by Claudy Conn
She had laughed and said, “Indeed, I may be many things, but insipid?” She shook her head and laughed again.
“Well, my dear, now all of the ton know, as I do, that you are a ‘diamond of the first water’.”
“I don’t give a fig for anyone’s opinion but yours … and Lady Daphne’s,” she said demurely, peeping up at him.
“Don’t you, my dear?” He laughed. “What of Scott?”
“Oh, well, he and I are friends and are forever giving one another our opinions on this or that, but it isn’t the same, is it?”
“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he said and chuckled.
Earlier, however, she had been pleased to hear him complaining to his sister, “Daffy, do but look at all the damned puppies drooling over her. Dashed annoying.”
“Annoying? How so?” Daffy had answered. “She is a hit. It is quite wonderful, brother, quite wonderful.”
“None of them will do for her,” he had snapped.
Felicia smiled to herself. He might be her guardian, yes, indeed, but he was also a man, and she was sure he had been jealous this evening. It was on this very pleasant notion that she finally fell asleep.
* * *
Felicia uncurled herself from the sofa and threw down the boring book she had been trying to read when Rebecca Wilson was announced.
They rushed one another and squealed with delight as they hugged, and then Felicia set her aside and said, “My, my … look at you, all fashionable and ready to take on London and, oh, all your bruises healed. I am so glad.”
Her friend’s tawny locks had been slightly trimmed and curled beneath the pretty straw chip bonnet with its blue ribbon. She wore a blue silk walking ensemble and did, in fact, look very fashionable.
Felicia made her swirl around in front of her and clapped her hands before saying, “I know what. We shall go out. We can’t keep all this beauty of yours locked up inside, and I have so been wanting to get some air.”
Within a short span of moments, Felicia had on her dark green velvet Spencer and set her own pretty matching bonnet in place over her cascading black curls. She gave herself a quick look in the mirror, pulled on her kid gloves, and took her friend’s arm.
“Where are we going?”
“To walk in Hyde Park.” Felicia smiled.
Their heads together, they found they could not stop chattering about this and that, and they giggled so happily that the distance to the park was traveled in no time.
A young boy no more than ten held up several posies of flowers and with wide, round eyes begged Felicia, “Please, loidy, would ye loike to buy m’flowers … pretty flowers.”
“Oh, my, they are lovely. I can’t carry them now, but I tell you what. Here is enough for the lot of them, and if you go to 810 Kensington Square, Waverly House, and tell Cook I sent you with these flowers and that I want you fed, she will give you a meal. How is that?”
The boy seemed so overcome that he went down on one knee. “Oi will be yer knight … forever. Oi will serve ye if ye let me, miss.”
“Will you? Well, if you would like to work for me, I think I have a job for you,” Felicia said as she looked the scrawny but sweet-faced boy over. How could she allow this poor young man to wither on the streets when she had so much? “Do you know anything about horses?”
“Oi do, that Oi do, and Oi will learn whot Oi don’t.”
“Then don’t forget, 810 Kensington, and tell Cook Miss Felicia asked for you to be fed and then wait for me in the kitchen.”
“Oi will, that Oi will.”
“Tell them Miss Felicia has hired you, and you are not to be turned away. Will you remember that?”
“Oi.” He nodded his head vigorously.
“What is your name?”
“They call me Bean.”
“Bean? Is that your last name?”
“Only one Oi have, seeing as Oi be an orphan.”
Felicia felt her heart turn over. “Right then. I shall see you later at Waverly House.”
After the lad raced off, Becky eyed her friend and hugged her. “I love you, Felicia Easton.”
Felicia blushed, but before she could respond, a hackney horse rose up on its rears as an elderly man had slapped it hard with a cane and shouted for the driver to get out of his way.
When the poor horse came down, snorting and screeching, it was further frightened by the elderly man waving his cane in the air.
