by Jade Lee
It was an enchanted walk for couples and a perfect rendezvous for her and Hurdy, especially as he and his men were still dressed as footmen. They could all wander though the area without appearing conspicuous.
Her guide brought her to a dark corner secluded by a hedgerow. In truth, it was no more than a small, dank clearing for refuse, and it smelled horribly, but it was likely the most private location.
"Well, well," she quipped, "fancy meeting you here."
Hurdy was leaning against the fence, inscrutable as he cleaned his nails with the point of a long thin knife. Around him stood three of his men.
Then Hurdy spoke. He did not even look up, merely addressed his long fingers, inspecting them with studied casualness. "Tell me why I should not kill you right now."
Fantine smiled. Part of her thrilled to the knowledge that she was no longer playing with amateurs. Hurdy was one of the best, and it was a pleasure matching wits with him. If only her life were not on the line.
"You cannot kill me because you still need me."
"You betrayed me."
"Me?" Fantine laughed fully for the first time. She had not realized how restricted her life with Lottie had been until this moment. She had finally returned to her element. "I did not betray anyone. We had a bargain. You do not move on Wilberforce until I speak with Teggie."
He shot forward, his knife at the ready, but she did not flinch. "We had nothing. And I am the only one what speaks with Teggie."
Fantine smirked, putting on a false show of bravado. "As if you could present my thoughts as well as I." She shifted, pushing his knife down and away from her as much as he would allow. It was still well within easy reach of her throat. But she continued as if he had dropped his guard completely. "What Teggie truly wants is to discredit Wilberforce, and only I can do that for you." She took another step forward. "Let me meet with Teggie, explain things."
His response was swift and final. "No."
Fantine shook her head. "Until I speak with Teggie myself, I will act as the MP's personal protector. You will get nowhere without me."
"Then I will kill you now."
She shrugged. "You cannot think I will go down without a fight. And I assure you, I shall make as much noise as possible. Whom do you think the nearby people will believe? Me, a pure and innocent member of the ton, or a hired footman who turns out to be a dockside criminal? Your neck will be stretched before you can say Jack Dandy."
She grinned, forcing a cockiness she knew was not warranted. And, in fact, her nervousness was soon proved true. Before she could do more than take a breath, one of Hurdy's men slipped forward to hold her securely from behind. She didn't even have the time to struggle before her arms were pinned behind her back, her own neck stretched as Hurdy's knife teased her throat.
"You will not have time to make a sound."
"No, but I will."
Everyone spun at the low voice, but it was Fantine who groaned at the sight.
There, silhouetted by a dark red lantern, stood Mr. Thompson, a pistol in his hand. He pointed it unerringly at Hurdy's chest, and he looked as if he was a crack shot.
"Sweet Jesus!" cursed Hurdy. "How many daft lords do you 'ave?"
"More and more every day, it appears," Fantine said.
Hurdy stepped forward, adding his own hand to her throat and squeezing in his frustration. "But 'ow? There is nothing special about you. You charms are barely above a street tart."
Fantine merely smiled, knowing that she was making headway with Hurdy, if only he would release his hold on her neck. "Let go an' I will tell you," she croaked out.
"But—" Hurdy cursed.
"I suggest you do as she says," said Mr. Thompson, raising his pistol.
The seconds ticked by as Hurdy measured Mr. Thompson's determination. Then he looked down at her, and she saw fury in his eyes. Had she pushed him too far?
Not yet. After an interminable wait, Hurdy cursed and stepped away. Though she was still held captive, she could at least breathe.
"Tell me now," Hurdy growled. "Who is this daft?"
"My friend," she gasped out. "'Tis easy, Hurdy. I know what they like, and I know how to give it to them." Then she lifted her head, her breathing at last evened out. "I do not know if I can teach it to you, but I can certainly tell you how to do it."
She spoke quickly. Despite Hurdy's concession, she knew the danger remained. She and Mr. Thompson could not easily defeat Hurdy and his men, especially as the henchmen had already spread out, preparing to take down the newest interloper.
