Love's Harbinger

by Joan Smith

  “Oh, miss, you really shouldn’t.”

  Hard times demanded hard actions. “Do as she says,” Lady Lynne decreed, and it was done.

  At the Cranborne Arms, Maggie looked with little interest at the hackney cab drawing up in front of her establishment. Private carriages were preferable, and if they had a lozenge or strawberry leaves on the side, so much the better. It was time for her evening girls to be coming home, so the three female heads within caused no surprise. The alarm rose in her breast when she observed that two of the women were ladies. Very few ladies were so enamored of their husbands that they came scampering after them to the Cranborne Arms. In all her years of experience, it had only happened once to Maggie. Once was enough.

  She bolted to the front door to waylay them. “Ladies, can I help you?” she asked demurely, then turned a blistering glare on the hapless Millie.

  “Are you Maggie?” Lady Lynne asked.

  She adopted her most refined voice and said, “I am Miss Maggie Levine. What can I do for you?”

  “Tell us where you sent Mr. Delamar. It is a matter of life and death.”

  “What?”

  Millie jumped in, eager to diminish her employer’s wrath. “They don’t mean to do him no harm, Maggie. It’s just that Lord Thomas—well, Belle said he’s a mean one.”

  “The silly chit said nothing of the sort to me!”

  “She said it to us girls,” Millie insisted. “I’ll get her.” She ran into the house.

  Lady Lynne was curious to see the setup of such an establishment and followed her in against Maggie Levine’s most violent protest. It was a great disappointment. She had envisaged red and purple satin, incense burning, women half draped, and other such garish splendors. What she looked at was not much different from any elegant home but newer and in better repair. It was only the few light-skirts adorning the sofas that gave any idea that this was a house of ill-repute. The females were fully clothed but in much grander style than usually seen in the provinces. They were also prettier than most gels. There was much tittering and open-mouthed staring at the feminine intruders.

  Maggie herded the ladies into her office and sent for Belle. The girl entered nervously, fearing chastisement. It was clear at a glance that she was not a clever girl. The question had to be put to her a few times before she answered.

  “He was all right at first. It was only when he got into the second bottle that he hit me,” she said.

  “You’re supposed to call for help if you run into trouble,” Maggie told her severely. “Why do you think I pay three husky footmen to stand twiddling their thumbs all night long?”’

  “You get mad if there’s trouble!” Belle said simply.

  Faith felt an awful wrenching of pity in her chest, but time was flying, so she firmed her voice to discover more important items. “Did Thomas have a gun with him?”

  “He had a dandy silver-mounted pistol and said he had its twin in his rooms. Nobody was going to stop him, he said. When I asked him stop him from what, he said, ‘Never you mind that. That’s for me to know.’ Mind you, he was real bosky.”

  Faith looked fearfully at her aunt. “Thomas is a crack shot,” she said.

  “Give us the address you gave Mr. Delamar,” Lady Lynne demanded.

  She didn’t bother to write it down, and they returned at once to the carriage. Millie had become so engrossed in the affair that she went with them, and the others were so distracted they didn’t try to stop her.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked Lady Lynne, but it was Faith who answered her.

  “We’re going to warn Guy.”

  “He’s no flat. He’ll be expecting trouble. I think you should go back to your hotel, ladies. I’ll warn him for you.”

  Faith wore a faraway look as though she wasn’t listening. Her next question confirmed it. “How old is Belle?” she asked.

  “Seventeen, nearly.”

  “So young to be living a life like that.”

  “Crikey, I was fifteen when I started! I figure us girls with Maggie are lucky. We live in style. The gents ain’t allowed to beat us, we eat real good.”

  The shadows were lengthening, softening the harsh lines of Millie’s face. She looked not only pretty, but also not at all vulgar till she opened her mouth. “How did you . . . come to—to be a . . .” Faith stammered to a stop, but her meaning was apparent.