The driver was unable to get control, and he and his cab were nearly overturned. The horse knocked into a nearby wagon full of vegetables and fruits, and the entire wagon went over.
Pandemonium.
Traffic was immediately blocked and halted. People began crowding around the scene to observe. Curiosity brought more groups to the scene, and, looking much like mob factions, people began taking sides. Opinions and arguments were taken to the next level. Punches were thrown, and screaming and shouting ensued.
Felicia and Becky attempted to extricate themselves, but the crush of the crowd was frightening and difficult to wield.
As they made their way through the ribald crowd all shouting at one another and the vendor and the hackney driver, Felicia saw a face in the crowd that seemed familiar. Although he hurriedly moved off and pulled his tweed wool cap low over his eyes, she thought she knew him.
Frowning, she shrugged it off and continued to pull Becky along as they tried to make their way out of the mess they had somehow got caught up in.
* * *
“Eh, then, do ye see whot Oi see?” a stout fellow in a tweed wool cap asked of his companion. He pulled his wool coat tightly around himself. “Damn her to bloody hell. Look at her, walking in all her finery while we are in rags and scurrying for our meals.”
“Aye, it is all her fault. If she hadn’t told her father we was the ones stealing the grain and selling it, we would still have a plush job, we would.”
“Aye, and how did she ever twig our ken, Oi don’t know.”
“Saw us. I know it. Oi told ye, told ye Oi saw someone that night, didn’t Oi? Don’t ye remember … Oi told ye, someone was watching. It were her. We should have managed it better.”
“That other one with her, she looks familiar … but never mind. Oi have a notion, Oi do.”
“Lew, Oi don’t want to get nabbled.”
“Her father will bleed freely for her, he will, and this time, it’ll be just the two of us in charge. When we are done, he can have her back, mayhap not in one piece, but we’ll have the ready and be on our way.”
“How do ye propose, m’fine man, to do that?”
“Lookee here, Styles. Oi know whot Oi am doing, and Oi have a plan,” Lew told him.
“Ho-ho, ye and yer plans,” scoffed Styles.
“See that hack covey fighting with that wagon hawker?”
“Aye, so?”
“So, who is watching his horse and cab, Oi ask ye? Lookee there … the old horse has wandered off … coming right at us, skittish of all the shouting … see there. One, two, three … that horse and cab are ours, and off into the traffic we go. Cut off those morts … look there, trying to get out of the crowd.”
“Whot?” Styles was incredulous. “Ye want to nabble them here in broad daylight with all the world to see?”
“No one will see—whot be wrong wit ye? Are ye scared?” Lew scoffed.
“Not scared, ye damn fool. Careful. There be a difference.”
“Well, we’ll have ’em, we will, and in the cab and no one the wiser. Whot with all the screaming going on, no one will hear.”
Lew had already taken the hack’s horse in hand and told his cohort, “Get in the cab … off we go.”
“Whot then?”
“Check the boot—we’ll need some rope,” Lew ordered, already in the swing of things and grinning widely.
“Aye then,” Styles said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “This could work.”
“Right, keep yer eyes on them … we will walk the horse and cab towards ’em … when
I say go, we grab ‘em, knock ’em senseless, stuff ’em inside, and off we go. None the wiser.”
“Yer crazy,” Styles pronounced. “But, damn, this might work.”
“Aye, crazy enough not to want to go on living the way we have these last couple of weeks. We ain’t got a choice, do we? And, aye, it will work,” Lew told him.
“Then whot?” Styles wanted details.
“We toike ’em to Bess. We’ll have to cut her in, but with two of ’em, we’ll get a bundle of the ready, we will. Lookee how they are dressed—to the nines. Aye, their people will pay.”
His friend’s ugly face broke out into a slow grin. “Whot we waiting for?”
* * *
Felicia and Becky weaved through the hubbub of shouting people who had gathered and were taking sides between the hackney driver and the fruit and vegetable vendor. Everyone had an opinion and wanted to be heard. The din was overwhelming.
