by Sara Bennett
They stood still, waiting. The child was clinging to her, face hidden in her neck, and she could feel Lil hovering almost as close. Sebastian was in front of them, but she heard his breathing as he waited. Shakily, Francesca listened to the approach of the pursuers. Their running steps passed the gateway without even a pause, and quickly faded into silence.
“Thank Gawd,” Lil gasped.
“Shhh,” Sebastian hissed. Silently, like a wraith, he moved into the gateway and peered down the street outside, first one way and then the other. He took his time about it.
“How’d he get here?” Lil whispered. She sounded cross, but that was just Lil’s way of hiding her fear.
“I don’t know.” Francesca was dazed, not sure what she was feeling. The wild joy that had gripped her when she first saw him had faded, and all her fears had returned.
“Don’t you trust him, miss, you hear me?” Lil wasn’t helping.
“He’s just come to our rescue. I think we need to bear that in mind.”
“We could have done it without him. I’m sure you would’ve come up with a plan, miss.”
The child stirred, lifting her head, and Francesca knew she was peering at her in the darkness. “What’s your name?” she asked gently.
“Rosie,” the girl murmured.
“Where’s your home, Rosie? Where’s your mother and father?”
“They’re dead. My auntie, she sold me to the gentleman at that house. Then she changed her mind, but he said it were too late, and that I belong to him now.”
Lil made a sound of furious disgust, but Francesca’s throat was closed. It was too dreadful for words.
“It’s safe.” Sebastian had returned, and his voice made her jump. “Now, Miss Greentree, would you mind telling me what in the bloody blazes you think you’re doing?”
He was angry. More than that, he was furious. When he saw her strolling along the street he thought he was hallucinating. But when she grabbed hold of the child and ran off…He thought he was going to explode on the spot. The looks of shocked surprise and delight on the faces of the crowd had been of less importance than the look of murderous fury on the face of the thickset man. He’d shouted for help, and several more like him had come from the house. Sebastian knew they weren’t likely to stop Francesca and ask her polite questions. She’d taken what was theirs and they wanted it back, and they’d enjoy making her sorry.
An image flashed into his mind: Francesca with her dark eyes and wide mouth, all bloodied and broken.
He couldn’t have it. He wouldn’t have it.
“I didn’t mean it to happen,” she said now, lifting her chin. “It just did.” She wasn’t going to apologize, of course she wasn’t. Francesca Greentree had probably never apologized for anything in her life.
“You know you’re in grave danger? These people will kill you if they catch you.”
“I very much doubt that! When I tell them who I am—”
“All the more reason to do away with you, before you can draw the attention of the Metropolitan Police down on them.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. He wanted to squeeze her in his arms and curse her for her courageous and thoughtless foolhardiness. And he wanted to kiss her, because she was like no other woman he’d ever known.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Thorne, if it’s so very dangerous?” He knew she was fixing him with her direct look, while that needle-sharp mind was searching for the truth. And the last thing he needed was for Francesca to find out the truth.
He sighed, as if he had better things to do. “I was working. I was watching someone. And now you’ve frightened them off.”
“You look like you’re out on the town,” Francesca accused him. “Another gentleman with more money than sense.”
“That’s how I’m meant to look,” he said between gritted teeth. “I am in disguise.”
“So am I.”
“I knew the moment I saw you that you were a gentlewoman wandering where she shouldn’t be. Your clothing is wrong. If you want to fit in you should wear your scullery maid’s clothing, or else buy from a shop that sells corpse clothing.”
There was a pause, and he thought he’d probably gone too far. Just as he began to wonder what she’d say in return, she spoke, and as usual she surprised him. “I’ll bear it in mind for next time,” she said evenly.
He laughed. He wanted to kiss her, and in a moment he might have done so.
Lil must have thought so too, because she cleared her throat noisily. “Miss, where are we going to take Rosie? She needs to be made safe. If these people are so dangerous, then we have to hide her.”
“We’ll take her home,” Francesca announced confidently, making her way out of the narrow gate, and back to the street. “Just until Vivianna returns to London and I can arrange for her to take Rosie in. My sister,” she explained frostily to Sebastian, “runs a charity school.”
“I don’t want to go to no charity school!” Rosie wailed.
Francesca cast him a look, as if this was his fault, and then lifted the child so they were eye to eye. Instantly her manner changed, and she was all gentle and reassuring. “My sister’s name is Vivianna, and she’s a lady. You’ll love her, Rosie. Everyone does. And she will love you just as she loves all the children in her school. You see it’s a very special school.”
“No slops?” Rosie whispered.
“Definitely no slops. When you arrive my sister will ask you to choose a color, and you will be given a smock of that special color, your color. Because she believes every child in her school is different and special.”
Rosie gave a tentative smile, her eyes growing thoughtful. “I want to wear pink,” she said with certainty. “Pink is my color.”
“I’m sure they will have pink. I like pink, too.”
“Bloody hell, can we get on?” Sebastian burst out.
“You are swearing in front of a child, Mr. Thorne.”
“I’m so sorry. But they’ll be back to find us. Do you really want to wait around?”
