No Place for a Lady

by Jade Lee

  "No, I am not," returned Fantine smoothly as she gained her feet and smoothed out her gown. "But I am to be presented at Court soon." Then before Ballast could comment, she sharpened her gaze on him. "And so will Sprat, if you let me be."

  It was a mistake. She should have stayed with pretending ignorance of Sprat's whereabouts. After all, there were dozens of ways a young boy could disappear in the dockside rookeries. But it was too late, and now she had to face Ballast's rage.

  "Where is Sprat?" he bellowed. Then he raised his fist again, but Fantine was prepared. Ducking under his fist, she dove straight for one of Ballast's thugs. He was so startled, he did not fight her. He merely stepped aside, allowing her to fall flat on her face, into the pile of Rat's clothing.

  Her hand curled around her knife.

  "Get up!" screamed Ballast between obscenities.

  Fantine stood, knife before her. She did not make the mistake of believing herself out of danger. She was still only one small woman against four large men. But at least her knife kept Ballast from hitting her again.

  And that gave her enough time to reason with him.

  "Yes, Ballast, I have your son. He is learning Greek and Latin and table manners. He is being taught how to talk and dress and read French. He is making his own future now, a better one than you could ever have."

  "I don't believe you!" exploded Ballast, advancing on her. "Wot did you do t' 'im? Did ye kill 'im? Was 'e going t' cut you out of yer daft nob? Is 'at why?"

  "He ain't dead!" she practically screamed at him."'E's going to 'Arrow."

  "Don't lie t' me!" he bellowed. "'E ain't never gonna get t' Arrow, an' you and I both know it!"

  He had stopped advancing, but his face was purple with rage. Fantine readjusted her grip on her knife, but she did not use it. She was still hoping to reason with Ballast.

  "He will get to Harrow. You are supposed to get a letter from him soon. I swear it!"

  She could see the struggle on the man's face. She saw the hope and the disbelief and the panic all wound together. She had always known he loved his son, but she had not realized just how much the boy's disappearance would effect him. Ballast was so twisted up with fear and hope for the boy, he did not seem to know what to do.

  "You must trust me," she said softly. "He is safe and happy. He is getting an education. He will have a future outside of the rookeries."

  She saw his emotions at war on his face as he tried to believe what she had told him. And she saw him lose his own fight. Ballast had lived too long in the rookeries. He could not trust in a better life for him or his son.

  "I want me son!" he roared in a voice that seemed to echo in her head. Then he fell on her. She had the knife ready, and she worked it with as much skill as she could, but he was unstoppable in his fury. Finally she plunged the knife into his thick belly, while he pummeled her about the face and shoulders. She heard nothing, saw nothing, knew nothing but the furious rain of blows.

  Then suddenly, he was gone, plucked off of her as if he had never been.

  She looked up, her thoughts spinning. Had Marcus come to rescue her?

  She first saw Ballast on the floor, his wound bleeding sluggishly. She saw Wilberforce, still pinned to his chair, but this time, not by Ballast's man, but by... Hurdy's man? The three thugs Ballast had brought with him were already on the floor, either held at knifepoint or knocked unconscious, being watched by more brutes. She dismissed all of them with barely a glance.

  Her gaze was drawn to another man, a man in gentleman's attire who stood by Wilberforce and gloated.

  Teggie. Or Lord Baylor, as she now recognized him.

  Then, before she could comment, another man stepped into her line of sight. He was the one man more dangerous to her than Ballast. She had not thought him so at first, but then she looked into his green eyes. There was a dangerous glint in there, and no mercy whatsoever. Fantine bit her lip.

  Hurdy. And he knew she had betrayed him.

  Still, she tried to brazen it out, hoping against hope that she could slip through relatively unscathed. She smiled warmly as she struggled to her feet. "Thank God you are here."

  "Do not thank me yet, Fanny."

  She pulled her swollen eyes as wide as she could and tried to look innocent. "Why? What is wrong?"

  He took a leisurely step forward, his expression almost serene. "Because I know, Fanny. I know you and th' daft were using me to stop Teggie—"

  "No!" she gasped.

