The Mysterious Lady Law (9 page)

“Whoa.” Al eased the reins back as far as they would go, stopping the horses in the shadow of the last house opposite the top of Challenger Row. “No need to sound the bugle,” he whispered to Julia. “This way we can catch her completely off guard.”

He lifted her down and then let Holly out of the carriage. The professor didn’t say a word, instead offered them each a steam-pistol—the other items he’d packed into his duffel bag.

“Much obliged.” Al made sure his was loaded.

Julia’s dad had explained to her how steam-powered weapons worked, but he’d never let her try one. She watched how Al ejected and then reaffixed two copper appendages to the underside of the chamber. The largest contained separate quantities of water and acid, which created the build up of heat and pressure for steam propulsion when combined. The smaller appendage contained the bullets that sprung into the chamber one at a time. Pressure release and the long accelerating barrel did the rest. She snatched her pistol out of Holly’s hand. Throughout her years of dancing she’d always been a quick study, but the weapon proved far heavier than she’d reckoned and it slipped from her grasp. It clattered on the cobbles. Al retrieved it for her, but kept it in his grasp. “You’ve never handled one of these, have you?”

“No, never.”

“In that case…” He wiped the grime off the gun’s grip with his sleeve. Julia was sure he wouldn’t give it back. “You’d better use it with both hands.”

He handed it to her. “Keep it concealed. We’re only here to ascertain the truth, and if Holly’s right, she’ll try to outsmart us and pull the wool over our eyes, nothing more. But if something should happen and you
have
to fire, then aim for the chest. It’s the safest target. Never go for the head.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. Grateful that he hadn’t patronized her for being a woman, she leant in and kissed his cheek. His coarse stubble prickled her lips. A marmalade cat with a bell-collar slinked around the streetlamp opposite 144 Challenger Row. It looked like a snooty little thing. Then Julia recalled Georgy’s nickname that all her maid friends used for this area, for this street in particular—Spiffy Row—to describe the wealthy but transient tenants. Indeed, the servants’ contracts tended not to be with the tenants, as one landlord owned most of Challenger Row. With such frequent leases, he preferred the continuity and maintenance only a permanent staff could provide. That was how Georgy had come to serve in Lady Law’s house.

A crescent of large, beautiful terraced houses bathed in amber lamplight on a litter-free cobbled street, Challenger Row had to be the warmest, safest-looking place in London. Fit for a Grimshaw painting.

“Now we’ll see if this thing works.” Holly affixed the psammeticum lens onto Josh’s telescope and attached a copper rod, coiled with wire, to the energy meter. He fastened all the components together in quite an ingenious fashion.

“For Josh…” Julia muttered, “and Georgy.”

Holly pointed the contraption skyward. The meter’s needle twitched, sank, and then danced a little. Tiny, tiny readings of a far-flung stellar event from eons past. He lowered the telescope and roved it across the row of houses. Nothing at the bottom end. A flicker of the needle while it pointed at Number 140, then a steady rise at Number 142…

“Two kilojoules, six, twelve…” Holly slowed his lateral arc, “sixteen, twenty-six,
fifty
…that’s much higher than anything Josh recorded.” He gave the energy meter a slight tap and then pointed it square at the living room window. The needle leapt off the scale and clung for dear life to the right edge of the dial.

“What does that mean?” Al leant over Holly’s shoulder. “What in the hell is going on in there?”

“Haven’t the foggiest, lad, but we do seem to have arrived at an opportune moment.”

“For what?”

Julia took a big breath of night air. “That’s what we’re here to find out. After you, gentlemen.”

Al cast a concerned glance at her before marching ahead, holding the pistol inside his jacket.

“Hang back, Holly,” he said on the turn. “We don’t want to alarm her right away.”

“All right. Proceed, lad.”

No lights were on downstairs, only the faint corona of one upstairs, between not-quite-drawn bedroom curtains. “Al, be careful,” Julia vehemently whispered after him, up the front steps. He gave her a quick wink and then knocked.

The tail end of a whistling breeze dropped silence upon the street. Holly loitered behind the front railings, which were as tall and bronze as Olympian javelins. Julia suddenly feared what Al could say to gain entry, even if Lady Law
did
answer. Without official permission, this was a specious visit, not subject to any theory or evidence they might present, and a wily woman like Harriet Law could point-blank refuse to let them in. Then she could up sticks and disappear before they ever obtained that permission from the magistrate. All her secrets—
pfft
—gone.