Becky looked at the scene and sighed, as Felicia was already taking sides herself. “Becky—that poor vendor has lost a day’s earnings because of something that was not his fault.”
“Yes, but the hackney driver is also trying to earn a living,” Becky pointed out.
“It isn’t the vendor’s fault that the driver wasn’t able to control his skittish animal. In fact, he shouldn’t have such a skittish animal pulling his cab.”
“Oh, Felicia … do let us get out of this crowd.” Becky looked around with some concern.
“Right then, you are right—this is getting a bit too rowdy,” Felicia agreed.
They held to each other tightly as they worked their way through the mob. It wasn’t easy, as people didn’t want to give way.
Finally they managed to disengage themselves from the press of people. They were standing a moment to gather their wits and regain their bearings when Felicia heard a horse and cab trot up far too close.
She turned to Becky, and a scream died in her throat as a burly man jumped on her and grabbed her roughly. With his hand over her mouth, he dragged her backwards. Another man was on Becky, only Felicia could see that he meant Becky harm. She kicked at her captor. She tried freeing her arms, but he had her so tightly, and she couldn’t quite breathe with his hand over both her nose and her mouth.
They were in trouble.
She knew who these men were. The duke had said only the other day that he had inquiries set about but the two that had gotten away had left no trail as to where they had gone. Well, here they were, bent on finishing the job.
Felicia got one arm free and jabbed with her elbow hard and with everything she had. The man yelped and for her efforts slammed a fist into her head.
She could see that Becky was already unconscious. She had to keep her wits. She had to, but everything was fading out. Don’t faint—don’t pass out—don’t … she told herself.
And promptly did.
* * *
Bean stood at the curb and watched “his pretty miss” manhandled and shoved into a hackney coach. Gawd, whot, whot is happening?
He stood frozen, dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed. In all his life on the streets, he had never seen a gentry mort mistreated.
It just wasn’t done. Death—or worse—lay that way. The aristocrats would be up in arms if one of their women was ever touched by a street covey. What were those two thinking, but more importantly, how could he save her? For save her he must.
He had been on his way to 810 Kensington. He hadn’t left because he had been delayed by that bully Tom always out to steal his ready. He had managed to evade him and was just about to leave for Miss Felicia’s like she told him to do when he saw those two men come at her.
Who was he to help? He was nothing and no one. He had spent the last four years an orphan on the streets, surviving. He was only twelve, and he still had very fond memories of his mother, a soft and gentle woman who had given him a healthy mindset about the female gender. They were to be protected and loved.
He had lost her to an illness she had not been able to overcome, but she had tried, even in her worst hour, to provide for him.
She couldn’t know that he would be robbed on his way up north to his cousin. She couldn’t know he would be beaten and left for dead. They had been poor, but she had saved every coin she got her hands on, to insure he would be safe.
At the time, he had felt guilt well up and choke him. Well, she would want him to save the young miss who had shown him a kindness. Dash it all, he wanted to save the young miss … Miss Felicia. How?
If ever there was an angel on earth, it was Miss Felicia. He simply had to help her, even if he died in the attempt.
He knew his limitations. He was small, even for his age, small from lack of nourishment and care. He wasn’t strong enough to rush in and bash the brute in, but he wanted to, but what he wanted more was a victory. He wanted her safe. It needed more than him rushing in. If he was to die, at least he had to know it was for her making it out safe.
He started up a shout for help.
No one heard him over the din and hubbub, and if they did, as usual, they paid him no mind. Whot should Oi do, he asked himself. Whot?
Instinct made him chase after the cab as it weaved slowly away from the crowd gathered around the hack driver and the farmer. He followed as fast as he could as the two men took it out of traffic and then hopped on to drive it down a narrow side street.