  “I was hungry,” Millie answered. “That’s all. I was in the kitchen at Bloeburn Hall, up north of here. They turned me off. I daren’t go home. Six mouths to feed—and my pa’s got a hard hand. I walked to Bournemouth and met a fellow in the Maze. I stayed with him for a week. He was real sweet, bought me a dandy new dress—silk! I was on my own for a while after he left. You don’t get the good customers that way. Sometimes you don’t get any. I spent a few nights at Mather’s hotel. It’s warm at least and the pap isn’t too bad. Maggie seen me hanging around the lobby of the theater, trying to pick up a gent, and invited me to join her crew. That was three years ago. I been there ever since. You don’t have to feel sorry for me!” she said tartly when she noticed the effect of her tale on the ladies. “I’m better off than most, I can tell you.”

  “You should go up to London, Millie, and throw your bonnet at a royal duke,” Lady Lynne advised her.

  “Coo, the likes of me?” Millie scoffed.

  “You haven’t seen the ugly dumplings they usually consort with. You put them all in the shade.”

  Millie frowned in perplexity. “That’s funny. Guy said you were such toplofty ladies. You’re not so bad.”

  Faith smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Millie.”

  The carriage turned on to Poole Hill Road, and Millie pointed out the row of flats ahead. “We’d best not drive up. We should get out and sneak up on foot. It’d be quieter.”

  “Yes, you do that, Millie,” Lady Lynne said. “Faith and I will wait here in the carriage.”

  “Auntie!” Faith objected. “I am going.”

  “That you are not, my girl. What would your papa say if I had to take a corpse home to him?”

  “And what would I say if it’s Guy who is a corpse because I hadn’t the nerve to warn him?”

  “It seems to me you’ve changed your tune since an hour ago when you were wishing him at Jericho.”

  “This is different,” she countered. “A matter of life and death.”

  More important to Lady Lynne, it was a matter of nabbing a husband, so she made no further protestations, for, of course, Thomas would not be gauche enough to kill a lady. The carriage stopped, and Millie made one last effort to stop Faith from going with her. It was overborne. The two girls climbed quietly out of the carriage and darted to the side of the street, to proceed in the shadows toward the row of flats across from St. Michael’s Church.

  “Guy’s carriage should be around here somewhere,” Faith whispered.

  “Lud, he wouldn’t leave it standing by to warn Thomas he’s here.”

  “That’s true,” Faith agreed. She remembered him telling her the same thing back in London. “I wonder where he is.’’

  “You’ll never see him. He learned sharp tricks in the Peninsula. He told me about it when he caught the smashers that were working here.”

  “You’ve known Guy for a long time, I take it?”

  “On and off for a few years, ever since I’ve been here.”

  “He . . . frequents Maggie’s establishment, does he?” she asked, trying for an air of detachment.

  “He might. He never used me, if he does. I met him at the roundhouse when Mather was trying to catch the forgers.” She drew to a stop and pulled Faith back by the elbow. She pointed to the top window in the east block and said, “That’s it, the flat Lord Thomas has.”

  “There’s no light on. I wonder if they’ve already left.”

  “The ship leaves at nine. Guy thought Lord Thomas would come for the money about eight, but he came earlier to be waiting for him. What time is it now?”

&nb
sp; Faith squinted at her watch. It was hard to read in the shadow of the trees. “Seven-forty-five.”

  “I bet Guy’s setting there in the dark with his gun pointed at the door. I pity Lord Thomas.”

  “Thomas can shoot the eye out of a pheasant in flight.”

  “Go on. Nobody could do that!”

  “Yes, he can.”

  “Lord Thomas will be cautious, too—expecting trouble, I mean,” Millie said pensively. “Maybe we should go into the building and creep up the stairs. If Guy hasn’t opened the door yet, we could warn him.”

  A terrible trembling shook Faith at the thought of such danger, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. “I’ll go, Millie. Thomas would never shoot me. I might be able to reason with him.”

  “He could be drunk as a skunk. I’m going with you.”

  “No, you stay here. Guy may not have gone in yet. We need someone to warn him if he comes along.”

  “Oh, miss, it don’t seem right, sending a helpless lady in there.”

