by Marie Laval
He took a deep breath, gathered the papers again, and looked at Lucas.
‘We have it. Let’s go.’
They made their way back down the corridor in silence and let themselves out of the basement door. As they reached the top of the short flight of steps, the large figure of a man holding a lantern appeared in the courtyard, blocking their escape. He hadn’t seen them yet.
‘Bend down,’ Lucas whispered before blowing the candle out. ‘I’ll take care of him.’
He sprang forward silently, another shadow in the night. There were muffled sounds of struggle. The guard dropped his lamp and fell to the ground. Lucas came back and gestured towards the fence.
‘Hurry. There might be another guard somewhere close.’
They sneaked out of the building site and into Great Russell Street. The carriage was there, waiting. They piled into it and it started straight away.
‘Where now?’ Lucas asked.
‘Drury Lane,’ Knox answered. ‘Joseph’s brother runs a tavern. Nobody will come looking for us there.’
It was another short ride to the infamous street stretching from Oxford Road all the way down to the Strand. The only time Harriet had ever ventured there was to attend a matinee performance of Shakespeare’s King John at the Theatre Royal with her father and Aunt Elizabeth. Given the area’s fearsome reputation, they hadn’t lingered afterward. The public houses, tenements courts and slums of the Seven Dials, the stench and dirt of the giant cattle market and slaughter houses of Clare Market, as well as the hustle and bustle of Covent Garden which attracted pickpockets, hardened criminals and prostitutes, made this part of London particularly dangerous, even in the daytime.
Even at this late hour, some public houses were still open and the narrow streets were crowded. Joseph stopped the carriage in front of a tall gabled house and they got out.
‘I’ll join you as soon as I have stabled the horses,’ he declared.
Harriet looked up at the sign dangling over the front door that read, ‘The Cock and Magpie’. The inn appeared closed, but there were lights on the first floor. Knox knocked on the door. A few minutes later there were heavy footsteps and sounds of the door being unlocked. A giant of a man with wild brown hair falling over his thick, red face appeared.
‘What is it you want? Can you not see we’re closed?’
Instinctively, Harriet moved closer to Lucas. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
‘Benjamin, it’s Knox,’ the bookshop owner started. ‘We need to stay over at your place tonight. Joseph said it would be all right with you.’
Immediately the innkeeper stopped frowning. He opened the door wider.
‘Sorry, Mister Knox, I didn’t recognise you with your hat pulled down your face.’ He peered at Harriet and Lucas and added. ‘Please come in.’
He showed them inside. Knox picked a booth close to the fireplace. Pulling a few silver coins out of his waistcoat pocket, he asked the landlord if he could get a fire going and bring them food and drinks.
Harriet sat next to Lucas while Knox slipped onto the bench opposite and put the folder on the table. Nobody spoke as he opened it and flicked through the loose papers and documents inside. Several times as he read he let out a little grunt, arched his eyebrows and muttered to himself.
‘Well, well, isn’t that interesting?’
‘So?’ Lucas asked at last. ‘Do you have enough to incriminate Callaghan, Drake, and the others?’
Knox nodded. ‘I think so. Even if McNaughton’s testimony is deemed inadmissible by the courts, there are records of sales of statues and objets d’art to some of London’s most notorious crime barons, as well as papers signed by Lord Callaghan himself regarding his fraudulent railway schemes. I fear this is too big for Bow Street’s police station. I will have to go to Scotland Yard first thing in the morning.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Lucas said. He glanced at the clock in a corner of the room. It showed half past three.
He turned to the landlord who was coming back to them with a pot of beef stew and a loaf of bread. Behind him, a young lad carried plates and cutlery he placed on the table. It smelled good and Harriet realized she was hungry. When the landlord brought pitchers of ale Knox asked if he had any free bedrooms. The man nodded and replied he had one.
Lucas turned to Harriet. ‘You can have the room. Knox and I will make ourselves comfortable down here.’
There was a loud knock on the front door and Joseph entered. Once he’d joined them at the table, he started talking about a cockfight which would take place the following evening at the Phoenix, one of Drury Lane’s many cockpits.
