The fall into ruin, p.14
The Fall into Ruin, page 14
“The business of gentlemen does not concern you.”
“I don’t give a fig for what you and your brother do but you’ve put your sister’s life in real danger.”
Laughter sounded from both brothers. “She also shouldn’t concern herself with matters she knows absolutely nothing about.”
If he got up from his seat and punched Josiah in the face, would he have time to tackle Samuel as well? His fists clenched and he counted the steps between the two while they stood there with stupid looks on their stupid faces. “You really have no idea what Smith is capable of, do you? Or are you in denial because of her fairer sex?”
Josiah’s upper lip curled with disdain. “Another woman who thought to play in a man’s world and emerge the victor. Look at her now. She’s got nothing and she knows it.”
Anthony used one hand to the crack the knuckles on the other. “And what are the spoils of this game? How much money did you fleece from Smith?”
Samuel stood taller, his chest puffed out, his hands on his hips. “Now, see here, it wasn’t her money to begin with. Her tables were rigged and her liquor watered. She no more deserved that money than the next blighter. When she disappeared without a trace, we merely helped ourselves before someone else could.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how Smith obviously views it. You two are the reason she risks all to hang about, aren’t you? She can’t go anywhere because you have her only means to support herself in a new city.”
“We don’t have it,” Samuel said.
“Not anymore,” Josiah muttered.
“Well, you had better get it back and hope she doesn’t take your balls with her when she leaves.”
Josiah’s temper finally snapped; Anthony had been waiting for it. All three men surged but Anthony’s fury was more urgent, driven by the knowledge of what they had been putting their sister through. He swung his fist and connected with a cheek but not hard enough to break any bones. He was never a great fighter.
Out of nowhere, pain exploded in his own face, his jaw, cheek, chin. Both he and Josiah dropped to the carpets, Samuel the only one left standing but cradling his knuckles with a curse even Rose could have uttered with more conviction.
“Did you just hit me in the face while my back was turned?” Anthony asked the one brother still on his feet.
“You think I won’t defend my brother from the likes of you?” Samuel spat.
Anthony sat up, out of reach of Josiah, who held is face in his palm while he got his scowl back in place perfectly. “The likes of me?” he repeated, almost dumbly, unable to really understand where the brothers’ brains were at. “You told me to marry your sister and take her away.” And then it clicked in his mind. “You’ve known all along she was in danger, haven’t you? You must have already upset Smith before her lover, Frederick, was killed; otherwise she wouldn’t have come here so quickly once her identity was discovered.”
He knew he spoke more to himself than to the so-called gentlemen in the room. Never in his wildest dreams would he throw Daniella to the wolves just to save his own hide. Who were these people? “I take it your father doesn’t know?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” they snapped in unison.
“Which one of you is going to apprise him of the situation?”
Both brothers looked at him then, murder written all over their faces. Josiah said, “Remember the part where this has nothing to do with you?”
“It concerns me because Rose is involved and you are breaking the law.”
Josiah got to his feet. Anthony did the same, taking several steps away from them both.
Samuel taunted with: “You are not yet a Runner, Germaine. You don’t uphold any laws.”
Anthony wanted to bang their heads together. “Your father does though. What do you think will happen to him if, no, when, you are found out?”
“We have been hiding it from him long enough now. If it’s just us and you who know anything, then there’s only you to blame if word of this is leaked.”
Anthony reached for the bridge of his nose to massage a growing headache away. He couldn’t tell the earl anything without revealing Rose’s place in it all and he’d made a promise not to do it. Not to tell her father anything. He’d known none of it would end well then and he knew it now too. “How do you propose to ‘handle’ Smith? I can assure you, it won’t be easy.”
Josiah smiled and Anthony realised he was the cunning one. The one who thought he knew it all. When Josiah said, “We’re going to have to kill her.”
Anthony tipped his head back and roared with laughter.
He needed a drink. Or three. He ignored the words for a minute and poured himself a scotch from a decanter on a sideboard beneath the old estate ledgers and papers. He sniffed it first but found it unlikely there would be drugs in it. Unlike last time when he couldn’t remember much more than the threats and the shouting after falling on Rose in the dark. “Did you two drug me that night I fell on Rose?”
Samuel lifted a hand in the air. “That was me.”
“With what?”
“Belladonna.”
“I didn’t taste it.”
“Few ever do in small doses.” He didn’t have to look so proud about it.
“Could you do it again?” Anthony asked as an idea formed. If they could get close enough to Smith, and the brothers could, they could render the pirates unconscious and then have them taken in. The problem hadn’t been in capturing Smith so much as discovering her whereabouts. Thin air had seemed to swallow her up.
“It would mean a trip to London but yes. Providing my contact has enough in stock, it might work.”
He tried to ignore the fact that an idiot like Samuel Clairmont could just walk into a storefront, probably on Mayfair no less, and order copious amounts of a killer substance. This was why he had wanted to be a Runner in the first place. After Smith was in custody, he would work on undoing Samuel and Josiah. Clairmont didn’t deserve his position if his own sons could help a notorious criminal run her businesses undetected and take part in it. “Does Smith have any leverage against either of you other than the fact you were helping her?”
