Hawthorne offered her his arm. What else was she supposed to do, other than take it and allow him to go with her?
Chapter 19
Luke was out of breath when he finally arrived at the rundown bar. In front of the Red Rooster Inn he looked around for the Evesham’s coach, but he was not surprised when he did not see it. It was highly unlikely that Felicity would have taken her father’s carriage. There was also no hackney to be seen. He instantly hoped with all his heart, that she had stayed home in the safety of her parents’ house.
All right then, he thought, and kicked open the door. The smell of spilled ale and worse surrounded him immediately. He saw the staircase leading up to the next floor and almost slipped in a puddle of indefinable origin.
“Hey, you toff,” a man yelled at him, who, judging by his clothes, was a sailor. “What do you want here?” At least that was the interpretation that Luke’s head gave to the blurred words that came out of the drunk’s mouth. “There’s no room here for the likes of you!”
“You’re mistaken,” Luke replied. Giving the man a coin and hoping for his silence would be futile, he suspected. The drunkard was looking for trouble, for a fight even – that much was obvious. However, Luke was already late, and could not use a stir now. So he lashed out, blew a hook to his chin and watched as the man rolled his eyes and crashed to the ground with a loud thump. “Anyone else?” he asked with mock nonchalance, looking at the other men who had turned around to stare at him.
“Serves him right, that old grouch,” one of them muttered, already half-risen from his seat, and sat back down. One after the other, they turned away from Luke. He stepped over the unconscious man and searched for the innkeeper in the smoke. There he was, behind the bar, pushing an ale towards him; it still had foam on the top of it – it had to be freshly drafted. The man behind the bar grinned. Luke forced himself to return the smile and emptied the glass in one gulp, although he really did not feel like it. To refuse, however, would be to endanger the respect he had earned through his valiant punch. Much to his surprise, the ale tasted good, perhaps the best he had ever tasted. When he said that much to the innkeeper, a wide smile split his weathered face.
“Home-brewed,” he declared, “... by my brother-in-law in Kent. You can’t find better anywhere in London, my Lord.”
“I would like to know if my… friends have already arrived,” Luke said, looking up. “A lady and her companion rented a room here.”
“You’re expected?” The innkeeper’s eyes had narrowed mistrustfully. That was the punchline. Was the innkeeper a friend of the two? Luke decided to follow his gut. The way the man was staring at him did not indicate any particular goodwill towards his temporary tenants.
“Not… necessarily,” he replied.
The innkeeper nodded and waited, polishing one of the pitchers. It was a futile attempt, since his towel only made the pitcher dirtier than it was before. After what seemed like an eternity, he stopped, spat onto the floor, and continued talking. “If it wasn’t for the money they promised me, then I’d kick the two out,” he said and pulled his mouth. “They’re up to no good. Scum, that’s what they are.”
Greed for money was something Luke knew how to handle. He fished in his moneybag for three guineas and pushed one across the counter. Immediately, the innkeeper’s paw covered it and he pulled it towards him. “There are plenty more where that came from,” Luke confided to him. “But only if you guarantee that nobody bothers me up there, regardless of what happens… and if you answer me a couple of questions.”
“I’ll be glad when I’m rid of the them,” was the landlord’s curt reply.
“The two are expecting a young lady visitor. Has she arrived yet?”
“You talking about a scared young thing? Yes, she is here all right. Arrived and went up there about five minutes ago. Came together with the copper.” Once again, he spat on the ground, even more vehement than before.
Luke’s mind went on high alert. He was pretty sure that the innkeeper smelled a police officer a hundred yards against the wind. The only policeman he could think of – who Felicity was acquainted with – was the Bow Street Runner. Another coin changed hands. He briefly described Hawthorne and the innkeeper nodded.
Felicity must have confided in Hawthorne when Luke had not shown up. But how was that possible? She would not have had enough time to send a message to the Runner asking for his assistance. Either, Hawthorne had happened to drop by incidentally when Felicity needed him, or the whole thing was a frame-up with dimensions far larger than Luke had imagined. Now, extreme caution was required.
