They’d crossed Soho, and Oxford Street lay ahead, but still, Will hadn’t caught a glimpse of either Susannah or Effington.
He stuffed the page into a pocket along with all the others and continued his pursuit.
* * *
“Move the dogs today, he says,” Jasper mumbled, crumpling up a note from his High and Mighty Lordship. “I’m not paying you to sit on your arses, he says. Horace, I sometimes feel exactly like these poor brutes, damned if I don’t.”
The dogs were consuming what was probably their last meal in Jasper’s care, because his lordship had snapped his fingers and all creation must jump to obey.
“You ain’t as mean as this big brute,” Horace allowed, using a bucket to dump fresh water into the dog’s bowl. The big brute was at his supper, so the bowl in the corner of his stall could be safely filled, and then the top half of the door re-closed.
“I’m not as mean,” Jasper said as the sound of voracious dogs consuming inadequate rations filled the stable. “But his lordship must think I’m as stupid. He says we’re not to collect the money—he’ll do that—but we’re to deliver the dogs before sunset.”
“Today? When all the Quality is sashayin’ about and waving t’each other?”
Jasper could go around the Kensington Palace side of Hyde Park, but that would take an age, and traveling that distance with a lot of crated-up, unhappy dogs would attract notice.
“I told him we ought to drug the poor beasts, deliver them at night, same as usual, but himself is in a taking.”
“Oh, the Quality,” Horace muttered as an empty food dish went thumping against a stall wall. The big dog, the one they’d stolen from the duchess, was in truth a bright animal.
Also furious and perpetually hungry.
“I like most dogs, but I do not like that dog,” Jasper said. “He’s plotting revenge, and all we ever done is feed him and keep him outta the wet.”
And take him from his home, and knock him about a bit. Only a bit.
“I do like the little pug,” Horace said. “Poor little mite won’t last a day with the badgers. Hasn’t a mean bone in his body.”
The poor little mite sat in his wooden crate, head bowed, staring at the ground as if he could hear a gibbet being built for him in the alley.
“The big dogs cost a pretty penny, and the baiters try not to let ’em get hurt too bad,” Jasper observed. “Little ones has it hard.”
“We ’ave it ’ard,” Horace said. “I say we tell old man Dickerson to give us the money same as usual, and I’ll take the pug home to me missus. Little fellow will keep her company and he won’t eat much.”
Jasper took out his flask, which would soon need a refill from the King’s Comestibles, and passed it over to Horace.
“You are a good man, Horace,” he said, “and every once in a while, you come up with a brilliant idea.”
Fortunately, Horace had muttered his brilliant idea before the sound of iron-shod hooves clopping up the alley came to a halt outside the stable.
“Drink up,” Jasper said. “His Royal Highness is here, and it’s time we show him how well we can sit up and beg.”
* * *
Susannah’s side throbbed, sweat made her straw hat stick to her forehead, and she’d stepped in something disagreeable while crossing Oxford Street, but the distinctive odor of kenneled hounds told her Effington had finally reached his destination.
His lordship clambered off his gelding not one sonnet too soon. Fifty yards downwind from Effington, Susannah tore out number ninety-two—“But do thy worst to steal thyself away”—and tucked it between two bricks at about waist height.
In this part of London, shabbier and smellier than Mayfair, a lone page of poetry did not command attention. Old newspapers, handbills, and worse littered the ground, and clearly, the alley hadn’t been swept since Charles II had reopened the theatres.
Something more noticeable was called for, but not too noticeable.
Two large, unkempt fellows came out of the stable, and one of them took Effington’s horse. The other stood in the middle of the alley, pushing at the cobbles with the toe of a dusty boot, while Effington gesticulated to the stable and peppered the afternoon with foul language.
Susannah tore off a length of purple lace from the parasol, rolled up the page of poetry, and tied the lace around it. She stuck the sonnet back between the bricks closer to eye level, and let the purple lace trail down the crumbling wall.
