Fitch set his arms akimbo, as if he would give her further argument, but her unrelenting look of defiance encouraged him to acquiesce and give only the assistance she asked for. Accepting his brawny hand, Elise caught up her skirts and leapt to the landing, taking care with her sore ankle. Spence kept a wary eye on her as he helped Fitch collect the supplies from the boat, but there was no need for caution. Elise had no intention of fleeing their custody while they were here in this foul place. Such an act would be tantamount to jumping from a boiling pot into the fire. Worse villains than Spence and Fitch roamed the shadows of this sin-bound district.
A bone-chilling dampness, imbued with musty odors, closed in about them in the form of an insidious fog. Elise shivered, feeling detached from reality by the dank, cloying vapors. She was totally at odds with her surroundings, and she found no security in the knowledge that not very far away, residenced in the old Whitefriars monastery, was the great vagrant army of the Beggar’s Brotherhood. She had once dared enter its halls in her guise as a boy to make inquiries about her father, and there had found an odious order of diverse and devious artisans who were not above robbing graves or the gallows at Tyburn for their elaborate disguises. Among their members were the violent and thieving ex-soldier rufflers, the horse-thieving priggers, the soap-frothing grantners, and the dummerers who mutely mouthed and feebly gestured for their coins but in the security of Whitefriars told riotously ribald tales and slapped their sturdy thighs in high glee. The most ingenious were the caperdudgeons who were known for their outlandish trappings. The most frightening and grotesque sights she had ever witnessed was when one of these wretches strapped on a corpse’s severed and shriveled limb so he could pose as a cripple. The sight had been enough to send her flying to a secluded spot where she had promptly relieved her nausea. Outside the city, the beggars traveled in groups of a hundred or more and were usually preceded by foreboding cries of “The beggars are coming! The beggars are coming!” Inside Alsatia one never heard the warnings nor really ever knew when it was safe to move about or what eyes might be watching from the shadows. Here roamed the dregs of society, and their hours were as varied as their crimes.
Seeming as nervous as she, the two men cast furtive glances along the riverbank before they hustled her up the stairs. Firm grasps on her elbow and skirt checked her flight and made her aware of their restraint as she was whisked down a series of narrow streets and passageways where the stench of offal nearly made her gag. She was taken through a maze of shabby buildings until they came to a tall, narrow, gable-roofed structure. A weatherworn sign hung above the doorway, identifying the place as the Red Friar’s Inn.
They huddled in the deep gloom of the portal as Fitch peered up and down the street, then he raised his knuckles to lightly rap upon the oaken plank. Silence answered him, and, nervously licking his lips, he rapped again, this time a hairbreadth louder. Finally a voice from within gave response before hurrying footsteps approached the door. After a rattle of chains, a thump of a bar, and aloud creak of rusty hinges, the panel moved inward a slight degree, allowing a dim sliver of light to escape. A woman’s face appeared in the opening above a candle, and she looked them over with eyes that were still dull and puffed from sleep.
“At ye, Ramonda?” Fitch broached the inquiry guardedly.
The woman’s stare moved from the man to slowly rake Elise. A lopsided, somewhat sardonic smile displayed brackish teeth, then her slitted eyes cut back to Fitch. “Aye, I remembers ye alright. Ye were the ones what brought ‘is lor’ship ta me.”
“Aye, ‘at we did.” Fitch cast a wary glance over his shoulder before he pressed closer to the door. “The master said ye’d give us shelter.”
The portal swung wider, making loud protest in the still night, and Ramonda motioned them in. “Come in ‘fore ye’re seen.”
Fitch tugged on the woolen cloak he grasped and received an unappreciative glare from his captive. “Come now, mistress,” he coaxed pleadingly, anxious for her to obey without creating a scene. He was no more at home in this place than she was. “ ‘Ere be vittles inside an’ a place where ye can rest for a spell.”
Flanked by the two hefty bodies, it was clear to Elise that she had no other choice. Holding the cloak tightly about her, she stepped through the narrow doorway and could hardly dismiss the close proximity of the men as they shuffled in behind her, nearly trodding on her heels in their haste. When they all were safely ensconced inside, the portal was slammed and bolted behind them to a duet of relieved sighs.