One brother looked to the other. Something he wasn’t privy to passed between them, but then they shook their heads. “No. Nothing.”
That meant there was definitely something.
Damn. When were the complications going to come to an end?
*
Rose had never ridden so far on horseback in the rain and she was miserably cold, a little bit wet and shivering like a robin in the snow. The storm worked up to a level of intensity she’d always had the smarts to stay away from and indoors. Perhaps it had been foolhardy to set off the way they had but what choice had she been left with? She had to meet with Smith, take measure of her character, see if there was anything at all to be done.
Two days.
That’s all the time Rose could take to set her own path. Her father would not be stalled. Once he had his mind set on a way forward, he wouldn’t back down from it. Rose knew also that any husband of her father’s choosing would be better in his mind than the pirate spawn who’d accidentally ‘compromised’ her.
So Rose was going to forget the almost tempting option number one in Anthony Germaine as her husband. Waking up next to him in the morning, his hands on her body, his lips kissing hers. It could be a grand adventure. For a time. But marriage was permanent. Very permanent. It’s not like she could one day say to him, “Let’s go our separate ways.”
Option two—her father’s crony—was not even on her list of maybes, perhaps or I might consider its. Not for one second would she entertain the notion of running away with a man at least forty years older than her to be married till death do us part. The death part she had a feeling would come sooner rather than later, especially if their first child happened to be a girl.
Anthony likely wouldn’t mind a girl, she pondered. He talked about his sister with such affection. But did he even want children? They hadn’t talked about it yet. There were a million subjects they’d not discussed in the few short days they’d been given to get to know one another. Did he like the weather hot or cold? Did he abhor pigeon pie like she did or did he enjoy the foul taste? What was his favourite colour, food, drink, poet, king and country?
Rose wasn’t stupid enough to think they could talk about it all in a few days; it’s why a husband and wife had a lifetime. But. Only if they loved each other. A marriage of convenience is what her father had in mind. Quick. Dirty. Impersonal. If she did have to marry one day, there would at least have to be a measure of feelings. There had to at least be the likelihood that they wouldn’t murder each other over breakfast.
Anthony made her laugh, which happened to be an excellent start. He also didn’t speak down to her unless it was about Smith. He’d so far touched her and kissed her like he really enjoyed her company but was it all lust? And was lust really a problem if it was a precursor to love?
She shook her head and her entire body gave another shudder, causing her mount a mild shock of alarm. No. Her future lay with Smith and passage anywhere with safe harbour. Perhaps their comrades in France would house her for a short time? Her future didn’t lie with Anthony Germaine, her father, his crony, or her brothers. She was still in charge of her destiny.
“We’re nearly there,” Michael said quietly as farmland gave way to houses, which became closer and closer together as they approached the town. “The Cock’s Wobble is by the wharves and warehouses so keep your hood up and don’t draw attention.”
Rose didn’t point out that her hood was keeping the pelting rain off her head or that she had no desire to attract any attention at all. If one whisper got back to Hell’s Gate that she had made the trip to a sordid establishment surrounded only by males of common birth, her father wouldn’t worry about a suitor. He would probably shoot her and then toss her off her beloved cliffs.
Michael seemed to know well where he was going as the small group made their way down filth-slicked streets, past doors missing paint and even panels. She tried not to stare as women leaned from upper windows calling suggestively, one with her bosom entirely on display. Rose pulled her hood down further over her eyes as her cheeks burned and the churning in her stomach made her want to retch. Hold it together, she kept telling herself. She knew bawdy houses existed; she just hadn’t expected to ever be right out the front of one.
At the end of the warren of streets, brothels and leaning buildings, they came to a large yard with a structure made of iron, mismatched tin and timbers, relatively new, relatively inviting. A few men milled about under a portico at the front, smoke drifting skyward in puffs from pipes and cigars but there weren’t too many. Not enough to deter Rose from her goal this day. Of having a conversation that could well save time and lives.
A brief thought floated into her mind that she hadn’t donned the brown dress in her saddlebag but she never got the time to dwell on it. Michael pulled on his reins and then jumped to the muddy ground, coming around to Rose’s mount but not helping her down. He took the bridal in his hands and leaned in as close as he could. “Pretend you are a boy, Rose, but do not speak. For the moment, you are mute.”
Her lips thinned to a narrow line but she did as he said with a nod, careful that her hood didn’t slip, careful not to raise her face to the drizzle or the audience they’d attracted. She trusted Michael and he would take care of her.
A few mud-stained urchins came and took their horses and the men’s, Michael dropping coins into their hands with whispered instructions on the feeding and care he expected for such a sum. Rose thought it more likely the horses would be sold before they could even order an ale at the bar.
Two men were left outside by Michael’s orders and the other four placed her between them as they entered the tap. Her hood was still pulled so low, she could really only see the ground in front of her now. Warmth stung her freezing cheeks after only three steps into the room, the stale scent of yesterday’s food and unwashed bodies coming with it. Here the silence was almost unnatural. Where was the din of voices? Of afternoon drinkers?