"Come on, luv," she continued soothingly to Hurdy. "Let me go so we can talk." Then she glanced significantly at Mr. Thompson. "If he fires now, you will have dozens of daft lords here, all clamoring for your head."
Hurdy groaned, his expression one of resignation. "Very well." With a swift wave of his hand, he gestured for the one brute to release Fantine and the others to stop their menacing advance on Mr. Thompson.
"Very wise," returned Mr. Thompson. "Now, Fantine, if you would please come over here."
Fantine smiled, wishing she could explain. "I am sorry, Mr. Thompson. You have been very brave, and I am extraordinarily grateful. Unfortunately, Hurdy and I have not finished our discussion."
"Do not be ridiculous!" he snapped. "He was about to kill you."
"It is all part of a rather complex... um, negotiation. Now please just stand there looking threatening while I finish my business."
"But—"
"Trust me, Mr. Thompson. I can only keep them from killing you once, and I am afraid I just used up that allotment." Then she returned her attention to Hurdy. "Can you not see it? I am much better at this than you. Gentlemen fairly fall over themselves to save me. I know them, you see. And I know I am right about Teggie."
Hurdy folded his arms, his expression fierce. "The man hired me to do a job," he said firmly. "And I intend to do it."
"No, the man hired you to take care of a problem. Unfortunately, both you and Teggie lack enough imagination to see that murder is not the best answer right now." Fantine peered through the darkness, seeing hesitation in Hurdy's undisguised frown. "Look at him," she suddenly said, gesturing to Mr. Thompson. "He is as respectable as they come. Yet, he is here, risking life and limb to protect me. He is acting so gallantly, in fact, that I believe I shall marry him."
She could see Mr. Thompson's gaze dart to her in surprise before quickly hopping right back to Hurdy's thugs. Very good, she commended silently. He knew to keep his comments to himself until a more auspicious moment. So she turned her attention back to Hurdy, pressing her point as best she could.
"You cannot think you could engender such support on your own. Only I can do this. And that makes me extremely valuable."
Hurdy shook his head. "'E will never want you after all this."
"Then I will have lost the best one," she said as much to herself as to the others. "But there will be others."
"You are too cocky."
"I am bright, beautiful, and very sure of myself."
"Aye," Hurdy said, his frown so pronounced it seemed to take over his entire face. "Cocky means dead. You can never deliver what you promise."
"I can," she returned. "And if you do not snatch up my services, then I may have to make my bargain with Ballast."
That comment was the final straw for Hurdy, as she knew it would be. He cursed loudly and fluently, but the sound was his surrender and they both knew it. "Very well," he finally said, his words grudging. "You are in."
"Excellent!"
"But I talk to Teggie first. I will see if 'e wants to speak with you. If not, then you will 'ave to do what I say, as I say it."
"I want to meet him, explain—"
"You do as I say!" Then before she could react, he once again reached out and gripped her throat, cutting off her breath as surely as any vise. "I am still the leader here. Do not ever forget that!"
Fantine lowered her eyes in acknowledgment, nodding her head when he allowed her to. Then he re
leased her, throwing her away from him so that she stumbled.
"Fantine!" cried Mr. Thompson as he stepped toward her.
That was a mistake. He should have let her be, but he was a hero at heart and thought he could rescue her.
He could not. In that moment of inattention, Hurdy reached out and snatched away his pistol. Then he shoved her erstwhile rescuer into her. She had just regained her footing and was forced to catch Mr. Thompson to prevent him from tumbling them both back into the mud.
"Watch 'em," Hurdy snapped to his men. Then he stomped out of their tiny alcove, presumably to find Teggie.
It took a moment before she and Mr. Thompson regained their balance, but when she did, Fantine nearly kicked herself in frustration. Good Lord, she had muddled the whole affair again! She had not discovered Teggie's identity, and now she had dragged yet another unpredictable aristocrat into the entire mess.