“Thank you,” Luke said, flashing the third coin before he let it slip back inside his coat pocket. “This one’s yours when I get back,” he said, and started to climb the rickety stairs to the upper floor. Maybe he better should have said, if I get back.
Hawthorne’s presence was like a splinter or an itch in a place that was impossible to reach. Why had he insisted on accompanying her? With every step, her disconcertment at his behaviour, grew. Inside the tavern, it was dirty, and noisy, and when she entered, the stench almost caused her to faint. How had she managed to come here alone in the summer? It must have been her state of mind then, she thought, and she felt Hawthorne’s harsh grip on her arm as he tried to find a way through the boisterous clientele. Back then, she had not had anything to lose. Today… it was different. There were people who loved her, who cared about her – and people she loved. Her sister, Rose, for example, and Annabelle, and Lord… her heart skipped a beat. Had she really just thought that she loved Lord Layton?
She felt warm, but it was a different kind of warmth to what she had experienced in the coach. This one felt good. Somehow, in a way that was hard to describe, it felt like a true emotion. Her love undoubtedly had something good about it – it filled Felicity with strength and with hope. Not all men were despicable. Some of them were worth loving.
At the stairway, she tried to shake off the detective’s grip one last time, and much to her surprise, he actually let go of her – but only to put his hand at the small of her back and push her up the stairs. Her heart beat into her throat. She wanted to shake off his hand but could not do it. Felicity needed whatever small strength she had left to get up the stairs, which opened up in front of her like the infinite stairway straight to hell.
Eventually they reached the top.
Even after a hundred years, Felicity would still have recognised the door behind which, a few months ago, her life, as she knew it, had come to an end. The notch on the left side of the frame was the same, the doorknob was still damaged, and there was a peep hole at eye level (for a man, of course). Mr Hawthorne wanted to push past her, but with a sudden surge of confidence, she simply raised her hand, knocked once, forcefully, and stepped into the room.
The nightmare reached out for her with its claws, but she shook them off.
Felicity’s gaze slid to the table and she saw – again today – a carafe of wine and two goblets standing on top. The similarity to her first visit to this room flooded dizzily into her head like alcohol, except that it did not fill her with warmth, but gave her a chill.
She felt the Bow Street Runner behind her. He laid his hands possessively upon her shoulders and pushed her deeper into the room. A man sat in front of the fireplace staring into it. Then she saw the woman who had approached her a few days ago in the forecourt of St Botolph’s. It was her, there was no doubt. Her appearance back then had not been a disguise to fool Felicity. Her hair was greasy and unruly, her entire body – this time, along with her face – was covered in dirt, and the stench that was oozing from her, had only worsened. Felicity tried to search her visage for something she recognised, something familiar, anything that would tell her how this rundown woman knew about her and the viscount. There was nothing.
“How did you know about me and Greywood?” Perhaps it was a mistake to reveal her involvement here and now, but at that moment Felicity did not care. She had to find out how the bl
ackmailers had gained their knowledge! She spoke as firmly as she could and purposefully ignored the man.
The woman turned her eyes away from Hawthorne and then nodded towards the table. “Sit down, Lady Felicity.”
Two glass goblets. Felicity swallowed hard.
She shook her head. “No, thank you. What I am about to tell you, I can do just as well standing up.”
The woman tilted her head sideways and smiled. “Don’t be so tense, dear.” She walked over to the table with insecure steps and poured the wine. One goblet she handed to the man who was still staring silently into the flames and did not move until she kicked him. The second goblet she carried over to Felicity, ignoring Hawthorne as if he did not exist. When Felicity did not react, the woman walked back over to the man, took his goblet, and handed it to her.