“No need for ye ta fret yerselves.” Ramonda smirked as she handed a lighted taper to the taller man. “Ye’re safe enough now.”
Fitch and Spence were none too sure. Beyond the pale circles of flickering candlelight the common room remained dark and obscure. They knew not what form could fly out at them from the shadows.
Dying embers still glowed in the hearth, awaiting another stirring to life at morningtide, while the stench of stale ale, peat smoke, and sweat seemed to hang close above their heads, held there by the low ceiling.
Elise felt Ramonda’s close inspection and boldly returned the same with eyes that were cool and distrusting. Here was a third face she was determined to remember, if ever there came a time for justice. The woman’s age was somewhere beyond a score and ten, but she was still a handsome woman though evidence of a hard life was beginning to show in her face. A large shawl had been thrown over her nightgown, but the wrap was nearly lost beneath the wildly tossed, flaming-red hair.
“Ye’re a young one.” Ramonda voiced her own observations as if strangely disturbed.
Elise had seen the fine lines across the other’s brow deepen into a troubled scowl and was quick to give comment, just in case Ramonda held any trepidations about her own part in this conspiracy. “That I may well be, madam,” she retorted, “but I’m old enough to know you’ll be hanged at Tyburn with this pair of louts if you plan to do me harm.”
Sweeping her long, fuzzy hair casually over her shoulder, Ramonda banished any idea of a suffering conscience when she responded with a deep, throaty laugh. “No need ta get yerself in a stew, missy. Ye’ll be taken care o’ well ‘nough, though ‘tis a mystery ta me why ye’re even ‘ere. But then, I ‘afta remember ‘is lor’ship ‘as a feelin’ for gittin’ even.”
“And just who might this wayward lord be?” Else queried, eyeing the woman closely. She was well aware that both Reland Huxford and Forsworth Radborne might desire revenge upon her, and though the prideful Forsworth had no claim to a title, he had always enjoyed putting on airs and thinking of himself as some exalted personage.
“I’ll reckon ye’ll be knowin’ soon ‘nough,” Ramonda answered with a confident air. Dismissing the girl with a flippant shrug of her shoulder, she beckoned them to follow as she made her way from the common room. Entering a passageway, she led the way up narrow, rickety stairs. It was a long, wearying climb which took them beyond the bowels of the place to a landing where they were warned to silence by their guide. Even Elise was fearful of making a sound as they passed down a long corridor with many doors, with no doubt many an unworthy taking his rest behind the portals. At its end, another door led to another steep staircase that demanded another long climb. Elise’s ankle and legs were aching when they reached the lofty level, evidence of the stiffness her enforced confinement was imposing upon her.
Stepping ahead of them down a short hall, Ramonda entered a tiny room tucked beneath the gabled roof of the inn and set a candle on the table. As Elise and the men followed, the woman swept a freckled hand to indicate the barred window in the dormer. “The liedy’ll keep ‘ere well ‘nough whilst ye tend yer business in the Stilliards.”
Elise quickly took note that the tiny window had been secured with small pegs to prevent it from being opened from the inside, not only forbidding the escape of the occupant, but preventing any verbal exchange with passers-by. The tiny chamber was obviously intended to be her prison, albeit one which had been made relatively comfortable
with a narrow rope bed, a chair, and a small table at which to dine. Nearby, a washstand held the bare necessities for a toilette, a basin and pitcher, a towel and a small chunk of soap.
“As ye can see for yerselves, she’ll not be escapin’,” Ramonda boasted.
Fitch tucked in his chin, compressing the folds beneath it as he expressed his doubt. “Ye’d better keep an eye on ‘er just the same,” he advised. “She’s a crafty one, she is, an’ canna be trusted.”
Ramonda arched a querying brow as she contemplated the slender girl and the hulking man. When she peered closer, she noticed the bruise alongside his cheek and questioned in some amazement, “As the lil’ twit done ye ill?”
“Truth be, a shrew ‘as better manners,” Fitch complained without discretion. “ ‘Twill be folly for ‘is lor’ship if he canna’ curb her mischief.”