  "O' course you were. I found Chadwick right at Teggie's doorstep threatening all sorts o' things." Then he stepped forward with an evil grin on his face. "I took care o' him—"

  "No!" she whispered as a vision of Marcus's dead body filled her thoughts.

  "Yes," he returned as he neatly pulled the knife from her slackened grip. "Now I'm going t' take care o' you."

  Fantine tried to resist. She wanted to fight, but she had no heart for it. The thought of Marcus dead killed any hope she had for the future. For even the present.

  He was dead.

  They had done their best. She had done her best, but the odds were stacked too high against them. Marcus was dead.

  * * *

  "Bloody, pissing hell!"

  Marcus cursed with fluidity as he struggled against his bonds. His wrists and ankles were raw from the fight. His nose was bleeding and his shoulder ached abominably from the two times he had managed to gain his feet only to fall painfully onto the body parts in question.

  "Sink and pissing ant," he grumbled. He might even have knocked a tooth loose. What he had not done was inch one mote of dust closer to the door. Neither had he managed to loosen his bonds in the slightest.

  That was when he heard it. A small creak as if someone or something stepped on a loose floorboard in the hall. It was not a loud sound, barely noticeable over his own muttered curses, but he heard it nonetheless, and he stilled immediately, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath too loud in his ears.

  Was it Hurdy returned to finish the job? No, Hurdy would not bother to be silent. But it could be one of his men. More likely, it was Baylor's last remaining servant. No, wait. The man was on holiday.

  It did not matter. Whoever it was, he was well and truly caught.

  Chapter 23

  It took some time before Fantine could straighten herself up enough to face Hurdy. It took even longer for her to try and find a handle on the situation to turn it to her advantage.

  It took so long, in fact, that she could not do it. She could only sigh as Hurdy stood before her, lifting up her bruised face until he stared right into her eyes.

  "You betrayed me. You were supposed to kill 'im." It was not a question.

  "I told you I would protect Wilberforce until I met with Teggie." She glanced over at Lord Baylor. "My lord, would you be so kind as to open your mouth."

  "I beg your pardon!"

  "Do it!" ordered Hurdy.

  "I will not." The man practically quivered in outrage.

  Then something absolutely delightful happened. Mr. Wilberforce, a crippled old man, surged up and grabbed hold of Lord Baylor's hair, pulling it backward. Then he peered down into the man's mouth.

  "Three gold teeth," he pronounced solemnly.

  Fantine smiled. She had not even thought Wilberforce aware of their discoveries regarding Teggie.

  In answer to her unspoken question, the MP turned to her. "Penworthy told me. I swear, it has been difficult counting men's teeth while discussing politics. Gave me a headache."

  "I understand completely," responded Fantine, some of her equilibrium returning.

  Unfortunately, Wilberforce's one comment was enough to wipe away Hurdy's lingering doubts. He now had absolute proof that she had been colluding against him.

  "You will die horribly," he hissed in her ear.

  Fantine's heart sank. She heard no reprieve in his voice, no room for manipulation. She had lost, and she knew it.

  A dull sort of fatalism washed through her. She had no expectat
ion of a daring rescue by Marcus. Hurdy had already "taken care o' him." But then she frowned. That did not necessarily mean he killed him.

  "What exactly did you do to Chadwick?" she asked.

  Hurdy grinned. "'E's dead. I sent my best man to finish 'im."

  Fantine could only close her eyes against the stab of pain. Baylor, on the other hand, stiffened, pulling away from Wilberforce with a swift jerk of his head. "You did not!"

  "Aye, I did," returned Hurdy."'E'll be colder than stone by now."

  "How dare you!" shrieked Baylor. "Why would you do such a thing?"

  Fantine forced herself to open her eyes, forced herself to pay attention. She might not care for herself anymore. With Marcus dead, she had little heart for her own life. But Wilberforce was another matter. She still had a responsibility to save him.

  So she clenched her teeth and tried to bring her thoughts into focus. Lord Baylor and Hurdy were quarreling, over Marcus, of all things.

  "I told you to leave Chadwick alive!" he screeched.