“If you’re frightened, Mr. Thorne, we will excuse you,” Francesca said, but her steps quickened.
He gave an angry laugh. “I just saved your neck.”
“Nonsense. I was perfectly capable of saving my own neck.”
“This is not Yorkshire,” he went on, aware he was beginning to rant, and yet unable to help himself. “You’re a stranger here, and as far as these people are concerned, you’ve strayed into their territory, so you’re prey. They’ll take your money and every stitch of your clothing, and leave you for dead.”
“You forget that it was I who saved you from the mire. And without a lecture, I might add.”
Lil stepped between them. “Stop it!” she burst out. “This is my fault, Mr. Thorne, not Miss Francesca’s! I wanted to come, and Miss Francesca insisted on accompanying me. She did it as a kindness to me.”
Francesca threw him a burning look, before reassuring Lil. “It’s not your fault. I came because I wanted to, and I’m very glad I did.”
Sebastian said nothing. Ahead of him he could see the line of waiting cabs, and it was tempting to rush out and hire one, and bundle Francesca into it. But the danger was far from over. He held up his hand, forcing them to halt, while he surveyed the situation with narrowed dark eyes.
An old woman approached with a basket of violets tied up with ribbon. “Posy for the pretty lady,” she asked with a gap-toothed smile. “Come on, sir, buy your wife some flowers.”
“She doesn’t deserve them,” he muttered, but he was already reaching into his pocket and taking out a shilling.
The old woman’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, sir!”
The violets were pressed into Francesca’s hand, and the next moment he was urging her forward toward the cabs. “Come on, damn it!” He felt her stiffen, but for once she bit her tongue.
He soon had the two women loaded into the cleanest of the cabs, with Rosie tu
cked in between them. He gave the address in Wensted Square to the driver, with the fare. When he turned back to Francesca she looked worried, although she was trying to hide it.
“Mr. Thorne…”
But he wouldn’t allow her to wind her spell around him, not now. Better if she stayed angry.
“Go home,” Sebastian said forcefully, “and stay out of trouble. I may not be here to rescue you next time.”
Oh yes, that did it. Her eyes flashed.
“Good-bye, Mr. Thorne. And I did not ask for you to rescue me this time.”
“Someone had to, and I look upon you as mine, Miss Greentree.”
“Yours?”
“Miss!” Lil hissed.
“Because I want you in one piece.”
Francesca was oblivious to her maid tugging on her sleeve. “You want me…?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
The color burned in her cheeks. She was looking into his eyes, and he knew she’d seen his desire for her. Did she also see what he already knew? Their night at the inn had been the start, not the end. Francesca opened her mouth, but he never discovered what she would have said.
Lil cried out shrilly, “Drive on! For Gawd’s sake drive on!”
The cab lurched forward, just as there was a shout from behind them in the street. Their pursuers had found them. The cab clattered across the road and into the traffic, which was thankfully light, with Francesca’s pale face turned back to him. Sebastian gallantly tipped his hat to her.
“Sebastian,” Francesca groaned. Her hands were clenched, mangling the violets, their sweet scent enveloping her. She watched, helpless, as he turned away and began walking down a side street. The group of running men paused, looking one way and then the other, before they plunged into the shadows after him.
“He can look after himself, that one,” Lil said knowingly. “You shouldn’t fret about him, miss.”
Francesca turned to stare straight ahead. “I’m not fretting.”
But it was a lie. Francesca knew she wouldn’t be able to forget him, not really, not deep inside, until she saw him again and knew he was safe.
Chapter 12
“What happened last night then?” The voice strained and slurred its way through the sentence, as if the speaker was losing the ability to channel her thoughts into words.
“They got away,” said Jed. “Two doxies took the girl in a cab, and the gen’leman took off on foot. Our men went after them, but it were no use.”
The woman cursed foully. “You should have been there.” She reached out to grab Jed’s sleeve, but her hand was shaking too badly. Cursing again, she tucked the useless hand back into the folds of her shawl, out of sight.
Warily, Jed watched her to see which direction her mood would take. With her ailing body and trembling limbs, she had all the appearance of a pitiful old woman, but Jed knew better. He thought himself immune to the darker sights of London, immersed as he was in those shadows, but he still felt his guts clench whenever he was in his cousin’s presence. There were stories of some of the things she was supposed to have done, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were true. His father’d warned him against her, and he’d scoffed, taunting the old man with: “You’re scared of a woman, Da?”
But he understood now.
“I’ll get the girl back,” he said. “I’ll find out where she is and—”
“I know where she is.” She smiled at his expression, showing yellowed teeth.
“But…how can you know? We haven’t even found the driver of the cab yet.”
She chuckled. “I have my ways,” she said. “I haven’t reached the stage where I’m ready to hand over the reins to you, Jed. Patience. Your time will come.”
Jed, who was counting the days until she died, shrugged as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “I’m happy with the way things are,” he lied.
“Of course you are,” she mocked.
“So where is the girl then?”
