Barbara Metzger (24 page)

Before she’d gone far, Mr. Dimm set up a shouting in the street, so they all rushed to see. The Runner was hurrying along behind Little George, who was carrying an unconscious Ripken. They’d found him, Mr. Dimm explained once he’d caught his breath and had a restorative sip of his lordship’s cognac, stashed behind some crates in an alley. His clothes were disordered, he had a huge knot on the back of his head, a red wig clutched in his hand, and a smile on his face.

“Damn, he can’t tell us anything,” the viscount cursed, after Nanny tried to rouse the fallen Runner with Lady Bellamy’s vinaigrette. She was eyeing the feathers on that lady’s turban, for burning, when Little George tapped her shoulder. He kept pointing to his own chest and nodding.

“Yes, yes, George, you found him. Good boy.” She smiled as best she could and nodded back. Little George was pounding his chest now and bobbing his head up and down.

“Wait, maybe he knows something.” The viscount tugged on George’s sleeve to get his attention. Trying to speak slowly, in case Little George could understand his lip movements, Courtney asked, “Did you see what happened?” Little George put his hands over his ears. “Yes, I know you’re deaf! Blast, where’s his slate. Nanny?”

“He must have lost it outside. And look, he’s all tuckered out. Not from carrying that featherweight, I’d guess.”

With Little George still holding his head, Courtney shouted for a pad and pencil. Algie handed a page over, with his figuring of the current odds on the back. Courtney drew a cat and a big question mark. “Miss Kitty?”

Little George looked at the drawing, shook his head, and brought him Wolfie.

Courtney added whiskers. George grabbed the pad and drew his stick figure of two men, one tall, one short, and both with one ear.

“Gorblimey, I was right!” Inspector Dimm was looking over the viscount’s shoulder. “It’s the Diamond Miner Gang! Quigley had an ear sliced off in gaol once.”

Lady Bellamy snatched her vinaigrette back from Nanny. “What, the ones who stole my diamonds?”

Courtney turned to look. “I was wondering who the devil you were. You’re the aunt who let Kathlyn come to London with no resources, who wouldn’t give her shelter? Your own niece?”

Algie grabbed his paper back.

  “Pish-tish,” Lady Bellamy said, “I misplaced her direction, is all. And I came here to rescue the dear girl as soon as I heard she was in London, where, I might say, you’ve managed to make a mull of things.”

“My son never led a female astray in his life, you old—”

“He lost her, didn’t he?”

Courtney was nearly tearing his hair out. “I’ll find her, by all that’s holy. But where, blast it?” He didn’t even know where to start searching.

Mr. Dimm was still holding that red wig. “Methinks I might have a glimmer on’t. I met a widow lady in the park a while back. Seemed particularly interested in my line of work, she did. After a bit, I escorted her home to her place in Chelsea. Didn’t go up, don’t you know,” he added for Nanny’s benefit. “Thing is, I made the jarvey bide a few houses down so I could see the female safe in her door. Gentlemanly thing to do, don’t you know?”

“Hell and damnation, man, what’s this got to do with Miss Partland?” the viscount demanded. “So you’re a regular Romeo in a red vest. Where’s Kathlyn?”

“I’m getting to that, if you’ll hold your fire.” Mr. Dimm studied the wig, a little longer than necessary. “You see, the widow—she had a veil on, and dark hair— never went in the door she pointed to.”

Courtney was listening more intently, as was the rest of the Runner’s audience except for Ripken, who was still unconscious on the sofa, and Little George, of course.

“No, she went clean past that house and down the block to another one altogether. Suspicious, I’d say.”

Algie nudged Woody. “I’d say she didn’t want any old coot calling on her the next day.”

Everyone ignored him, waiting for Mr. Dimm’s next words. “The way I sees it, the female is Harry Miner’s widow, what has bright yellow hair. She must be here a-looking for the jewels, too. I’d lay odds that’s where them villains have taken Miss Partland, to Ursula Miner’s flat.”

“What odds?” Algie asked, but no one answered.

Courtney was pulling on his gloves. “Deuce take it, Kathlyn doesn’t have the blasted jewels!”

“Then we’d best get over there in a hurry, Cap’n, wouldn’t you say?”

“Go on and fetch Missy home,” Nanny called after them, “and you take care now,” without specifying which rescuer had her concern.

Lady Bellamy was not so ambiguous. “You bring my niece back here, Chase, or I’ll... I’ll...”