‘There’ll be all sorts there, including top brass,’ he said, wolfing down his stew.
The men’s talk turned to gambling. Harriet pushed her empty plate away, drank another sip of ale and listened to Lucas’ voice. If the events of the evening had taken a strange, dream like quality, he at least was solid and real next to her. She still couldn’t quite believe that Archie hadn’t killed him, and that he was alive and well.
A smile floated on her lips as she leaned against his shoulder, listened to his voice and breathed in the scent of this cigar smoke. She loved him so much. She would always love him...She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. A soft torpor slowly crept through her entire body as the fire behind her warmed her back. She was so tired, too tired to think about what the morning would bring. If only she could stay awake and enjoy every single moment of being with him, but suddenly her eyelids felt like lead and she didn’t have the strength to sit straight.
He slipped his arm around her waist to support her. Her head nestled against his chest. He felt her soft, warm breath through the fabric of his shirt and held her more tightly.
‘It looks like our young lady is ready for bed,’ Knox remarked after a while.
‘I’ll take her up. Show me where her room is,’ Lucas told the landlord.
She didn’t wake up when he lifted her in his arms. She didn’t even wake up when he climbed the stairs and walked into the small, dark bedroom and put her on the bed. The landlord lit a lamp and closed the door behind him.
He stood over the bed, watching her as she curled up on her side and her hair fell over her face. What was to become of her? She would find it hard to stay in London when the scandal over the Brotherhood broke all over the newspapers and it became known that her father had been involved. Her best bet was to use the emeralds and gold he had brought for her and go to the country for a while.
He sighed, leaned forward and gently brushed her hair from her face. She stirred, clasped his hand in hers.
‘Don’t leave me,’ she whispered without opening her eyes.
Against his better judgment, he sat on the bed next to her and brought her fingers to his lips briefly. He mustn’t touch her. He mustn’t give in to the temptation, not tonight, not ever. He had to conclude this business in London with Callaghan and Drake, make sure Harriet was safe from them, and leave for Sardinia.
‘I need to give you the emeralds and the gold,’ he started, matter-of-factly. ‘They’re sewn in the lining of my coat. There’s more than enough for you to live comfortably.’
She raised herself on her elbow and looked straight at him. Her eyes glistened with tears. Her lips quivered.
‘Kiss me,’ she said.
‘Harriet, don’t do this…’
She sat up and put her hand on his cheek. Her touch gave him a jolt. It was as if he’d been hit by lightening. Her mouth came closer, so close he could almost taste it. He straightened and moved back a little. No matter how much he wanted it, he wouldn’t do this. It wasn’t fair to her. To him.
She slid her hand along his face and onto his neck, caressing his skin lightly above the collar of his jacket, tangling her fingers in his hair. This time the urge to kiss her and draw her to him was so overwhelming all he could do was grab her hand and pull it away.
‘Stop it,’ he growled, taking in the warm, moist grey of her
eyes, the smooth curve of her cheek, the dove white of her throat, and the tender swell of her breasts under her dress.
He remembered how she felt, how she tasted. His mouth went dry, his heart thudded in his chest, and his body throbbed with desire, painful.
‘What are you afraid of, Lucas?’ she asked, defiant. ‘Afraid I will make demands on you? Don’t worry. I know you are leaving in the morning. I know you can’t wait to go treasure hunting.’
She leaned closer, a savage glint in her eyes.
‘Kiss me.’
He knew he was lost then. A groan, almost a roar, escaped from his throat as he lifted her from the bed and into his lap, wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and kissed her like a man possessed. As his mouth devoured hers, she let out small gasps and whimpers which inflamed him, body and soul. He had dreamt of her for so long. Days, weeks, months. This was no dream. He wanted her naked under him, right now. He fiddled with the fastenings at the back of her dress, managed to undo most of them before tearing the fabric apart in his haste.
‘Take this off,’ he said his voice hoarse.