  “I am not helpless!” Faith said loftily, and walked with trembling knees toward the door of the east block.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was like entering a tomb to step into the building. Faith’s heart pounded mercilessly in fear, and her knees turned to water. The only illumination was pencils of light coming from beneath the doors of the various flats. From beyond the closed doors, the homey sounds of family life wafted down the corridors. A piano was being played in one; a convivial conversation was punctuated by laughter in another. It seemed unreal that ordinary life continued not more than a few yards away. She felt her way to the bottom of the staircase. At the top of the first landing, a faint ray of moonlight penetrated to show her a turn in the stairs.

  She listened for a moment, and when no sounds came from above, she began her ascent—slowly, one step at a time. At every step, she thought her heart would burst. She quelled the instinct to turn and pelt back down to safety. Thomas might be there with his silver-mounted pistol aimed this very instant at Guy’s heart. She quickened her steps and nearly flew up the second flight.

  Once she had reached the top floor, she had to stop and take her bearings. Thomas’s flat was in the east corner, facing the street—but was that left or right? She tiptoed to a window at the end of the hall, and when she looked out at St. Michael’s, she knew the door nearest to her was the one she wanted. She took a step toward it, listened, and heard dead silence from within. Then she heard a sound from another direction. Someone was coming up the stairs. It was a slow, shuffling step—an old man or woman. She looked around for somewhere to hide. There was no place— just a door behind her and Thomas’s door in front. She leaned back in the shadowed recess of the former and it gave way. She quickly pulled it open and discovered a broom closet. She whisked herself inside, just as the newcomer reached the landing.

  She kept the door open just a crack and saw a man continue down the hall toward her. He wore the rumpled jacket of a laborer and a shapeless hat, pulled low over his eyes, on his head. His gait, while still shuffling, was rapid. Her first instant of relief was shattered when he kept advancing past all the other doors to the end of the hall. Good God, he was the janitor! He was coming to the broom closet. She would push the door in his face and run.

  She held herself tense to do this. The man stopped right in front of her door, looked around, and pulled out a key. At this close range, she realized he was a bigger man than she’d first thought. When he stood up straight to look around, she rethought his age. He wasn’t so old after all. After a short pause, he put the key in Thomas’s lock and entered the room. It was all a hum then, that Thomas was in this building. A misunderstanding had occurred somewhere along the line. She had to admit her first reaction was relief, pure and simple. No further show of courage was required of her. She could return to the carriage and . . . And what? Thomas was still at loose, and Guy was still chasing him.

  She left the closet and slid quietly into the hall. The old man had closed the door carefully behind him. It was strange he hadn’t turned on a light, but no pencil of light showed beneath the frame. While she stood, pondering this, she heard Thomas’s voice, and her spine stiffened. “What the hell!” was all he said, but it was enough. She’d know Thomas’s voice anywhere. He was in there with that old man, and she knew from the rough edge to his words that he was angry. Before she had time to figure out an explanation, a pistol shot rang out. There had been no other conversation. Thomas hadn’t waited to ask questions; he had just pulled out his pistol and fired.

  And suddenly she knew what it was about the old man that had confused her. It was the latent strength in his shuffle, the way he had straightened up like a young man before inserting his key in the lock. It was Guy! He had donned the disguise to fool Thomas into believing he was a harmless old man, but it hadn’t worked. Thomas had shot him, anyway—but was he dead or only hurt? In a blind panic, she put her hand on the knob to open the door, but was stopped by the thump of a body against the wall and the sound of voices. Not dead, then! Thank God he was still alive!

  “An old soldier’s trick!” she heard Guy say. His voice was silky, calm. “I thought you’d be the sort to shoot first and ask questions afterwards. You’re not dealing with babes now, Lord Thomas.” A mocking sneer emphasized the title.

  She pushed the door open and stared into the dark room. At the far side, there was a man sitting calmly in a chair, not moving. In the dim light from the window, she thought the man was dead, but her greater interest was in the other two. How was it possible that Guy spoke so boldly when Thomas had a pistol pointed at his temple? Another gun hung from his left hand. He stuck it in his pocket. She looked again, shaking her head in confusion, but confirmed that it was Guy, dressed in fustian, who was held at bay. Both men turned to stare when she entered. Somehow, in the few seconds she had waited, Thomas had secured the advantage.