“What, try to make him marry one of your fubsy-faced daughters? Be careful, dear,” the viscountess told her son, magnanimously refraining from expressing her hopes that the Miner Gang had set sail to China, with Madorra Fowler’s niece in tow.

Courtney was out the door. “I’ll keep searching till I find her, as if my very life depended on it. It does.”

Lady Chase sighed and dabbed at her eyes. “He does seem to care for her.”

Lady Bellamy snorted. “Humph, anyone can see he’s top over trees for her. That man Dimm just might be right: Chase means to marry the chit.”

Nodding sadly, the viscountess asked, “And you say the father was a tutor?”

“Respectable enough, though undistinguished. I daresay it will do. With my connections I can see she’s not ostracized, once they’re married, of course.”

Lady Chase sat up. “Well, I’m sure I have enough social influence to see she’s accepted everywhere.”

“Pish-tish. She’s Lord Fowler’s granddaughter. I daresay I ought to be able to bring her into fashion if she’s the Diamond they’re calling her.”

“Fustian, she’ll be married to Lord Caswell’s heir. I’m sure I can have her declared a Toast, if she’s as prettily behaved as Nanny says.”

“Well, I won’t have you planning any hole-in-comer marriage ceremony, as if there’s something to be ashamed of in my niece’s breeding or character.”

“And I won’t permit you to throw another of your nip-farthing affairs for the wedding breakfast.”

“Why, you—”

“You old—”

Chapter Twenty-six

“Come sundown you’ll be out of here, ducks.” Ursula unlocked Kathlyn’s cubby and offered her five grapes from the picnic basket. “Sean says he watched the boy deliver our note to your viscount’s house.”

By sundown Kathlyn would be frozen, starving, and petrified, if she hadn’t itched herself to pieces by then.

Ursula spit grape seeds onto the floor near Kathlyn’s bed. “Sean’s mad we didn’t ask for more blunt from your man. Says the swell can afford it, judging by the place. A regular palace, it is, with columns and marble steps. You ever seen it?”

Kathlyn shook her head, no.

“That’s the way of it with the gentry, so don’t be disappointed you ain’t invited to tea.”

Kathlyn allowed as how she wouldn’t fret over the lapse.

“And rich folks—” another seed sent into the corner “—they don’t share. That’s how they stay rich.” Ursula fingered Kathlyn’s beloved blue pelisse. “Next time hold out for ermine, ducks. He can pay the dibs, and rabbit is for amateurs.”

“Did you say the viscount would be coming for me at sundown?” Kathlyn asked while Ursula seemed in a talkative mood.

“Oh, he don’t come here, ducks. We’re not dicked in the nob, you know, telling him where to find us. Might as well make the trade at Newgate. No, Sean and me go to meet your boyfriend at Shippy’s at five. That’s down by the docks where there’s lots of traffic, not much in the way of law enforcement, you might say. We meet, we get the blunt, and lover-boy gets the address of Mother McCrory’s, where Quigley’ll be taking you as soon as we send word back.”

Kathlyn very much feared that Lord Chase already knew the address of Mother McCrory’s, for it was the brothel he’d driven her to on her first night in London. Kathlyn also had enough experience of the demimonde by now to realize that his lordship would also know half the gentlemen there. It wouldn’t matter if he was recognized, but Courtney could never again profess her a lady if she was seen leaving such an establishment, not without becoming a laughingstock among his friends. Kathlyn would be an embarrassment, branded a scarlet woman for the rest of her life. Her lonely, lonely life.

When Ursula left, Kathlyn went back to her latest pastime, composing sonnets in her head rather than rereading them.

If thou love’st me, thou wouldst come,

Hours ago, and not leave me glum.

Some time later, after Kathlyn had composed at least a dozen paeans in praise of Lord Chase’s noble spirit, and an equal number of poems pertaining to his tardiness, she heard her captors arguing in the other room. Quigley wanted to go along with the others to Shippy’s, it seemed.

“You and Sean’ll split the take without me, hop on a boat, and be sailin’ off afore I deliver the wench.”

“You’re wrong,” Ursula told him, fully intending to bash Sean over the head and keep
all
of the ransom money. “And we already agreed we can’t leave Kitty here by herself with Sean, ‘cause he’s liable to cut off all her hair or something worse, then where’d we be?”

“I could go alone,” Sean offered, too eagerly. Both of the others slapped the smaller man.