He watched as she undressed. Then she was standing in front of him in her corset, chemise and stockings. He shrugged his jacket off, loosed his necktie and pulled her into his lap again. His hands, his mouth remembered and took ownership of her body once again. He finally accepted what he had known for a long time. She was made for him. She was his woman. Whether in a Tuareg tent in the heat of the Sahara, in the cool lushness of an oasis, or here, in a sordid tavern in the middle of London, Harriet belonged to him. Leaving her would be the hardest thing he would ever have to do.
Still kissing her mouth, he pulled down her chemise until her breasts spilled out above the corset. He caressed their tender tips with his fingers then he bent down slightly and his mouth replaced his fingers. Her head was thrown back, her breasts jutted out and heaved provocatively with every breath she took, with every sigh and whimper she made. His hand slid along her thighs, stroked the silky skin above the garters. He had never seen her dressed, or rather undressed, like this. She had worn mainly men’s clothing during their long journey to the Sahara, except once in Laghouat, at his friend Nordine’s house. The sight of her, the smell of her tonight intoxicated him, made him dizzy. Or was it because he was holding her in his arms at last?
His heart felt like it was going to explode. He lay her on the bed and undressed quickly, his eyes never leaving the enthralling vision of her soft, white body spread out on the dark red counterpane.
‘It’s the first time we have a real bed,’ he remarked with a smile, lying down next to her and taking her in his arms. And the last, he finished silently.
‘Saintclair, get up!’ Knox called from behind the door.
Lucas was sound asleep, snuggled against her back, his arm lying heavy and possessive across her stomach, and his breath tickling her bare shoulder. She stroked his hand, his forearm, desperate to snatch a few more moments alone with him. There was a second knock and this time, Lucas stirred behind her.
‘Who’s that?’ he mumbled before trailing kisses along her neck from her shoulder to her earlobe.
‘Knox,’ she said. The bristle on his cheeks rubbed deliciously against her skin and made her shiver.
‘Is it morning already?’
‘Hardly,’ she replied, glancing at the window.
A bluish light filtered between the badly drawn curtains. She hadn’t slept a wink. She wanted to savour every second in Lucas’ arms. Too soon, he would be gone and she would be alone. She had promised herself she wouldn’t ask him to stay.
He let out a sigh and flipped her over so that she lay on top of him.
‘I know you never do what you’re told, but this time you must promise that you’ll stay here,’ he said, stroking her back. ‘I don’t know how long we’ll be with the police. I don’t want you wandering around London and risk being seen by Drake, Callaghan or their men.’
She ran her hands lightly over his chest and the star-shaped scar just under his collarbone where Archie’s bullet had gone out. She hadn’t been able to repress a gasp when she had first seen it, as well as the larger scar in his back. He had been very lucky to survive.
His breathing quickened. He held her more tightly, so tightly he was almost crushing her. She wanted to melt in his heat again, one last time. He must have felt the same way because he caught his breath when he rolled over and covered her with his body, hard, impatient. His skin was burning, but his pale blue eyes were narrowed down to slits of icy sky. He buried his face in her neck. His hands roamed over her body. He whispered her name and dived into her. Clasping her hands on each side of her head, he entwined their fingers and kissed her again, and again, as he drove deeper and faster.
And for a few golden minutes, nothing else but him mattered.
He arched his back above her and let out a muffled cry before collapsing on top of her.
‘Saintclair!’ Behind the door, Knox sounded impatient.
‘Coming,’ Lucas grunted, untangling his fingers from hers.
He kissed her one last time and got up. There was a washstand in a corner of the room. He poured water into the chipped porcelain bowl and splashed his chest and face with the cold water, then ran his fingers through his dark hair.
‘No time for a shave now,’ he said, rubbing his face roughly. ‘Hopefully we’ll find a barber shop open on the way to Scotland Yard.’
He got dressed, but instead of putting his jacket on, he pulled a dagger from his pocket and took out a few stitches in the silk lining. He then shook the jacket over the bed counterpane. About two dozen emeralds, as well as a handful of gold coins fell out.