“Don’t worry. A sip of wine won’t kill you.” She now held the goblet she had first offered to Felicity. “If you don’t sit down finally and listen to what I have to tell you, I’ll get very impatient. You don’t want that, right?”
“Sit down,” Hawthorne whispered into her ear from behind. “I am right behind you. Listen to what she has to say. We will take it from there.” Although everything inside of her wanted to rebel, she followed Hawthorne’s instructions and picked the chair closest to the door. The Bow Street Runner sat down beside her. The woman took the seat across from them, whilst her accomplice remained motionless. He was almost eerier than the woman and Hawthorne put together. She wanted to set her goblet down inconspicuously, but the woman’s beady eyes followed her every move.
“I do not have the money,” Felicity began, watching the woman’s face change. Beneath the dirt and tangled hair, it was not easy to spot, but she thought she noticed first astonishment and then anger in her prematurely aged features.
“You’ll be sorry,” the woman hissed and glanced over to her accomplice. “You fool, I told you to write about the money right from the beginning,” she began to rant. A drop of saliva landed on Felicity’s cheek. Without taking her eyes off the woman, she wiped away the wet spot.
“Once in a lifetime, we have a chance to get some dough, and you mess it up!” At first, Felicity thought that the woman was speaking to her, but it was the man she was speaking to. “You stupid…” the woman called him something that shocked Felicity deeply – not only because of the choice of word, but mainly because of the utter contempt in her voice with which she addressed him.
“For once in our lives, we had the opportunity to make a bit of cash, and you ruined it all. As always. Why didn’t you ask for the money in the first letter, as I told you to?” It seemed as if she did not want to stop insulting him, and her speech began to lose its clarity, the longer she spoke. “You just had to drag it all out even longer than it should have been, ’cause you wanted to keep this silly goose here on tenterhooks. And what did it get you? Nowt.”
Felicity did not know what it was – the condescending manner in which the woman spoke to her, her having to relive her worst nightmare, or the fact that nobody here, apart from herself, had anything to lose – but something inside of her snapped. She stood up.
“I do not care what you do with your information. I will not pay you. Not only because am I not able to, but also because I do not want to.” Hawthorne got up as well.
The woman, whose name she did not even know, and probably would never know, opened her mouth to say something, but whatever it was, she decided otherwise. Her face was a picture of anger as she snatched the glass of wine that Felicity had rejected. She moved to stand beside the girl so quickly, that Felicity did not even have time to blink. With one hand, the woman grabbed Felicity by the chin. The dirty fingers bore mercilessly into her cheeks.
“Open your loud mouth, you dumb cow,” the woman spewed at her. Instinctively, Felicity pressed her lips together as tightly as she could, to the point where it hurt. At the same time, the man sitting by the fire suddenly came to life. He lunged for Hawthorne, who reacted too late. Felicity saw the two men fall to the floor in one heap of legs and arms, before they disappeared out of her sight.
The door swung open and crashed against the wall with a loud bang.
Felicity wanted to turn her head, but the woman’s hard fingers were still buried in her face, not allowing her the slightest motion. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Layton standing in the doorway like vengeance personified. He held his cane in his hand; his face was calm and colder than ice.
Then everything happened at the same time. Felicity heard a painful scream, as Lord Layton sped his cane into the woman’s arm, and a second later, her fingers were gone from Felicity’s now-bruised face. Next to her, Hawthorne lay stunned on the floor, rubbing his temple. His attacker jumped back onto his knees, reached into his jacket, and drew a weapon. She had just enough time to wonder how the man had come into the possession of a pistol, before Lord Layton pulled her down onto the floor with him. Immediately, he got back on his feet and also drew a pistol. It was loud – several shots were fired. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. A muffled noise came from where the male blackmailer had stood a few moments ago, as if a sack of wheat had fallen onto the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity saw the woman approach her. She staggered and held her right arm against her chest at an unnatural angle. Felicity saw the woman’s skirts, her shoes, and absentmindedly she noticed the scuff marks on her right toes, when the woman grabbed Felicity by her hair and yanked her up onto her feet. Felicity saw a flash of metal, and she immediately knew that she would lose, if she did not react.
