His Lordship Possessed (14 page)

his driver to take us to a street in the better part of the

working class quarter. I didn’t begin begging until we

arrived at a narrow greystone sandwiched between a

carriwright and a pottery.

Doyle dragged me out of the carri, issued some terse

instructions to his driver, and led me up the steps to

the front door of the greystone. As I promised to prove

everything to him if he would simply go with me to the

docks, he pushed me inside and bolted the door behind

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us.I paused for breath and took in my surroundings.

Instead of a foyer or a hall leading to several fl ats, we

stood in a tidy front room arranged with comfortable-

looking walnut and leather furnishings. Someone had

banked a fi re in the broad-based riverstone hearth, beside

which sat a little cart loaded with a fi lled BrewsMaid,

neatly wrapped fi nger sandwiches, and a cloth-covered

mound of tiny jam cakes.

“Sit down.” He prodded me toward an armchair

before turning on the brewer. “Not on your life,” he

added without looking at me. “You’ll not make it as far

as the steps outside.”

I stopped inching toward the door. “Why did you

bring me here?”

“I can’t take you back to the Main. Th ey’ll toss you in

a cell and lose the latchkey.” He took off his jacket and

carefully rolled up his sleeves before he used the basin to

wash his hands. “Th e Crown’s seized everything of yours,

so Walsh’s men will be watching your friends.”

“Walsh can’t watch everyone.” I occupied the settee

closest to the door. “I have friends in other places.”

“You’re staying here.” He fi lled a plate with

sandwiches before he brought it to me. “Until I sort this

out, you’re under house arrest.”

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I didn’t want Doyle’s food or protection, but my stomach

chose that moment to gurgle loudly, and I needed to

rest and think. I accepted the plate he off ered with all

the ladylike grace I could manage before I attacked its

contents.

“Dredmore couldn’t keep me locked up,” I mentioned

between bites of some rather marvelous salt-cured ham.

“What makes you think you can?”

“Dredmore’s an arrogant ass.” He went back to the

cart and returned with a steaming mug of rich, fragrant

country black. “I’m your friend, and this isn’t a prison

cell.” He off ered me the tea. “It’s my home.”

“So I’m under
your
house arrest. I see.” I put the plate on my lap so I could warm my hands on the outsides

of the mug. “Do you mean to shackle me to something

immovable? Perhaps that secretary in the corner there.

Looks too heavy for me to budge.”

He chuckled. “No doubt you’d fi nd a way, even if you

had to drag it out of here after you.”

He may have fumbled things back at the hotel and

brought me here against my will, but Doyle did care.

He was also a decent man who would be made to pay

dearly for becoming involved in this. Especially after

I . . . My thoughts turned the food I’d wolfed down into

an unpleasant lump in my belly. “You don’t want any

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part of this, Inspector. If they fi nd out you’ve sheltered

me, they’ll take everything. Your shield, your money and

property. Maybe even your life.”

“I’m an offi cer of the law, Kit, and until I’ve sorted this out, you’re in my custody.” He nodded toward the mug.

“Now be a good gel and drink your tea.”

I pretended to take a sip. Because it was so strong and

bitter, country black was regarded as more of a man’s

drink. Customarily served as a morning brew, it roused

sluggards from their beds and sent them off braced to

build another bit of the Empire. Not at all the sort of

thing to be serving to a lady at night, unless of course one had other motives.

I reached into my pocket, springing the back latch on

Da’s pocket watch that opened the back of the case, and

removed one of the dippers before I pretended to check

the time. Th en, as Doyle fi xed his own mug, I checked

the tea.

Fortunately for me Tom’s crockery was all plain

heavy white china, the sort a bachelor who hated female

frippery bought for himself. When he came to sit beside

me on the settee, he placed his own mug next to mine.

“Th e sandwiches were scrumptious; you should give

up being a cop and cater picnics and hen parties instead.”

I handed him the empty plate. “Could I have two more

of those ham sandwiches? Th ey’re absolutely delicious.”

As soon as his back was turned I took care of the

present problem, and smiled when he brought me the

cakes.

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“Lovely, thank you.” I settled back and let my eyelids

droop a little. “Tell me something, Doyle. Why haven’t

you found yourself a wife yet?”

“I don’t know,” he said, testing the tea before taking

a swallow. “Mum says I’m too particular. Da says it’s the

job.”I used my hand to cover a yawn. “What do
you
say?”

He gave me the oddest look. “Could be that I was

waiting for you.”

“For twenty-odd years? My, you’ve patience.” I

uttered a sleepy chuckle as I pillowed my head against

my arm and the backrest. With Tommy Doyle it would

be courtship, then engagement, then marriage and a

house full of little ones. I would never give up what little freedom I had left for that, but still I felt as if I’d been given a tremendous compliment. “Well, whether that’s

true or not, I think your Grandda would have approved.”

“He said we were meant for each other, but then he

adored you almost as much as I did.” He hunched his

shoulders and gulped his tea. “I’m going to send you to

my folks’ place in the morning.”

I watched him through half-closed eyes.

“You’ll stay on the farm until I sort this out.” He put

down the empty mug and turned toward me, and put his

hand over mine. “Th en we’ll see if Grandfather was right

about us.”

On impulse, I leaned forward and brushed my lips

across his mouth. He stiff ened, and then reached for

me, only to look down at the hands that fell against his

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thighs. “Kit . . . you . . .”