“Aye, ‘is lor’ship may well rue the day he told ye ta fetch her,” Ramonda agreed, wishing fervently he would do so before it was too late to turn back.
“Come now,” Elise coaxed jeeringly. “If you think I’ll bring so much havoc to his poor lordship, whoever the rapscallion may be, why do you not favor him with a gift and set me free? Why, I’ll even be generous and forget I’ve ever seen the three of you.”
“ ‘At’d set us ta a bloody war with ‘is lor’ship for sure,” the burly man observed.
Ramonda kept her eyes lowered, afraid her desires could be seen in them. The emotions of jealousy and hate were hard to mask when they roiled so near the surface.
Spence had remained silent through their comments, but now interrupted in a brusque tone, directing himself to Ramonda. “The girl’ll need rest an’ vittles. See ta her needs whilst we’re gone, an’ when this be done, ye’ll be given the purse ye were promised . . . if ye’ve done yer part.”
Spence nudged Fitch’s arm, and the men took their leave, closing the door behind them. Ramonda’s demeanor turned venomous as she glowered at Elise. She would have gladly crawled on her hands and knees to serve his lordship, but now, having seen what a beauty he had captured, she knew he had asked too much of her. By helping spirit this girl out of the country, she would be sending another woman straight into his arms, a place where she longed desperately to be herself. Too many hateful emotions churned within her when she looked at—her mind formed the description derisively—the sweet, young thing. Hate. Envy. Jealousy. They were cruel barbs on a cat-o’-nine, tormenting her unmercifully and tearing into her heart and soul.
Oh, she knew how farfetched her own yearnings were. The probability of her infatuation congealing into any sort of close involvement with his lordship was simply nonexistent. The time he had spent at the inn was so brief, she knew he was totally unaware of her devotion. Yet that knowledge did not ease her pain.
Ramonda’s disdaining gaze descended over the rough garb of the girl. Though the shabby gown was not what a lady might wear, the creamy skin, the regal bearing and carefully tended nails gave evidence of the girl’s true station in life, and it nettled Ramonda sorely that she could never be where the girl was already. “ ‘Igh-falutin’ ye may well be, missy,” she jeered, “but ye can bet life won’t be so foin where ye’re goin’.”
“Where am I going?” Elise lifted a delicately sweeping brow in curiosity, hoping the answer would come, though at the same time knowing it would not.
Enjoying a small slice of revenge on her rival, Ramonda chortled, “Ta ‘ell, maybe.”
The younger woman responded to the jibe with a casual lifting of her slender shoulders. “I suppose ‘twould be no worse than this place.”
Ramonda’s eyes narrowed into a glare. Revenge was not so sweet when her words were cast aside with a mere shrug. She was tortured by envy and wanted to wreak vengeance upon the girl for all the misery she was now suffering, but she dared not, knowing she could never endure the humiliation of his lordship learning of her deeds. In truth, if the blame could be cast elsewhere, she would even allow the chit to escape.
“I’m s’posed ta fetch ye some vittles,” she announced sharply. “Would ye be wantin’ some gruel now . . . or later?”
The offer was unappetizing, and Elise declined with a bland smile. “I believe I can wait until later.”
“Suit yerself then,” the woman snapped. “I ain’t gonna force no ‘igh an’ mighty liedy like yerself ta eat me gruel. It might spoil yer ap’tite for all ‘at rich fare ye’re used ta.”
Too tired for further argument, Elise remained mute beneath the other’s sneering regard, and finally Ramonda snatched up a candle and strode out, locking the door behind her. In much relief Elise sagged onto the cot, thankful there would be no physical abuse laid upon her, to which she would have to respond. It was not that she was afraid of the woman though Ramonda was at least half a head taller and outweighed her by a good two stone. It was just that she distinctly remembered the advice of the scullery maid’s son, that if she could not avoid a challenge or a fight, then at least choose the time and place to her advantage.
Elise slipped the hide shoes from her feet and curled up beneath the coverlet. She had not realized until now the depth of her fatigue, for she felt totally drained and sorely in need of rest. Her eyelids sagged, and her mind began to wander aimlessly until sleep overtook her, then she drifted in a dreamless void that was bereft of all knowledge and awareness.