“We’re closed,” came from one side of the room, the loud, rough voice cracking the unusual quiet.
“You don’t appear so,” Michael replied. His boots turned and Rose had to lift her head a little to follow his movements. He approached the scarred timber bench where the man who’d spoken stood, a scowl on his broad face, a beard half grown on his cheeks and chin.
“Don’t much matter how it appears, lad. I said, we’re closed.”
“How about just one ale? For me and the lads. Then we’ll go on and find another establishment? We only want to dry off and satisfy the thirst.”
The barman raised a brow and ran his gaze over Rose and then the men. “Where are you off to then?”
“Ramsgate.”
“Navy lads?”
Michael shook his head. “Just brothers heading to town for a little mischief.”
“And the girl?” he asked, pointing a meaty finger in Rose’s direction.
“Our sister. But she won’t drink your ale.”
“If she won’t drink the ale, then out she goes. It’s all I got.”
Rose stepped forward, mentally prepared herself for the changing of her speech. This was something she was very good at. “I’ll drink the ale. Please, sir, just one ale and a few moments out o’ the bleeding rain.”
The other brow rose but then the man nodded and rounded the bar to begin filling cups with what would probably taste like poison and would hurt her gut just as much.
“Why’s your sister wearing breeches?” he called across the tavern.
Michael laughed and gestured for them all to sit. Damn, she hadn’t held her cloak closed at the front. She was so cold and scared that she’d forgotten. “She’s no good in skirts, this one. Our mam says she should have been another lad, trippin’ and cursing all over.”
“Askin’ for trouble,” the barkeep commented.
“Not today,” Michael said with meaning.
Rose followed the conversation, inane and without purpose, but she wondered when Michael was going to ask about Smith. How would he broach the subject over only one short ale?
As the barman placed a drink in front of everyone including her, Michael dropped his purse on the table with a clink of coins, some spilling out onto the surface, glinting in the lantern light, far more than a few ales demanded.
“Sumfink else then?” he asked in a low tone, not moving away now he’d seen their blunt. Rose rather thought her friend had overplayed it a little. That was a lot of money for a tavern owner to lay his greedy eyes upon.
“Would you mind telling Lady LePedle we are here to see Smith?”
The man’s huge hand had already begun to lift a few coins but then he dropped them back down with a clatter. “No one here by either of those names.”
Michael took a few of the fallen coins and handed them over. “We’re not here for trouble. Just a quiet conversation between weary travellers.”
Rose held her breath. Everyone held their breath. It felt like a whole week passed before the man nodded and stomped off towards a rickety staircase, muttering to himself.
When she opened her mouth to speak, Michael shook his head and said, “Drink the ale.”
Tension coiled inside her until every movement or small sound made her want to jump to her feet and reach for a weapon. Anthony had asked her if she’d ever killed a man. If it did come down to a fight, how would they escape the tavern and flee the city without being caught or at least chased? Rose could use the daggers she carried, had been taught by the men to defend herself, even hunt a little, but they hadn’t discussed this part at all. Damn, they really weren’t ready to be fighting pirates or the likes of Smith and her men. Anthony was right about that.
“I think we should leave. We shouldn’t have come,” she whispered from her place next to her friend.
“Patience, Rose. We’re only here to talk. I’m sure she won’t shoot us dead where we sit.”
A voice—sharp, clear, feminine, amused—sounded from the stair. “How can you be so sure of that I wonder?”
The six of them jumped to their feet, the men immediately sheltering Rose and retreating to the closest corner. A few curses were thrown about. More when the woman appeared at last, moving into the room as though she hadn’t a care in the world. They’d been prepared for her, for Smith to be a woman. Perhaps a little rough, closer to the brothel creatures they’d passed. Anthony hadn’t actually seen her so he hadn’t a description to give.
Rose hadn’t expected to face a lady. Her dark gown was fashionable and expensive even despite its simplicity, her black hair perfectly coifed, and was that a little rouge on her cheeks? Perhaps she too was warm or nervous or even anxious, though she gave nothing away. Her movements were hindered as she sat, letting out her breath like it was painful, her stomach so distended before the rest of her, Rose thought she might have her baby right then and there on the dirty floorboards.
How could she just sit and face the six of them? She had no idea of the weapons they carried or the harm they might intend. Where was the woman who was supposed to invoke fear just by the mention of her name? In front of her was someone who wouldn’t be able to defend herself or run from a room or even rise from her chair in a hurry. Rose was shocked, so shocked she didn’t make a move or utter a sound.
“What is it you want?” Smith asked, impatience clipping her words.
“We want to meet with Smith,” Michael finally said.
“How do you know I’m not him? State your business and then we’ll see, shall we?” she replied, her shrewd gaze travelling over their party.
And then Michael began to laugh and the men relaxed a fraction. Rose wished he’d shut up. Insulting someone before you’d taken measure of their character, or their men hidden close by, could be fatal to them all. Smith wouldn’t appear so nonchalant unless she was well protected. Rose was well protected and she was still in fear of losing what little she’d eaten that day.
