ample education. The son of a modest country vicar, he had inherited a strict moral code from his parents—yet another oddity among his fellow runners.

  It was this upright sense of duty that led him out every fortnight or so to patrol the streets. To check up on the beadles and night watchmen who served as very unreliable law enforcement during the evening hours. This practice endeared him to no one and earned him the nickname, the Minister.

  He cleared his throat and Fancy opened her eyes and sat up straighter. “The intruder appears to have broken his back from the weight of the hutch, had a sword driven through his heart, and ingested some sort of poison.”

  Three pairs of eyes looked back at him blandly. “You say he was one of two attackers.”

  Odette ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Wu had already given a detailed account of the night’s adventure before being dispatched to Lady Caroline’s with Odette’s regrets regarding their morning ride.

  “Yes, Mister Gordon, there were two. The other escaped after running his fellow through with a sword.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “I do.” Fancy perked up and Hershel saw Odette stiffen. “I think they’re a gang of thieves. A secret-like gang, you know, with them masks. And their diabolical overlord wants Miss Odette see, because she’s beautiful and talented and all. But so’s not to give up the gang, they all take some kind of oath not to be captured alive. I’m thinkin’—”

  “Thank you, Miss Fancy,” he interrupted. “An interesting theory. While I’m sure Miss Swanpoole can inspire passion in the breast of a diabolical thief overlord, I was thinking that perhaps she had something else they wanted.”

  Fancy sat up even straighter, a little taken aback. “So you think it’s some sort of secret-like gang?”

  “It is quiet obviously a ‘secret-like gang,’ Miss F
ancy. Thus, the masks.”

  “I keep nothing of great value here, Mister Gordon,” Odette answered, trying to gain control of the conversation. “My funds are managed by a solicitor.”

  “I wasn’t referring to material possessions but knowledge or information.”

  A warning shot of adrenaline coursed up her spine. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she replied with an impatient wave of her hand.

  “Really, Mister Gordon…” Cara stepped forward with her most captivating smile. “Is this the best time—”

  Barely glancing at her, he held up a hand for silence. His attention focused entirely on Odette. “No idea?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “That man in there is not a common thief. He’s a soldier, well-trained, well-fed and clearly committed to someone or something. This isn’t a gang but a private army. And since the King is the only one legally allowed to command an army, I would sure like to know who this one answers to.”

  “Well, obviously not to me,” she replied tartly.

  “The boy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your servant. An Oriental is unusual.”

  “Your point?” She shook her head. “You can have no reason to believe he is involved.”

  “Two seasoned soldiers attack this house with only three unarmed women and a boy to defend it. One lies dead, the other flees. I would believe anything at this point,” he pronounced with an edge of incredulity to his voice.

  She stared back at him speechless. What could she say? It was only hours earlier when she had learned Wu booby-trapped the house every night. Each entrance had its own specific ambush, trips, and wires.

  “Dust and Coal Fire, Wu!” she exclaimed after he returned with news that the second assailant had escaped on horseback. “One of us could have been killed.”

  “This is not possible,” he had replied calmly. “I set the traps late and release them before dawn.”

  “And if I was restless and wandered out into the garden…”

  “You could not do this without my knowledge.”

  Odette had cast her eyes heavenward. It was no use probing for answers. He would only intone serenely his close connection to the dust particle floating through the house or some such mystical rot that she had given up trying to understand it at all. Now she stood looking back at the Bow Street runner unable to enlighten him on why they had inexplicably not been murdered in their beds.

  A bustle at the front door momentarily relieved her from responding. Wu stepped silently into the room followed closely by Lady Caroline, Aamod, and an efficient-looking woman Odette had never seen before.

  Lady Caroline glided over to Odette and wrapped her in a sisterly embrace. “My dear, my dear, is there no end to the indignities visited on lone women in this city?” She stood back and looked over at Cara and Fancy. “You must all come and stay with me. At least until the authorities can make some sense of this terrible offense.”

  Odette darted a quick look at Wu who merely shrugged his shoulders. “No,” she responded uneasily, “we really couldn’t put you out like that.”

  Caroline drew off her gloves in a businesslike manner and smiled. “Odette, my house is huge and I’ve brought Mrs. Crawford to help pack up whatever you might need. It most certainly won’t put me out.”

  For a petite woman she made a commanding presence. Her gown was an exquisite robe a la francaise, the heavy orange silk shot through with vivid embroidery. The elaborate powdered wig was topped off with an enormous black crepe hat that barely fit through the doorway.

  “You needn’t worry,” she continued airily, “it would only be for a few days and then you can return. I, of all people, understand the need for independence.” She turned to look at Odette, her tone now devoid of all arrogant playfulness. “The important thing now is to safeguard the lives of all those you hold dear.”

  With Lady Caroline’s back to Hershel Gordon, he was not privy to the pleading look she now turned on Odette.

  He cleared his throat. “It might be wise, miss, to seek protection while we try to sort this matter out.”

  Lady Caroline turned around and directed her haughtiest gaze at the slight runner. Odette had to admire his composure when confronted with a member of the haut ton. He nodded politely but didn’t give an inch of ground. “It’s alright they stay with you, my lady, but I still have questions that need answers. And I won’t be put off.”