“She’s being looked after in a gentleman’s house, but not for long.” She grunted. “I knew there’d be trouble. I told him to do them in straight off. Hold a pillow over their faces—nothing to it. But he was squeamish. And now, all these long years later, he’s paying the price.”
Jed was silent. She was rambling of the past.
“He’s coming to see me,” she said abruptly. “I don’t want you here. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
The man who visited her was an old friend, or so she said. His visits were meant to be secret. Jed wondered whether he might be able to use the information one day, but he’d have to be careful. Angela was quite capable of having him killed if she thought he was becoming a threat to her.
She might be sick and crippled, but she was still a very dangerous woman.
Francesca woke to the sound of Lil’s urgent voice and her none-too-gentle shaking. “Miss Francesca, please…wake up!”
“Lil? Whatever is it?” She opened her eyes, trying to rearrange her thoughts. She’d been dreaming of dark streets and a man with black eyes. She’d been running desperately…but was it toward him, or away from him?
“Miss, we need your help.”
Francesca sat up, pushing her hair out of her face, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Is it Mr. Thorne?”
“Bless you, no! As far as I know, he’s well.”
“Then what…?”
“It’s Rosie, miss.”
Lil was twisting her hands in a frantic manner. It was so unlike her that Francesca reached out and grasped them hard to make her stop. When they’d arrived home the night before, Lil had decided Rosie would be more comfortable sharing her room, and after they’d washed her face and found her a nightdress that was more or less her size, they’d tucked her into the truckle bed.
What could have gone wrong?
“It’s Mrs. March,” Lil explained bitterly. “She won’t let Rosie stay. She’s so angry, miss. I thought if I didn’t wake you immediately she’d have the poor moppet bundled up and on her way to the orphanage, and it’d be too late.”
Francesca pushed back the covers. “I’ll talk to her, Lil. Don’t worry. Go and get Rosie dressed and give her something to eat. How is she this morning?”
Lil smiled. “She’s chirping away like a little sparrow, miss. You wouldn’t think it were the same girl.”
“We mustn’t let her know what’s happening. I’ll deal with Mrs. March.”
Lil sniffed. “I hope so, miss.”
Mrs. March, in a burgundy dress with even more stiffened petticoats beneath her skirts, was waiting for her downstairs, her shoulders back and her face rigid with disapproval. “Miss Greentree,” she said. “Did you invite this street urchin into Mr. Tremaine’s home?”
“Her name is Rosie, Mrs. March, and she’s not a street urchin.”
“She certainly isn’t the sort of child I am accustomed to having in my house.”
“But this isn’t your house, is it, Mrs. March?”
Her expression faltered, the frigid wall slipped, and for a moment Francesca saw pure rage. A moment later the housekeeper lowered her eyes, hiding her emotion, although the skin on either side of her mouth whitened.
“The master trusts me to run his house as I see fit. I am used to having my orders obeyed.” She looked up, and her eyes had a shine to them that might have been spite, or triumph, as she played her final card. “Your uncle will take my side, Miss Greentree, you can be certain of that.”
Francesca knew, with a hollow, sick feeling, that she was right. Uncle William, so terrified of scandal and so proud of his good name, wouldn’t abide someone like Rosie in his house. Especially when it was explained to him that his niece had virtually kidnapped her from outside a child brothel. It would be yet another fault to lay at Amy’s door, and Francesca knew she couldn’t allow her mother to shoulder the blame for something she hadn’t done, as she would to protect her daughter.
Francesca had no choice. She’d have to ba
ck down if she was to save Rosie and Amy. And that was the most important thing, wasn’t it? Mrs. March could crow all she liked, as long as Rosie was safe.
“I’ll have to tell him, I’m afraid,” the housekeeper was saying, pleased with herself, making the most of her power. “The master will have to know. He’ll insist on it.”
“Mrs. March, please wait…” Francesca summoned up a winning smile. “There’s no need to mention this to my uncle. I understand your concern completely, and I will arrange for Rosie to go elsewhere.”
Mrs. March hesitated. “I don’t like to keep secrets from the master.”
“Yes, but on this occasion I’m sure you’d agree that it’s for my uncle’s own good. You know how upset he gets, Mrs. March.”
Her cold eyes gleamed with malice. “I know how upset he would be with you, Miss Greentree, for bringing a guttersnipe into his house.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Francesca said levelly, while her blood came to a boil. “But he’d be angry with you, too. My uncle will think you have failed in your duty by allowing the child into his house in the first place.”
She glared. “You smuggled her in without my knowledge!”
“Yes, Mrs. March, but the master will see it differently. He’s a very exacting person, isn’t he? He’ll think that you should have been aware of who was coming and going in his house at a time when it should have been locked up nice and tight.”
She caught the flicker of doubt in Mrs. March’s eyes. “Very well,” she said icily. But as Francesca went to turn away, the housekeeper called her back. “You needn’t worry yourself about finding somewhere to take the child. I’ll see her to the orphanage or the workhouse.”
Such offhand cruelty was almost too much for Francesca—she felt her self-righteous fury begin to bubble over and knew in a moment it would scald everything in sight—but she knew she had to bite her tongue. For Amy’s sake.