Then she crept closer.
* * *
“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound or you’ll wish I’d killed you when you were eight years old and you spent my coin collection at the market day sweets booth.”
Cam nodded, and Will took his hand from his brother’s mouth.
“Sycamore, you must be more alert. If I could sneak up on you, Georgette panting at my heels, then Effington’s men could do the same.” All they’d have to do is grow curious about the two men lounging around the back entrance to the King’s Comestibles, loitering in the shade of the shed set between the inn and the alley.
Georgette was out of sight, behind an overturned barrel at Will’s side.
“Effington’s men couldn’t sneak up on a deaf granny,” Cam replied. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s Effington doing here?” Will asked as Effington continued to berate one of his minions. Will and Cam were thirty yards upwind of the stable, and Susannah was nowhere in sight. The alleys in this neighborhood were not peaceful, shady thoroughfares between one tidy stable and another; they were mean, crooked, narrow, and dirty.
And Susannah had braved all of this, for the sake of a few unfortunate dogs?
“Effington’s in a lather about something,” Cam said. “I saw Alexander about an hour ago and left him a wedge of ripe cheese near the mouth of the alley. Now I wish I hadn’t.”
Will was working on a blister on his right heel—riding boots were not intended to be worn hiking all over London. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and Georgette needed water, but what filled his mind was pride in Susannah’s courage—and worry.
A great deal of worry.
“We might be able to use your bait to our advantage,” Will said, swatting a fly away. “Have you seen Susannah?”
A scrap of purple fluttering in the breeze halfway down the alley suggested Susannah was nearby. Very nearby.
Cam offered him a glower worthy of Casriel when the housemaids were revolting. “You brought a lady into this situation? Your own lady? Willow, I raised you better than this. Effington is mean, stupid, and arrogant, and unless I mistake the situation, that stable is full of mean, smart, and determined dogs.”
“Susannah brought herself into this,” Will said, “despite claiming she doesn’t even like dogs. My lady and I will have a pointed discussion regarding her affinity for canines, assuming we survive this adventure. We’re here to rescue the dogs and put an end to Effington’s bad behavior, for if those are the kidnapped dogs, Effington’s hand in matters is undeniable.”
In the next instant, a large dog came trotting into the mouth of the alley, and only Will’s grip on Cam’s arm kept the younger Dorning from charging headlong down the alley.
“That is my dog, Willow,” Cam hissed. “That is my Alexander who has once again put himself in harm’s way, and those foul excuses—”
“It’s too late,” Will said, shoving Cam back into the shadows. “They’ve spotted him, and with Effington on hand, those men couldn’t ignore that dog if they wanted to.”
While Cam aired vocabulary that singed even Will’s ears, Effington’s second henchman, the one who’d taken the gelding into the stable, reemerged with a net draped over his shoulder.
“They’ll hurt him,” Cam said, shoving at Will. “Alexander won’t go without a fight, and they’ll take up where they left off, giving him more scars and injuries.”
Who was this passionate fellow, who’d spend days searching for one dog, squander coin he didn’t have, and risk his own
neck to save the dog a beating?
“Sycamore, compose yourself,” Will said. “Three men with a net shouldn’t have to hurt the dog to subdue it. This is our chance to get to the others.”
Georgette whined softly, clearly feeling as frustrated as Cam, and Will had not a single piece of cheese to give her.
“Quiet, Georgette, please. All we need do is wait, and while Alexander provides the diversion, we’ll slip in and retrieve the dogs.”
Effington sent one minion around to the street, while the other slowly ambled down the alley, the net looped over his arm. His lordship remained closer to the stable, passing within three yards of where Cam and Will stood.
“Another moment,” Will whispered.
“We haven’t a single weapon,” Cam whispered back. “There are three of them and only two of us, and you tell me Lady Susannah is flitting about somewhere. How do we retrieve several large, unhappy dogs, Willow, without ending up caught in a net ourselves?”