Hawthorne and Luke stood in front of her, both with their weapons ready to shoot. Felicity lifted her foot and stomped down onto the woman’s foot as hard as she could. The moment the woman’s grip on her hair loosened, Felicity dropped to the floor. There was a shot... a scream.
She looked up, not sure if she had been the one who had just screamed. It was hard to see on the drab dress, but she thought she saw a bloodstain spreading rapidly. With an expression that was almost comical, the woman stared down at herself. Realisation flashed across her eyes, which now suddenly no longer looked cold, but above all, fearful. She raised her hand that was holding the knife, looked at it, and then dropped it.
It was over.
Chapter 20
Luke jumped towards the two women. His first concern was for Felicity, who seemed unharmed. She was pale and there were some bloodstains on her, but as far as he could see, the blood did not come from her. He reached out and pulled her to her feet. The Bow Street Runner was still standing in the same spot from where he had fired, staring at his hand that still held the weapon. “See if the man really is dead,” Luke yelled at him, not forgetting that there was another weapon in the room besides the knife he had kicked out of reach.
“Are you able to stand?” he asked. Felicity nodded, so he reluctantly let go of her. “Would you please open the window, for the gunpowder smoke to clear?” Luke watched her walk to the other side of the room, and he felt his heart pull into a knot. She was so small and delicate, but so incredibly brave!
He knelt next to the motionless woman and felt on her wrist for a heartbeat. He could feel a pulse, weak, but she was alive. That damned Hawthorne had been too quick with his weapon. Luke could not change the fact that the woman’s accomplice was dead, but he had no intention of letting this one get away with it. Death was too easy a way out, he thought, as he ripped a place in her dress to look at the wound. If only his brother had been here! However, Luke had seen enough injuries himself during the war, some of which he had attended to provisionally, and he was able to provide basic emergency care, at the least.
“Felicity, I need your help,” he said as he examined the wound. “The bullet has only grazed her, but her skin is wide-open and bleeding. Downstairs, one or two ladies must be around looking for customers.”
He had seen at least two obvious prostitutes as he had passed through the tap room. “Ask them for a needle and thread. If necessary, ask the innke
eper – maybe his wife lives here. Send someone to get a doctor. We also need brandy and water, as hot as possible.” He would do without a cloth. If necessary, his shirt would do, since it was certainly cleaner than any rag in this building.
He had hardly finished speaking, when she opened the door and ran down the stairs on nimble feet. Luke pressed his hand against the wound to stop the flow of blood. “Come on, stay with me.” he implored. The woman’s eyelids fluttered as Luke spoke to her. Behind him, he heard a sound and turned his head. It was Hawthorne, his facial expression impossible to read. He still held his weapon in his hand. Although it was not aimed at Luke, his instinct immediately took over. Slowly, so as not to provoke the Runner by a careless movement, Luke turned around to face him.
Hawthorne’s eyes were unnaturally dilated, like those of a man who had succumbed to opium, and his face was extremely pale.
“Put the gun down,” Luke said quietly and made sure that he sounded as casual as he could manage. “Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for your colleagues? I am sure that the innkeeper has already notified the magistrate, and that a guard will arrive any minute.” He held his breath.
Hawthorne blinked. “I am sorry… this is the first time I have shot somebody at close range. Not a pretty sight. I feel a little dizzy.” That was a plausible explanation, but most of all, Luke was relieved that Hawthorne’s empty stare had disappeared. The Runner began to move and walked out into the hallway.
Luke took a deep breath and listened. He heard the noise level from downstairs swell as a door was opened and closed again, but it was not Felicity who came back up the stairs. The Bow Street Runner had probably followed her, which filled Luke with a quiet unease. A gurgling cough drew his attention to the woman lying beside him.
The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy Page 39