  Caroline tilted her head to one side, her full lips touched with a smile. “Mister…?”

  “Gordon, my lady, Hershel Gordon. Investigator for Bow Street.”

  “Mister Gordon, I have no intention of interfering with your work. On the contrary, I wish you the greatest success in unlocking the riddle of these attacks.”

  His eyes narrowed as he settled the strap of his leather satchel more securely on his shoulder. “Begging your pardon, my lady, if what you said there just might be a bit incongruent.”

  Chapter 24

  It was one of those summer evenings that made Gabriel long to strip off his waistcoat and roll up his sleeves. Sweat tickled his neck and slid down his back to plaster the linen shirt to his skin. He walked up Fleet Street toward the Strand intending to stop off at Simon’s lodgings. His desire for some friendly advice was intermingled with the need to relieve himself of his waistcoat for a few minutes.

  Gabriel wasn’t sure he’d find Simon at home. He had left the Middle Temple later than was customary. His uncle had tasked him with some last minute details of an unusual case involving a disinherited daughter and her aging father. It was a sad story that left him feeling mildly depressed. To shake it, he decided to walk the distance to Simon’s lodgings and then, with the support of his friend, visit Odette.

  A grin lit his face. Just the thought of her lifted his spirits and put a spring in his step. He looked so handsome and pleasant several ladies not of his acquaintance smiled and nodded in passing.

  After the ball he’d had a hard time tethering his emotions to the ground. His friends’ good-natured ribbing deflated his euphoria only a little. While he considered himself a man of the world, his experience with women was quite limited. Stolen kisses with young playmates and a two-year affair with the estranged wife of a noble client were his only real claims to romance.

  He wasn’t proud of the affair, but it had been a source of excitement and affection he had never known before. She had been older than he by several years. She was very lovely and very unhappy. Their clandestine meetings were infrequent, tinged with longing and sometimes desperation. He remembered well the urgency of their couplings. At first, with him, she seemed content and even joyful. But it never lasted. In the end their physical connection could not overcome the reality that a deeper, emotional bond was not possible.

  But with Odette anything, everything, was possible. He had held her in his arms and felt the future. Even the specter of Charles Drake couldn’t overshadow his optimism. They would find him out and rescue Odell. He imagined himself vanquishing her enemies. They would get married, she would stop dancing—

  “Gabe! You walked right past me!”

  Gabriel blinked and focused his eyes on Cyril’s face.

  “Good God, man! You still look besotted!” he expostulated.

  “My mind’s occupied with work,” Gabriel scoffed unconvincingly.

  Cyril rolled his eyes. “No man smiles like that thinking of ink and dusty old parchment.”

  “I’m off to see Simon,” Gabriel countered, changing the subject. “Join me?”

  “I’ve just come from there. He’s not home. Ouch! What the—”

  Gabriel had suddenly gripped Cyril’s forearm tightly.

  “Shhh. Not so loud,” he whispered furtively. “Look over there… next to the stationer.”

  Cyril peered through the crowd. “It’s just Graham and Sir Brandon, I believe.”

  “And Lord Winter,” Gabriel replied tightly.

  “Your—”

  “Yes.”

 
; Cyril looked again just as an elderly lady in a voluminous gown moved out of the way and saw that Lord Winter did indeed make one of their company. “So?”

  “He was with Charles Drake at the ball and now he’s with Graham and Sir Brandon.”

  “So?” Cyril replied again.

  Gabriel sighed in exasperation. “This Drake fellow’s been causing problems for Odette.”

  “Miss Swanpoole? What’re you talking about?”

  “Her brother mostly.”

  “She has a brother?” Cyril asked, thoroughly confused.

  Gabriel saw the men separate. Sir Brandon and Ethan moved in one direction and Lord Winter walked off in the opposite one. He released Cyril and hesitated uncertainly before following Lord Winter.

  “What are you doing?” Cyril asked.

  “I’m following him.”

  “Are you addlebrained? If you’re so interested in what they’re doing why not just ask Graham?”

  The street was heavily trafficked, so Gabriel had to weave his way through the throng. Cyril close on his heels.

  “I don’t trust him,” Gabriel threw back over his shoulder.

  “Ethan? What’s not to trust?”

  “I think he works for Sir Brandon.”

  “Sir Brandon?” Cyril’s tone sharpened. “You don’t mean a spy!”

  Lord Winter turned up the Strand. Gabriel and Cyril crossed the busy street to keep him in sight. “I’ve heard the rumors too, Gabe,” Cyril puffed, trying to keep up. “But Ethan? Why suspect him?”

  Gabriel quickly filled him in on the disturbance at The Ferrous Swan and Ethan’s interrogation of Odette and Cara.

  Cyril whistled through his teeth. “I say, that is odd. But still, hardly conclusive. He could have been headed to Hampstead for all you know.”

  Now on Haymarket, Gabriel stopped and looked around having temporarily lost sight of their quarry. “Do you see him, Cyril?”

  “For a dissipated old sot, he sure moves fast,” Cyril muttered. “There!” He pointed at a hackney on the other side of the street. “He’s getting into that coach.”