“We have Georgette,” Will said, “and we have the element of—God save us.”
A flash of purple, a glimpse of pale blue skirts, and just like that, Susannah had stolen across the alley and into the stable.
From which, a furious barking immediately ensued.
* * *
For half the breadth of London, Susannah had argued with herself: she was a fool to pursue Effington on her own. He was ruthless, cunning, nasty, and angry. He enjoyed watching innocent creatures torment each other, and she was the last person to take on such a bully.
Even before her come-out, Susannah had learned to tread carefully, to keep to the sonnets and stage plays, to never give anybody another chance to turn her life into drama.
And yet, as she’d developed a stitch in her side, and torn one page after another from her keepsake volume of Shakespeare, another perspective had suggested itself.
Effington could destroy Will’s business, swear out charges against Ash or Cam, toss unsuspecting dogs into the pits, and gossip about Della.
He could not touch Susannah. After the debacle at the hands of the Mannering twins and their friends, Susannah had kept nothing of value for herself, not suitors, not a reputation for cleverness, not a fat dowry, not much of a social life, not even dreams. She’d comforted herself with books, and Effington could not destroy her pleasure in reading if he set fire to all of Mayfair.
Will would come, but first, Susannah, whom Effington could not impugn, would assure herself she’d found the dogs. Though how she’d defend them from whatever plans Effington had for them, she did not know.
A commotion in the stable yard had her slinking behind a gnarled oak that cast much of the alley in shadow. Last year’s acorns were still wedged between cobbles at her feet, and whatever she had stepped in an hour ago was drying on the sole of her half boot.
“Oh, Alexander, you poor dear.”
For that large, skinny dog with the healing gash had to be Alexander. He’d found something to investigate, probably something to eat, and hadn’t taken notice of the men intent on his capture. One went around by way of the street, one had fetched a net, and Effington presumed to direct both on how to catch the doomed beast.
Susannah seized her moment, sidling into the dimly lit stables. The scent of neglected canines was a fetid stench, and Effington’s horse stood with one hip cocked in cross ties at the far end of the aisle.
A dog resembling a very sad Yorick looked up when Susannah dashed into the stables, and his little tail started wagging against the slats of his crate as if he’d seen his dearest friend in the whole world.
“Shhh,” Susannah whispered. “Quiet, Yorick. Be a good boy. I can get you out of that crate but only if you—”
Yorick yipped, and from his end of the stables, came a chorus of much deeper barking.
Susannah had found the dogs, but she could not allow Effington to find her.
She unlatched the door of the nearest stall, ducked inside, and pulled the stall door closed. She could not latch the door from the inside, so she crouched down in a front corner, where somebody walking past would have to look very closely to notice her.
The stink of the straw bedding was unbelievable, enough to make Susannah’s eyes water and her nose run. No dog, with its sensitive faculties, could have tolerated such poor conditions for long. Thank goodness the stall was empty, and thank goodness she was safe.
And then, from the back of the stall, came a low, very unpleasant growl.
* * *
“We can’t just wait here,” Cam fumed. “Lady Susannah’s in there, they’ve got Alexander, and you might be willing to sit on your arse and let that cretin—”
“Am I too late for the party?”
Ash strolled over from the back of the inn, Casriel on his right, Tresham on his left.
“Sometimes, Sycamore, a moment’s pause can save the day,” Will said. Cam, of course, elbowed him hard in the gut and muttered something about saving the dogs. “Tresham, my thanks for your presence. A ducal heir will lend a certain cachet to the situation. Here’s what’s afoot.”
As the barking went on across the alley, Will took half a minute to sketch the particulars, which were simple enough: several large unhappy dogs, one defenseless woman, a conscienceless scoundrel, and his two bullyboys all needed sorting out.
Immediately.
“Seems straightforward enough,” Tresham said, taking off a signet ring and slipping it into a pocket. “I want him”—he nodded at Cam—“at my back.”