She knew how to handle men like Hurdy and Ballast. They were known quantities. But these bizarre heroic gentlemen were wild cards, as dangerous to themselves as to her because they were unpredictable. Truly, what possessed a man to think he could simply arm himself with a gun and win out over lifelong players reared in the dangerous rookeries?
Fools, every one of them. Yet, she could not help feeling affection for them. Sighing, she turned toward Mr. Thompson with a rueful smile.
"I am sorry you were pulled into this nonsense."
"I am sorry I did not throw you into the carriage when I had the chance," he returned irritably.
"But then you would have missed your chance to meet one of the leading criminal figures in Southwark," she said blithely.
He turned toward her, his expression fierce. "I do not find this a time for humor."
She raised her eyebrows at his sour tone. "Mr. Thomp—"
"This nonsense cannot continue! You realize that, do you not?"
She shrugged to cover her annoyance. He was not taking this situation very well. Not very well at all. She gestured to the four thugs cutting off their exit. "Perhaps you could use your money and your title to order them to leave us alone."
"Your humor is entirely misplaced! I take great comfort in the fact that there is little of this in Birmingham. You will have much less opportunity for this... this dangerous game after we are married."
Fantine turned slowly, torn between conflicting emotions. Elation and anger coiled within her, but neither found an outlet. Instead she focused on his fundamental assumption. "You still expect to marry me?" Then she shook her head. "No, I mean you still wish to marry me?"
He hesitated, as if he too was surprised by his own thoughts. "Despite this, uh, diversion, you are still the most intelligent female I have met. You appeared to take great interest in my plans. I am an honest, kind gentleman and the best you can hope for given your particular situation."
"And what situation is that?" she said, her irritation growing by the second.
"Your modest dowry, your unremarkable bloodline." Then he cast a significant glance about him. "Your unusual hobby."
"Hobby! You make this sound as if I were playing with dolls!"
"And are you not?" he shot back. "What is this but a dangerous game to you? Something to alleviate your boredom? Why else would a gently bred female begin consorting with felons?"
"Why—" She cut off her own words. Her anger had grown to a boiling fury, but Mr. Thompson was not the appropriate outlet. The most appropriate receptacles were standing nearby, smirking as they followed her spat with her possible fiancé.
But she still had to disguise her intentions. With that in mind, she let her hostility clench her fists and heat her words as she advanced on Mr. Thompson, simultaneously moving closer to the nearest thug.
"Now listen here, you rich aristocrat. Yes, I do like you. And yes, I support your plans for your land. But this is no game to me, and I am no gently bred poppet with too much time on my hands! And furthermore..."
She did not bother to finish. Instead, she planted her fist square between the nearest brute's eyes. He went down like a stone, while she turned on the next.
It took barely two seconds before Mr. Thompson joined in the fray. He was perhaps not as quick as Chadwick, but she was grateful nonetheless. After all, they were fighting professional killers, and they were still outnumbered.
Chapter 18
Marcus rushed into the ballroom with unseemly haste. Or rather, it would have been unseemly haste if he were not stopped every few inches by another person asking what had happened to Mr. Wilberforce. Was he quite well? Had the strain of his new bill finally caught up with him? After all, it was coming to a vote next week.
He dealt with them as quickly as possible without seeming to rush. Yes, Mr. Wilberforce was quite well. Yes, Marcus supported the bill and hoped that it would pass unanimously. No, the MP was not injured, merely tired, and could someone please direct him to his mother, his sister, and Lottie's young charge?
But when he got to that question, the answers became both specific and vague. Everyone had seen them. In fact, he was told over and over that Mr. Thompson had been quite dashing as he carried poor Miss Drake across the ballroom. An announcement was expected within hours.
But as to Miss Drake's specific location, no one knew exactly. Some said the ladies' rearing room. Others said their host had found her a room upstairs. Some said they had left. In short, the only thing that everyone knew was that they thought it an excellent match.
"Oh, there are you are, Chadwick. How is Mr. Wilberforce?"