“I switched the mugs,” I confi rmed, catching him as

he began to topple forward. “It was the country black that

gave it away. It’s the only tea strong enough to mask the

taste of sleeping powder.” I eased him back against the

cushions. “Th at’s why you didn’t bother to shackle me to

the furniture. You didn’t think you’d have to.”

“Don’t . . . go,” he said, slurring the words. “He’ll . . .”

“I’m sure you’re right.” I got up and retrieved the crazy

patch from the armchair and draped it over him. “But I

made a promise to the man, and it’s one I have to keep.”

I waited until his head slumped over before I helped

myself to several things, including the heavy trench and

long brim I found hanging on his coatrack. “Good-bye,

Tommy.”

As soon as I slipped out of Doyle’s back door, the raw

slap of air against my face reminded me that I couldn’t

chase after Dredmore on foot. I needed transportation

that would conceal as well as convey me.

A quick peek inside the window of the carriwright’s

shop revealed about a dozen wagons, carts, and carris, all

in various stages of disrepair. Th e lock on the back door

would be simple to pick, but the carris would make too

much racket, and I had no horse to draw the others. Th ey

would be watching anyone approaching the docks, too.

As I stepped back, my foot shuffl ed over the lip of

an access hatch. Th e old sewer lines on the Hill and in

the smarter quarters of the city had been sealed off or

fi lled in, but here in the working quarter they hadn’t

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bothered. Hedger had once told me that before the city’s

incinerators had been installed, all the old sewer lines had emptied out directly into the sea.

I hadn’t forgotten the old tunneler’s last warning,

though:
Ye’re to go now, and ye’re not to come back down
here, do ye understand? Never again.
I glanced up at the sky. Dawn would arrive in another hour, and so would

the invasion. “Harry? Harry, where are you? I need you.”

My grandfather’s almost-transparent form appeared

before me. “Ready to leave, then?”

“I’m going belowground,” I told him. “You’re coming

along.”

“You can’t hide from it down there,” Harry snapped.

“Nor can I help—”

“Oh, shut up, Harry.” I crouched down and with some

diffi culty released the old hatch. “I’m not asking for your help. All you need do is come with me.”

I climbed down the ladder and made my way through

the malodorous confi nes of the old sewer, but as soon

as I emerged into the tube junction Harry took on more

substance and moved ahead to block my path.

“You’re as daft as you are stubborn,” he told me.

“Zarath is not Dredmore. He’s not even a man. He

hasn’t the slightest regard for mortals. He’ll crush you,

Charmian, with no more than a pebble and a few words.

Or he’ll do things to you to make you wish you were

dead.”

Hearing him use my given name only made me think

of Lucien and want to throttle my grandfather. “Mr.

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Hedgeworth,” I called out as loud as I dared. “I know

the rounds have you in this section of the tunnels now. If

you’re watching us, please, come out.”

Th e old tunneler emerged from behind a cluster of

tubes. He’d wrapped his stooped body in layers of thick

meshing and held a pair of wicked-looking cudgels in his

hands. “Get out of me tunnels”—he pointed one of the

clubs at Harry—“and take that thing with ye.”

I glanced at Harry. “How can he see you?”

“Long story,” my grandfather mumbled back.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hedgeworth, but we can’t. I am in

desperate need of your help. My grandfather also wishes

to make amends for whatever caused this rift between the

two of you.” I turned to Harry. “You go fi rst.”

My grandfather made an exasperated sound. “For

God’s sake, Archibald. Put down those things.” As the

old man eyed me, he added, “Obviously I’ve not possessed

her. Nor has any other.”

“No yet,” Hedger agreed. “With what she can do,

won’t be long. Without that ginny bauble hanging about

her neck she glows like a right black beacon. Soon as they

come for the citizens they’ll take her, too.” He jabbed

one of the cudgels toward me. “And that’s why ye’ll go

topside, Miss Kit, this very moment, or I’ll fi nish ye

meself.”

“You see? It’s hopeless. You’ve no option but to leave

Rumsen and save yourself.” Harry’s tone grew wheedling.

“You’re the last of my mortal bloodline, Charm. I can’t

lose you.”

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“You never had me, Harry.” To the old tunneler, I

said, “Mr. Hedgeworth, you may do exactly as you wish

to me. From the sound of things, bashing in my skull will

probably be a kindness.”

Hedger’s arm tightened, and for a moment I thought

he really would strike me. With great reluctance he

lowered the club and scowled. “If ye were a lad, I’d not

hesitate, ye know.”

I kept my expression respectful. “Th ank you, sir.”

Hedger jabbed his other cudgel at Harry. “If she’s

truly the last, then ye tell her everything. All of it, ye hear me?”

“He’ll tell me later,” I assured him. “For now, I must

hurry. Can you tell me if any of the old sewer lines to the

docks remain open?”

“Aye.” He pointed across to a moss-covered hatch.

“Th at one runs about three mile. Comes up into the alley

behind the old fi sh tinnery.” As I started for it, he added,

“Hang on, Miss Kit,” and bent down to open his kipbag.

“I’ll go on ahead and check the line. Wait here.” Harry

fl oated through the closed hatch and vanished.

“Spineless sod.” Th e old tunneler rummaged through

his bag for a moment before he produced what looked

like a large, rusty nail, which he tossed to me.

I caught it and turned it over in my hands. “I can’t

really use this, Mr. Hedgeworth.”

“‘Tis an iron rail tie. Only thing what gets rid of

Harry’s sort, permanent-like.” He tapped the left side of

his chest. “Plant it in the heart, straight through. As the

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