  "Well, 'e's dead. And now you ain't got a choice. You 'ave to kill Wilberforce, and it will be by your own 'and too. I will not be left to 'ang just because of your nonsense."

  Then the strangest thing happened. Baylor actually seemed to preen. He puffed up his chest, his expression sly. "Perhaps it will be you who dies." Then he pulled out a pistol. Just one. Loaded, no doubt, with one ball. Against four men, not counting the lumped forms of Ballast and his men.

  At least he had the brains to point it at Hurdy and not any of the hirelings. Still, he looked quite ridiculous standing there, a single weapon against so many.

  "You see," he said to the room at large, "I have uncovered a most heinous plot. Unfortunately, I was not in time to save Chadwick or Wilberforce," and he swung his pistol to the aged MP. "But at least I was able to kill the famous dockside criminal and rescue the lovely Miss Drake." He pointed his gun back toward Hurdy as he smiled at Fantine. "Come along, my dear. I know this must seem terribly confusing, but I swear I shall explain it all to you."

  Fantine considered going with him. At least by his side, she could keep him from shooting Wilberforce. But one glance about the room told her she need not worry. Two of Hurdy's men were already flanking Baylor and both had pistols. If the one did not get him, the other would. Lord Baylor would be dead before he could get off a single shot, and he was the only one who did not understand that.

  She could not even summon up enough energy to feel sorry for him. "My lord, you are a fool," she said softly.

  Then the door flew open, smashing Baylor in the face, flinging him backward. The reports of two guns went off, echoing loudly in the small room. The one was from Baylor and produced a massive hole right in the center of her door. The other was from the poor sod Baylor landed on, and went right through Baylor's chest from back to front.

  Fantine did not have to see the body to know that Lord Baylor was dead. She was more interested in why the door had suddenly flown open.

  But there was nothing to see. The hall seemed empty. Fantine's heart soared within her. She did not dare hope, but she did. Had Marcus come back for her?

  Then she remembered that he was probably dead, and she had to blink away the tears. She could not hope for aid from her personal daft hero.

  Finally someone stepped into the open door, and Fantine had no more time to spare for grief. It was an auspicious moment, a grand entrance, as everyone strained to see who was there.

  "Louise?" Fantine gasped, horrified at the girl's colossally bad timing. The diminutive child was sauntering in on her toes, lightly carrying a tray of... soup?

  "Wot?" came the girl's high voice.

  It was only then that Fantine noticed the odd things. First off, the girl held the tray high, hiding her face. Fantine knew who it was, of course, because other than general size and build, Louise was the only child she knew who perpetually walked on her toes. The other thing she noticed was that the girl was dressed childishly, in clothes she must have rooted out of the bottom of her wardrobe. She could not have looked younger if she had put on nappies! Louise was nearing thirteen, but she looked seven at the most. And the face that twisted and turned from beneath the tray was so blandly innocent that Fantine knew the girl was up to something.

  "Blimey," Louise called out in her most childish voice. "Oi can't see anything from behind this tray. Where are you, Fanny?"

  "Right here," she said with a sigh. Then, after a curt nod from Hurdy, Fantine stepped forward. "Hold still or you will spill it. Louise! Louise, do not wiggle so. Louise!"

  The soup went tumbling down, spilling scalding hot liquid all over Hurdy.

  The criminal screamed while Fantine quickly grabbed the tray. Pushing Louise to one side, she began swinging the heavy wood with all her might. Hurdy went down, still bellowing from his burns. His henchmen were next as Fantine spun, searching for another target.

  But there were none.

  Instead, there was Marcus, alive and furious, right in front of her, striking brutes down one by one with all the fury of a rampaging bull. He was magnificent, and soon all she need do was step back and watch.

  "Coo, he is good," whispered Louise. "Jes think wot 'e'd be like in bed!"

  "Louise!" she cried. Then she tensed. Ballast was rising up, fury mottling his features, his men surging to their feet as well. Apparently they had been waiting for just the right moment to strike.