"He is fine. Only a little tired," Marcus responded without thinking, his gaze still scanning the ballroom. He had intended to find the host or hostess to discover if Fantine was upstairs, but neither person appeared.
"So you took him home?"
"Hmmm?" Marcus shifted suddenly, thinking he had caught a glimpse of Fantine, but it turned out to be another young lady, her dress garish, her gaze rather vapid. Definitely not Fantine.
"Wilberforce. Did you take him to his home?"
Marcus frowned, finally turning his attention to the gentlemen addressing him. "Lord Baylor, why are you so interested in Mr. Wilberforce's whereabouts?"
The younger gentlemen pulled his lips taut over his teeth in a semblance of a smile. "Wilberforce and I have been working closely together on his bill."
Marcus nodded. He had heard as much, but somehow he found it hard to believe. The two had been bitter rivals for Mr. Wilberforce's seat in the House of Commons. In fact, Baylor had nearly beggared himself during the campaign, but to no avail. Wilberforce had triumphed, and Baylor had not disguised his hatred of the man.
Now they were working side by side on the same bill? The thought was ludicrous, but Marcus himself had seen the two together on more than one occasion.
"I have something urgent to discuss with him," pressed Baylor. "We may lose support from Mr. Woods and his friends. I fear that only Wilberforce can keep them on our side. They have been wavering from the outset and will not listen to me."
Marcus nodded. True, that was a serious matter. But not serious enough for Marcus to reveal Wilberforce's location. At least not until he spoke with Fantine and understood the exact nature of the danger.
"You have not seen Miss Drake, have you? Do you know for certain if she has left?"
Baylor frowned. "I was with her when she hurt her ankle. She asked me to locate you, but you discovered her directly after. Beyond your spiriting Mr. Wilberforce away, I do not know what happened."
Marcus sighed. He would simply have to go to Lottie's home and hope that she was there.
"So Wilberforce is at home then? I can speak to him there?"
Marcus was about to answer when he saw a dark-haired man wander outside with a petite woman on his arms. He had forgotten that the ballroom spilled onto an extensive garden.
Could she be out there? He tried to think logically. Something had happened here, something that required Wilberforce's swift departure. If Marcus knew anything about Fantine, it was tha
t she would not run home to safety. She would stay here to investigate. She would probably make sure the MP was out of danger, then would pretend to leave, before returning in secret. After all, she was a master at fading into the background. Why not slip away and change into a maid's gown?
But if that was true, then she could be anywhere!
He began to scan the servants, ignoring the footmen to concentrate on the maids. There were few in sight, but he peered closely at those he could see. Lord Baylor was completely dismissed from his thoughts until he felt a strong arm pull him around.
"Chadwick! Please, I must know where Wilberforce is. The bill is at stake!"
Marcus sighed. "You cannot see him tonight, but I believe he intends to dine at White's at one o'clock."
"Excellent," Baylor said, his voice filled with relief. "Woods will be there, too." Then before Marcus could respond, Baylor was distracted by a footman who offered him a single white sheet of linen paper. "Excuse me, Chadwick," said Baylor as he turned toward the servant.
Marcus was only too happy to oblige. Stepping away, he dismissed everything from his thoughts except locating Fantine. At the moment, he cared little for politics, little even for Wilberforce. He only had thoughts of finding Fantine. He had no idea what he would say to her when he found her. He merely intended to locate her immediately, assure himself that she was well and unmarried, and then decide what to do next.
With that goal firmly fixed, he headed for the garden.
Once there, he found nothing but beautiful globes of colored lights and a number of couples engaged in various stages of seduction. Most were quite proper, but he surprised two couples who had moved well beyond the edge of decency. It was nothing more than what he had expected, but the sight irritated him nonetheless. He kept imagining Fantine and Thompson engaged in such matters, and the very thought was enough to make him clench his fists in impotent anger.
He had nearly given up when he heard it. Soon, it came again.
"Mumph!"
Someone had just been hit. Hard. Marcus moved for the sound, and as he walked, the noises became more distinct.