A scream from inside the house forced Julia to raise her gun. Al opened the letter box, peered through. It went quiet again.

“Did you hear it, Holly?” she asked, pressing both palms against the warm brass grip.

“Yes. Sounded like it came from upstairs. You’d better stand behind me, miss.”

She obeyed and felt a tad safer knowing two men stood between her and danger. Another scream—no, a sequence of screams, now a loud moan and a
thud.
Al stepped back, nodded to Holly and then booted the door open. Holly dropped the telescopic contraption. In one motion he retrieved the hunting rifle he’d slung over his shoulder, bounded up the front steps and dashed inside the house after Al.

What on
earth
was going on up there? The cries had sounded shrill and desperate and the thud rather too violent for his liking. Holly tightened his grips on the stock and barrel of his old rifle. In its heyday, he’d pipped targets over a hundred yards away…
Christ,
little Stuart had been about that distance away when—

No.

He reached the landing in a single breath, his stout legs ready to scale Kilimanjaro if need be. Grant rattled the door handle to the first bedroom but found it locked. Before Holly could caution him, the young constable battered the door with his shoulder, splintering the frame and lock.

A roar of obscenities greeted them from the four
naked
occupants. Holly didn’t know where to look or what to say.

A scene of debauchery such as he hadn’t witnessed outside the native marriage rituals of certain African tribes left him stunned The lone female, her limbs splayed and tied to all four bedposts, was being ravaged. Two of her three assailants, muscular men in their twenties and thirties, climbed off her. The third, sitting on a chair by the dresser, stopped nursing his bruised ankle long enough to reach for a bizarre black metal case with tiny green lights shining from its locks. Holly had never seen its like before.

“Halt. Nobody move,” Grant trained his pistol on the man on the chair. “What’s happening here?”

“Professor Holly! Help! Please help,” the petite woman cried.

Holly gasped. “Lady Law? What—”

“Oh, Professor. They broke in. I—I was helpless, and they…Oh, God…”

Furious, Holly thrust his rifle at the nearest man. “Untie her
now
, you bastard.”

He obeyed and Lady Law dragged herself to the far side of the bed, trembling. She turned to face Holly and parted her damp blond hair, revealing a petrified red face.

“Right, you three sons of bitches are under arrest.” Al barely contained his rage as he directed them toward the left side of the room. “Slowly. Face the wall.”

“Are you all right, Lady…Harriet?” Holly suddenly felt ashamed at the reason for his visit. He lowered his rifle and removed his frock coat, ready to drape it over her.

“I—I think so. But I’d rather not touch a man’s coat—not—not right now. Not ever.” Her voice broke as she rose and, in a daze, opened the wardrobe door. She retrieved a turquoise dressing gown and something he couldn’t see, which she set on the floor. Her slippers?

“Of course. Would you like me to fetch you a doctor, ma’am?” Holly asked.

After putting on her dressing gown, she appeared to slide an object across the carpet with her foot. “No thank you, Professor. I must see these wretches behind bars first.”

He admired her pluck. It reminded him of her death-dealing action in Westminster.

One of the men shot back, “Jesus, Harriet? Are you just going to sit—”

“Shut up, idiot!” she yelled.

What?

Holly scowled and stepped forward. “You know each other? What is this?”

“He’s been following me for weeks. He and his friends have been…obsessed.” She glanced sheepishly at Holly, and then slid the object again with her foot. It cracked against the skirting board where the farthest man stood.

She spun confidently, her gaze focused on Holly. Her dressing gown agape and revealing far too much, she walked round the bed toward him.

He stepped back.

“I’m sorry you had to see all this, Holly. I’m really quite fond of you. Would it surprise you to know that—”

“Nothing would surprise me about you, madam.
Nothing
.”

“Really?” She clicked her fingers.

“No. Not after what we’ve—”

“Look out!” Grant fired a shot, and then yanked Holly out of the room by the breast of his coat.

Harriet Law dove out of the way as the cad she’d signaled to snatched a bizarre, oversized handgun from another black case on the floor. He unleashed a deafening spray of gunfire.
Hellfire.
Bullets ripped into the framework and thudded into the wall with unbelievable rapidity. It was a kind of portable Gatling gun, but far more vicious.