Quigley scratched his head, then his crotch. This was a real dilemma. “I s’pose we could all go, ‘n make sure the money gets divvied right.”

Kathlyn held her breath—and a hairpin, for breaking out once they were gone—but no such luck. Ursula argued, “But then we don’t get any blunt for the girl, in case his lordship turns into a Captain Sharp.”

“Then why don’t we take the mort with us? We can dump her out on a dock if he comes across with the rhino.”

Kathlyn waited, but no one suggested what they would do with her down by the docks if the viscount decided she wasn’t worth the bother.

How I pray’st thou won’t be cheap,

Lest they tosseth me in the deep.

* * * *

They had the place surrounded. A mouse couldn’t have slipped through the net. A cockroach, perhaps, but not a mouse. Courtney would have charged inside if he’d had his way, both pistols primed and loaded, but Inspector Dimm was more cautious.

“I’d like to live long enough for my next retirement, I would,” he chided the other’s impatience. “ ‘Sides, you don’t want us taking any chances with Miss Kathlyn’s safety, do you?”

So they waited for reinforcements: the Watch, the constabulary, five more Runners, and a cousin by marriage of Mr. Dimm’s who was handy with his fives. There were men at-the front door, men at the back, guards on the rooftop and along the alleyways, in case any of the maggots tried to jump out a window. Algie and Woody took up positions across the street, protecting the carriage against a quick getaway. Mr. Dimm spit on the curb. “Gormless civilians.”

Then they were ready. Dimm gave the order, and he, the viscount, and two others moved as quietly as they could to the third-story flat. “I hereby order you to open in the name of the law!” he shouted, but Courtney wasn’t waiting. He kicked at the door with his good leg, then smashed the lock with his fist and burst inside.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Kathlyn was kneeling over three bloody bodies, trying to stop all of them from bleeding to death at once, it looked like. Courtney had seen whole engagements on the Peninsula with less gore.        Kathlyn pointed to the female. “I hit Ursula with the fireplace poker while she was aiming her pistol at Sean. She shot him anyway. Of course, Sean had just stabbed Quigley, so I suppose he deserved it. I don’t think any of them will die, do you?”

Courtney raised her to her feet, letting Dimm and his minions take over preserving the Miner Gang until their trial. “Hell and damnation, woman, you are as white as a ghost and covered in blood, and you’re worried about the kidnappers? Deuce take it, I’m ready to bash the bastards with the poker myself for what they’ve done. I’ve been beside myself with worry, what with waiting for Dimm and his men to get in place ... and what the bloody hell do you mean, ‘Oh, it’s you’?”

He reached up to brush a fallen lock of hair away from her face. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Kathlyn took one look at his hand, the hand that he’d used to break the lock, said, “Oh heavens, you’re bleeding,” and fainted dead away in Courtney’s arms.

Well, that was more like it, Courtney thought. At least he could feel the littlest bit heroic, carrying his intrepid love to the carriage. The dratted stubborn damsel had gone and rescued herself! Not that he would have wished the darling girl harmed, of course, he just missed the added bit of luster on his armor.

That luster was in her eyes, though, when she woke up in the carriage in his arms, in his lap. She smiled at him and wrapped her arms more firmly around his neck and shoulder. Courtney brushed a kiss on her forehead, telling her, “If you say, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ I’ll toss you right out of the carriage.”

Kathlyn grinned. “I knew you’d come.”

“Of course I’d come. You never doubted that, did you? I’m only sorry I wasn’t faster, sorry I couldn’t protect you from the whole experience. But it will never happen again, my dear.”

“Of course not, the gang will go to gaol.”

“No, it will never happen again, my precious, because I’ll never let you out of my sight again. I’ll never let you near another fireplace poker, either.” And then he kissed her, not like a chaste knight saluting his lady, not like a lord relieved that his property was unscathed, and not like an inexperienced, bumbling schoolboy. He kissed her like a lover, binding his soul to hers, and she kissed him back, all the way home to Kensington.

* * * *

Lady Bellamy took one look at her niece, all rumpled and mussed, hair every which way, and covered with welts, and decided that a small wedding might be best after all. Small and soon, she amended, noting the besotted look on the chit’s face.

Lady Chase saw her son carrying in a bloodstained baggage and fainted dead away in her chair.

The viscount tenderly placed Kathlyn on the sofa, Ripken having been sent home in a hackney, and Wolfie having resignedly claimed a space on the hearthside rug.