  But again, Fantine's services were not needed. Marcus had seen them coming, knocking them down before they gained their feet. Those he could not catch were dispatched by Wilberforce, cackling in delight. "I may be old, but I am not completely useless, am I?" he cried.

  Then he plopped back down in his chair, completely winded from his exertions.

  Meanwhile Marcus spun, once, twice, and a third time as he made sure all the brutes were down. Suddenly there was the sound of many feet scrambling up the stairs to her door. Would this never end?

  Fantine raised her tray. Marcus readied his fists. Even Louise lifted the empty crock of soup while Wilberforce once again struggled to his feet.

  Jacob appeared at the door.

  Marcus was barely able to pull back the blow aimed square at his coachman's face. "Jacob! Bloody hell, man, announce yourself first!"

  The man stopped dead in his tracks, surveyed the scene before him, and paled to a pasty white.

  "Cor blimey, my lord," he breathed, "you are good!"

  Marcus did not answer. He merely returned his gaze to the floor, then stepped forward, and neatly cuffed one of Ballast's men who was struggling to his feet. "We need something to bind them with."

  "No problem, guv," answered a high voice.

  Fantine looked up to see Giles, Nameless, and a series of ebullient, dirty boys scurry in with long leather strips in their hands. It was not until they began tying men up that Fantine realized what they were using.

  "Those are your reins."

  "Aye," answered Jacob. "It was what we had on hand."

  "You did fine," answered Marcus, his voice low.

  Fantine had not realized how close he was, how very near to her body he was, until he spoke those words. She turned slightly, moving into his embrace without conscious thought, and he pulled her close.

  "I thought you were dead." She breathed deeply, savoring his earthy scent, knowing it meant he was alive.

  "I am very much alive, thanks to Giles. Thank God the boy cannot follow simple orders. After Hurdy and Baylor left, he crept in and cut me free."

  She felt him touch her chin, tilting her head so he could see her face. She did not even remember her bruises until she felt him tense, anger and horror mixing in his expression.

  "I am fine," she said softly. "Truly." Then she closed her eyes and buried her face against his chest, reassuring herself that he was well. "Hurdy said he sent someone to kill you."

  "The man met with an accident," he whispered against her hair. "It would take more than Hurdy and Ballast and all the knives in the
rookery to keep me from you."

  Fantine swallowed, not at all surprised to realize her face was wet with tears. He was alive. She had been so afraid...

  "Gawd, kiss her, already," cut in Louise, giving Marcus a little shove. "Are all the lords as slow as this one to take a lady?" she asked Wilberforce. "If so, then I 'ave a miserable life ahead of me." Then her voice changed somewhat, becoming more canny as she crossed to the MP's side. "Unless some kind stranger would pay fer just a few o' me dance lessons..."

  There was more, of course. Louise would not stop pestering Wilberforce until he had given her thrice what she needed for a dancing career. But Fantine was no longer listening.

  Marcus was kissing her, his touch strong, his passion seemingly as fierce as her own. He nearly crushed her to him, and yet she longed to be closer. He was alive! They were alive!

  And she loved him.

  "If she ain't 'is mistress by now, I wager five quid she will be afore the night's out." That was Louise again, her voice barely registering over the pounding of Fantine's head. But then Marcus drew back, his expression grave.

  "No," he said softly. "She will not be my mistress."

  Fantine tensed. He did not want her? Surely...

  He must have read the panic in her eyes, because he pressed his finger to her lips, effectively holding back her pain for a moment. A bare second, but it was all he needed.

  "I love you, Fantine. I want to marry you, if you will have me."

  All her words stopped in her throat, and Fantine stared at him, caught between the sinking horror of a second ago and the sudden surge of elation now.

  "Coo..." breathed Louise.

  Then before Fantine could answer, Marcus suddenly buckled, his knees going out from under him as he sank to the floor.

  "Marcus!" she cried, but she was stopped by Nameless's dirty face.

  "Daft bugger," the boy said with a grin. "Don't 'e know 'e's supposed to be on 'is knees?"

  Then Marcus shifted and glared at the boy. "You need not have kicked me! A simple word would have sufficed."

  "Oi'll kick you again, if'n ye don't do it right."

  "What?"