Of a sudden Elise found herself staring at the low ceiling, and she lay listening to the creaks and groans of the place as her eyes slowly searched the small cubicle for the cause of her disturbed slumber. The tiny flame of the candle burned steadily, then strangely began to dip and flutter, as if’teased by a current of air. Elise’s gaze flew to the door, the only source through which a breeze could flow and there she saw the portal moving inward. Her heart began to flutter. She could only think of the countless doors she had passed downstairs, and behind each she knew not what.
Elise almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when Ramonda came through the doorway, but she lay without stirring, watching from beneath lowered lids as the woman crossed to the table, carrying in a trencher of meats and bread and a mug of some unknown brew. Immediately Elise’s eyes flicked to the open doorway, and her heart began to race again. She saw a chance to escape, and she knew she must seize upon it without delay. Whatever the outcome, it was well worth the attempt!
Elise, that sprightly spirited one, did not hesitate another moment. Leaping to her feet, she dashed toward the door, giving Ramonda a quick shove as she ran past. Though she had meant to use all her strength, the action seemed to take only the briefest touch to send the woman stumbling with the food-laden tray into the far wall. Elise did not stop to question her own prowess, but flew through the portal and slammed it shut behind her. The key was still in the lock, and she twisted it in frantic haste to bar the passage of the other. Only then did she dare breathe and attempt to quell the trembling that had suddenly taken hold of her.
She swallowed hard against the dryness in her throat and crossed hurriedly to the stairs. She was shaking as she began the descent, for she had no idea what she might encounter on the lower levels. She remembered only too well Ramonda’s warnings to be silent on the second floor and prayed she would be able to pass down the hallway without being discovered.
Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Elise slowed her steps and cautiously approached the door. She pressed an ear against the wood to listen for any sign of activity beyond the portal and felt a dulling sense of disappointment when she heard shuffling footsteps and the muted voices of several men in the corridor. She waited, fervently hoping they would enter a room and leave her a way to escape. The footfalls came ever nearer, and her mind began to race, for she was now confronted with the likelihood of the men opening the door. A thousand questions assailed her. What was she to do? Where was she to hide? Where could she go when she could not even hope to gain the upper hall before the men entered the passage? Her eyes flew upward, measuring the distance in a swift glance. Impossible or not, it was her on
ly option!
Her slender feet flew on the stairs, racing in time with her swiftly beating heart, but alas, the feat was beyond her ability. Before she had climbed half the distance, the lower door swung open, and if that was not enough to make her heart stop, then Fitch’s cry of alarm was.
“Eh! ‘At’s her! She’s escapin’!”
Thundering footsteps shook the weak and rickety stairs, and in rising panic Elise shot a glance over her shoulder. A tall, pale-haired stranger came up the stairs first, with Spence following close on his heels. Behind them, hurrying as fast as he could, was Fitch, toting a large chest on his back.
Elise forced every measure of strength she possessed into her frantic climb, but the long-legged stranger lengthened his strides and leapt up the steps three at a time, quickly overtaking her. A long arm stretched out and closed tightly about her thin waist, snatching her from her feet and pulling her back against a wide, solidly unyielding chest. Elise was not one to silently or meekly abide this rude handling of her person. Kicking her bare heels against the man’s shins, she gave vent to a loud, indignant screech of outrage.
The scream reverberated within the narrow space, seeming to ricochet off the very walls, and was successful in raising Fitch’s hackles. Of a sudden he could envision a large troop of snarling men charging through the lower doorway in a zealous quest to rout any and all strangers. Any common, decent-looking man could be bludgeoned into incoherency before explanations could be made and suspicions could be appeased. In growing apprehension Fitch glanced around to see if the door behind him was still shut, forgetting about the length of the clumsy chest. The piece bumped against the wall, jolting the handle from his grasp. He swept his arm about to catch it as he felt the weight of it slide down his back, but in the process he lost his balance. Helplessly teetering on the edge of a step, he saw the chest tumble noisily down the stairs, and a helpless, plaintive mewl escaped his lips a fraction of a second later as he followed its thudding descent.
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