A second gun joined in, demolishing the top of the banister and surrounding plaster. Holly levered a round into the chamber of his ’94 Winchester, then clutched the barrel upright, waiting for his moment. On the opposite side of the door, Grant crouched ready to pounce.

The bitch!
How plausible she’d been. Playing the victim like that, drawing out his chivalry—and he’d been completely taken in. Unforgivable.

Who the hell is she?

The shower of bullets could have wiped out a herd of elephants, but they were all hitting the walls. These cads were amateurs. Or maybe sharing the same woman, having a buttered bun like that, had soured their aims!

The firing ceased. Holly didn’t think, instead swivelled on one knee into the cloud of plaster dust. He aimed and fired at the faint outline of a man standing at the window. Glass shattered. He lunged back to his shelter.
Thump-thump.
The man and his weapon hit the floor.

The notion of killing a person did not queer his resolve as he’d feared; rather it exhilarated him, fuelling that old talent for self-defence he’d long thought lost in Africa.

Grant shot twice before the dust settled. It didn’t sound like he’d hit anyone.

“Easy, lad.” Holly gave his young friend a reassuring nod. “I think we have ‘em.”

An emphatic shake of his head signaled Grant had seen something to the contrary. But what? The constable jabbed his thumb at the wall, as if to say, “They’re right there, backs to your wall.”

Oh, hell.
They really were insane. Ready to dart out and exchange fire at point blank range on the landing? Holly nodded in acknowledgement, pursed his lips and slowly rose to his feet. On tiptoes, he rocked back and forth, summoning the courage to tear across the open doorway and into the bathroom. At least from there, he and Grant could pin the buggers where they were and stop them from escaping downstairs.

Grant mouthed
three, two, one…

Heart in his throat, Holly lunged out into the line of fire and face-first into an outstretched metal weapon. His forehead cracked the side of the thick, flat barrel. An ear-splitting avalanche of bullets roared overhead as he ducked. Instinctively, he swiped his rifle butt at the weapon and knocked it high to one side. Grant couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting Holly, so he thumped the half-naked man with his pistol instead.

They both raced into the bathroom.

Loud thuds and splintering wood emerged from the bedroom. Before Holly could reload, one of the men stumbled out onto the landing wielding the door itself. He planted it squarely in front of Holly as a shield. Then came the tapping of quick footsteps as someone escaped along the landing.

What
were
those sounds they’d heard from outside? Al and Holly had rushed to the top of the stairs and were now face-to-face with…whatever the hell was going on up there. Julia heard voices. She waited before creeping into the vestibule, expecting yet dreading another loud noise. She wiped her sweaty right palm on her dress. The steam-pistol quivered in her left hand. She peered up the pretty, floral-carpeted stairs and placed her free hand on the varnished wooden banister. Wearing such a clumsy hat probably wasn’t a good idea, so she hung it on the banister post.

Crack! Brrrrr! Crack! Crack! Brrrrr!

She ducked, almost lost her footing. The single shots had to have come from pistols and rifles, but what on earth were the others? She back-stepped and thought about running out for help.
No.
Her extra gun might make all the difference. She shut her eyes and panted through clenched teeth. More chaotic shots from aloft. An avalanche of gunfire, smashed glass, overlapping yells. This was it. It sounded like Al and Holly were vastly outnumbered.
Right, one foot after the other, gun in both hands. Squeeze the trigger at the first figure that isn’t Al or Holly. Aim for the chest.

She placed her foot on the first step. Several bullets devoured the top of the banister. She reeled back. Fingernails dug into her scalp, then yanked her sideways. It felt like her hair had caught fire.

“Get off!” she cried, dropping her gun.

Whoever it was didn’t have much strength. Julia dug her own fingernails into the gloved fists pulling her hair and managed to prise them loose. She spun round to face her attacker. Immediately the masked person, dressed all in black, dove for the pistol. Julia kicked it away across the polished wooden floor. It passed a black flat cap. A light had been switched on somewhere near the back of the house. The attacker stood up straight, pivoted after the gun, then paused to face Julia. With a frame that petite, it could only be a
woman.