‘I’d rather you had them with you now.’ He gathered the gems and gold coins into his hands and gave them to her.
Reluctantly, she took them from him. There was nothing to keep him here now he had discharged himself of his promise to her father. This was probably the last time she would see him.
‘Hide them well. You never know who hangs about in this kind of place,’ he said, putting his jacket on.
She still didn’t answer. She sat up against the pillow, her tousled hair covering her shoulders and breasts, her hands full of precious stones and gold coins.
He looked as if he wanted to add something, but then he shrugged and opened the door.
‘Well…good bye then.’
And he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘Slow down, Saintclair,’ Knox protested. ‘I know how eager you are to catch the afternoon train, but I can’t keep up.’
Lucas grunted with impatience. He wanted to collect his travel bag from Knox’s bookshop before going down to the station in Norwood. The day had turned cool and drizzly, and the cloudy sky reminded him of Harriet’s eyes. He pulled his collar up, shoved his hands in his pockets.
‘Why don’t we hail a hansom cab?’ he suggested.
The elderly man nodded in agreement. He gestured to a passing cab and both men climbed in with a sigh of relief. Although he had seen very little of the town, Lucas had already decided he didn’t like London. The wide cobble-stoned avenue Knox had called The Strand seemed perpetually congested with horse-drawn buses, carriages and carts. The sidewalks were crowded with street vendors, beggars, and people rushing by, bumping into him. He had yet to see anyone laugh or smile, or even look remotely happy. He missed the open spaces, the blue skies, the heat and easy pace of his country. It was just as well that his time here was coming to an end. Once in Dover, he would board a steam packet to Ostende, then travel to the southern tip of Italy before sailing to Sardinia.
An image of Harriet as he left her that morning in the Cock and Magpie, sitting up in bed with her hands filled with treasures and her eyes empty and sad, flashed in his mind. He shook his head. She would be fine. She was resilient, brave and clever. She had emeralds and gold as well as her father’s house at Charlotte Street, and hopefully in the not-too-distant future she would also have whatever w
as left of Barbarossa’s treasure, if he ever found it.
More importantly, she was now safe from Drake and Callaghan.
After several hours spent examining the file on the Brotherhood, questioning Lucas and Knox and taking their statement, Inspector Wrexham of Scotland Yard had promised a full and thorough investigation. Everything seemed to be proceeding the way it should, so why did Lucas have an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach?
‘What did you think of Wrexham?’ he asked Knox as the hansom cab made its way through the crowded streets.
‘He seems competent enough.’
‘He kept us locked in his office all morning,’ Lucas muttered. ‘We never saw or talked to another detective.’
Knox shrugged. ‘He did go out a few times to speak to his constables, and he sent a special constable to the Cock and Magpie to escort Harriet back home. Don’t forget he has to be very discreet if he is to implicate someone as important as Lord Callaghan.’
Knox was right, of course.
‘At least Wrexham said you could leave the country any time you wished,’ the elderly man remarked as the hansom cab pulled up at the entrance to Paternoster Row. He leaned forward and smiled. ‘You’ll have to let me know how you get on with that treasure.’
They started walking down the lane. Knox stopped talking and frowned. ‘That’s odd. The shop is still boarded up, yet James always opens up at ten o’clock on the dot. I wonder what happened.’
He pulled a key out of his waistcoat pocket and was about to insert it in the front door lock when Lucas stopped him.
‘Let’s go round the back.’
They knew something was wrong as soon that they walked in the back alley and saw the back door open and hanging on its hinges.
‘Dear God. The shop’s been burgled!’ Knox exclaimed with alarm.
Lucas pulled out his knife. ‘Wait here, I’ll go in first.’
The storeroom had been trashed, shelves overturned, papers strewn around. He walked down the corridor, attentive to any noise indicating that the burglars were still there. The shop too had been turned upside down. A man lay, unconscious, among the books that littered the floor. Lucas knelt down next to him, rolled him onto his side. He let out a sigh of relief. Despite being covered with bruises and cuts, the man was still breathing.