  She didn’t hesitate a moment before taking a lunge at him. The men were thrown off balance by her entry and didn’t stop her. She reached for the gun in his right hand, and at this close range, she saw it was Guy Delamar she was attacking, his feline eyes glaring at her. A tiger looked tame compared to him. Without a second’s hesitation, he delivered a sharp blow to the side of her neck. It knocked the wind out of her and she fell to the floor. Then Guy spoke and confirmed that he was not the man in fustian after all. It was Thomas who had donned the disguise—Guy whom she had mistaken for him.

  “Sorry to strike a lady,” Guy said grimly. More than grimly; there was animal savagery in his voice. “You’d have done better to meet him on board, Lady Faith. Of course you’d have had to make the treacle moon alone, but that would be better than your fate now. Back to the roundhouse for you.”

  It was all much too confusing. Guy had hit her, and she doubted she could ever hold her head up again for the ache in her neck. From the floor, she looked aslant at the man in the chair. He must be dead—he still hadn’t moved. She looked at Thomas and through the shadows saw a scheming expression settle on his handsome features, only he no longer looked handsome to her. He looked dissipated and hagged and evil. His fustian coat robbed him of even the outer crust of a gentleman, and that was all he had ever had—the outer crust.

  “We can talk business, Delamar,” Thomas said. Guy gave him a disparaging look but didn’t interrupt. “Look, you’ve got the money . . .”

  “A spark of chivalry remains? Lady Faith’s freedom for you and the money—is that it? You must remember I am not at all noble in my sentiments, milord, but pray continue.”

  Thomas hesitated. “That’s not the deal. We split the loot. I take half and disappear; you keep the other half and don’t let on you ever caught me. A hundred thousand guineas—where else would you ever get so much money?”

  “Lady Faith and you continue the jaunt to America?” Guy inquired with mild interest.

  “That’s up to her,” Thomas said, and shrugged his shoulders in indifference.

  Faith tried to p
rotest, but her voice refused to form words.

  Guy uttered a sardonic laugh. “You’ll find it hard to believe, but I’ll have more than a hundred thousand guineas of pleasure from seeing you and your lady in the dock. You overestimate both my greed and my poverty. Move. Pick up the girl and walk very carefully out of here.”

  Guy picked up the valise of money, put the muzzle against Thomas’s back, and watched as he tried to gather Faith in his arms. It was too ghastly, having Thomas touch her. She shook his hands off and struggled to her own feet.

  “I can walk,” she said in a rough, unnatural tone caused by the blow.

  “A squabble in the love nest so soon?” Guy asked, and emitted a bitter little laugh.

  “Wait!” Thomas exclaimed. “We can still make a deal. You keep three-quarters of the blunt, Delamar. Just leave me enough to get out of sight. You know a lord will never be hanged. I’ll be tried by a jury of my peers—reprimanded—a few years in prison and that’s it. Prison isn’t so bad for people like me.”

  “Prison is the only place for people like you!” Guy countered.

  “I mean, we are allowed our creature comforts!”

  “I am very well aware of the inequities of our legal system. Don’t tempt me past endurance, Vane. I’m looking for an excuse to perforate your spleen.”

  “What difference does it make to you? You didn’t invest anything. You’ll still have your story, and a hundred and fifty thousand guineas to boot. You can say I got away with the lot; no one will be any the wiser. Your Mam’selle Ondit can fill a dozen columns with Faith’s repinings.”

  Faith cast one look of loathing at Thomas and rubbed her sore neck. Had she really once loved this groveling, conniving thief who was ready to throw her to the wolves to secure his own freedom?

  “Tempting, but I can resist,” Guy replied with a jeering lift of his brow at Faith. “Get moving, both of you, with Lady Faith in the lead,” he ordered, and Thomas at last moved out of the room, a muzzle nestled against his spine. “Don’t try anything, or you’re dead meat.”