“Because I’m quick?” Cam asked.
“Because you’re so obnoxious, you’ll draw their fire, and my face won’t be the one they rearrange,” Tresham replied. “And you’re quick.”
“That’s all right then,” Ash said. “Will, say when.”
The horse was whinnying, and apparently capering about on the cross ties if clattering hooves were any indication. Effington’s shouts only made the dogs bark more loudly, and the two other men were having difficulty keeping Alexander wrapped in his net.
Will stepped out of the shadows. “Now. Georgette, come. Play, Georgette. Grab any handy villain and teach him to play nicely.”
Seventeen
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Fear paralyzed Susannah as she huddled in the stall. Not three yards away, the largest dog she’d ever seen crouched as if to spring at her and rip her throat out. Its lip was curled back to reveal enormous teeth, and while Yorick yipped and created a ruckus at the far end of the stable, this great mastiff growled so deeply Susannah could feel the menace vibrating in her chest.
Effington could not hurt her, but this dog could kill her.
She had only her reticule, which was at least weighted with the remains of the sonnets. Effington was shouting at all and sundry, probably upsetting the dogs more, and the horse was unhappy as well.
“Hush,” Susannah whispered. “There now, it’s all a lot of bother caused by stupid men taking advantage of poor creatures who can’t help themselves. Are you Caesar? You look like a Caesar.”
The growling stopped, but the commotion was dying down too. Only Yorick continued to yip and bark, drawing Effington’s ire for his continued noise.
Susannah held out a hand to the dog and looked away, as if she fully expected her fingers to be where she left them after a thorough sniffing over.
Delicate, damp breath caressed her hand.
“Good boy,” Susannah whispered. The dog licked her fingers and crawled closer. “Good boy, Caesar,” she whispered again.
A great tail began to thump against the straw, and Caesar barked once.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Susannah tried tugging on a large, doggy ear. Slowly, repeatedly, and the tail only thumped faster.
“Make that damned dog shut his mouth,” Effington said. “And get that other damned dog into a stall before he chews through the net.”
Caesar barked again, a joyous bark that Alexander answered.
“Hush,” Susannah whispered as Yorick added to the convers
ation. She had only one possible treat left, and pulled the remains of the sonnets from her reticule. She tore out the page bearing her father’s handwriting, and shoved the remains of the book at the dog, whose tail was beating a regular tattoo against the straw.
Caesar sniffed at the leather, which would have born Susannah’s scent, also the scent of the glue holding the book together. Enormous jaws opened on some of the finest prose ever penned in the English language, and commenced a happy chewing.
“Good boy, Caesar,” Susannah whispered, stroking the dog’s ear. “Enjoy them, for I certainly did.”
“What the hell!” Effington roared as another commotion ensued at the far end of the stable. Susannah rose enough to see that more men had rushed into the building, along with another enormous dog.
Georgette! Susannah had never been so happy to see a big, loud, barking dog.
As much scuffling and swearing went on, Susannah ducked back down, more relieved than she could say. Will would be upset with her, of course, but they’d found the dogs, and all would be well at last.
Relief washed through her, and she was planning on exactly what she’d say to explain her presence when a shot rang out.
“He has Georgette,” somebody yelled. “The bastard has his gun trained on Georgette.”
* * *
A gun. Why hadn’t Will assumed that a man who didn’t take the time to learn how to communicate with his animals would resort to violence if necessary to remain safe around them?
“Effington, really,” Will said as his brothers and Tresham arranged themselves at his sides. “Shooting a dog? Shoot me instead. Georgette has done nothing to hurt you, and if you destroy my property, I will bring suit.”
The pistol had two short barrels. Not very accurate over a distance, but up close, it could do lethal damage.
“Anybody can destroy a dangerous stray,” Effington said, chest heaving. “I’m a peer, I’ll be tried in the Lords if you can even get me charged, and you’re trespassing.”
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