Bean was proud about the one skill he had trained himself to excel in—running. He was fast. It was his only skill, but he knew he was faster than most. Early on he had learned how to dodge duck, and use his small size to advantage, but as he followed the cab and it took on more speed, he knew he would eventually lose them.
Whot to do? They was two big, burly coves. They had knocked out his Miss and her friend and stuffed them in the hack. How could he help them?
Bean was frightened of the gentry.
He had intended to set aside that fear and do as Miss Felicia had instructed and go to Cook at the address in Kensington Square she had given him, because Miss had told him to do so and he found he trusted her.
He knew she would be there to back him up if anyone questioned him, but now … if he went, who would believe him?
He stopped running and bent over his knees as his young lungs felt as though they would explode in his chest, right along with his poor heart.
He had given up crying long ago, but now, out of nowhere, he felt a welling of tears fill his eyes. He had to do something, he had to go to Kensington and tell them, even if they tried to send him off, even if they called the beadles on him.
Bean sucked in air and turned in the direction of Kensington Square. It wasn’t that far. He could make it in no time, and he took off once again, as fast as his legs and heart would allow.
One of his daily tormentors, an older boy forever trying to steal his honest-earned take, spied him and hurried to intercept and block him, but Bean knew the knack of ducking and sidestepping and managed to evade him. The grimy lad raised a fist and threatened. “Oi’ll get ye yet, ye little blackguard, see if Oi don’t.”
Bean didn’t look back. He just kept running.
His lungs were now, he was sure, about to burst.
He had, however, reached the square and looked for the number his ‘miss’ had given him. Relief flooded him as he saw it, and he took the first step and stopped as he looked up at the impressive oak door and the even more impressive and intimidating townhouse.
No one would believe him. Who was he? He was nothing. She would be hurt because he was nothing. She would die, just like his mother, because he wasn’t old enough to help …
He had dropped the basket of flowers as he had weaved through traffic. He didn’t have them to present the truth of who he was and how he came to know Miss.
He did then something he thought he would never do again. A sob escaped his lips.
“What is it, lad?” a powerful voice at his back asked.
Bean turned sharply and gazed up at a mountain of a
man. Gentry, aye, he thought, but something, he didn’t know what, perhaps survival instincts, kicked in and all inhibitions were lost in his need to help ‘his miss’.
He put out a hand and cried, “Help please, sir, those blasted rough coves took her … her, Miss Felicia, and her friend, that they did. Two of ’em, bad men they were. Ye have to believe me, sir, her life depends on ye believing me.”
The mountain of a man bent and held his shoulders, his eyes fierce as he said, “Easy. Take your time and tell me everything. Start at the beginning. I can’t help till I know what you are talking about.”
Bean swallowed. “Aye, ’tis Miss Felicia. She bought m’flowers, she did … told me to bring them to Cook and said Cook would feed me. Told me she was going to have me learn to work with her horses. She is the kindest, most beautiful miss I have ever seen. But they took her! Stuffed them in a hack. Not high tobys … don’t know who they were, bad, very bad. They hit Miss and her friend—with their fists, they did. They hurt them, sir. They hurt them. Ye have to believe me.”
The gentry mountain held Bean’s arm as he took the steps to the house. When the door opened, he told the old man who’d opened it, “Take the lad and see to it that he is fed, bathed, and kept comfortable until I return with his mistress.”
He turned and said, “Your name, lad?”
“Bean, I be Bean.”
“Right then, Bean, when you saw the hack last, which direction was it headed?”
“South, sir … towards Blackburn Alley.”
“Did the hack have any discerning marks?”
“No … not a one, oh, sir, sir … ye have to save her!” Bean cried.
* * *
“Save her? Who …?” Scott had just arrived from the morning room and looked from the urchin to the duke with a fading smile. “Is it Flip? Egad, what the devil has she done now?”
“Come on, I’ll explain on the way,” the duke said and turned to the old retainer eyeing Bean with some misgiving. “Right then, Bean … go with him. You will be fine.”