Suffragette in the City (25 page)

I bent over and peered into his face. “Are you hurt?” I asked solicitously.

“Yes,” he groaned, his eyes closed.

“Good.”

I walked out of the yard to the back alley. Noises issuing from the yard assured me that the household staff had been alerted, making it prudent for me to hurry. As I turned the corner, I ran into two men lounging in the shadows against the side of the building.

“Pardon me,” I said, stepping back.

One of the men grabbed for me and brandished a dark object. My eyes widened as I beheld a black pistol.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Whitney.” A gold tooth flashed as the speaker stepped forward into the lamplight.

“Mr. Jones!” I cried, irritation driving out the concern at being accosted in the street. “I knew you would show up again. Unpleasant things always have a way of reappearing when you least desire them. Now will you have the decency to inform me why you are harassing me in this manner? And why is this man waving a firearm at me?”

“Here, Percy, isn’t this a piece of luck?” Mr. Jones ignored my demands and spoke to the man pointing the pistol at me.

“It is at that,” Percy agreed with a leer.

“You’re the man from last night!” I accused Percy, then paused, turning to the other man.  “Which means you…I thought your voice sounded familiar.”

“Oh, she’s torn her gown, Percy.” Mr. Jones took a step towards me.

“That’s a shame, it is, a cryin’ shame.”

I moved back slowly, hoping they wouldn’t notice.

“Yes, that it is. Torn right there—” He reached out to touch the fabric.

I slapped at his hand and turned, intending to run back down the alley, but his hand shot out and caught me in a cruel grip. I cried out as his fingers dug painfully into my shoulder, pulling me up until his head was close to mine, his breath soiling my neck as he spoke in a tone that filled me with foreboding. “Now, miss, there’s no sense in being unfriendly. We’re old friends, you and I—”

The thought passed through my mind that for a person who abhorred violence as much as I did, I was indulging in a great deal of it of late. I curled my fingers up into a fist, but Mr. Jones must have anticipated the blow I was about to land. By moving quickly he twisted my free arm up behind my back.

“None of that, or,” he jerked my arm upwards, making me gasp in pain, “you’ll have to be punished.”

A whirlwind slammed into us and sent me flying headlong into a nearby lamp post. I shook my head groggily and wondered if there was some sort of lamp post conspiracy against me. As my eyes cleared, I stared openmouthed at an enraged Griffin. He rolled in the street with Mr. Jones in a violent embrace, while above them, Percy shouted something incoherent as he danced around the pair in an agitated way, waving his pistol, but clearly unable to take a shot without hitting them both. He finally abandoned the idea of shooting and threw himself into the fray.

I thought briefly of assisting Griffin with the duo, but clad in nothing but a delicate, and now sadly torn, evening gown without even an umbrella as a weapon, I felt there was little I could do. Besides that, I’d had ample opportunity in the past to admire Griffin’s impressive physique up close, and I was certain that two men would be no match for him while I sought help.

“Oh, blast!” I swore, remembering the fall Griffin had just taken. I hesitated, unsure if I should run to my uncle’s house, or go back and assist Griffin. There was only one clear choice.

I ran back to the scene and screamed as loudly as I could.

The effect was immediate and satisfying. Mr. Jones shot me a venomous look and ran off into the alley, while Percy struggled out of Griffin’s grip and disappeared after his companion. I looked down on Griffin where he endeavored to sit up in the street, and shook my head sadly, saying, “I would have thought you could have taken both of them,” before I turned and ran down the road.

Directly in front of me was one of London’s smaller parks. Although it wasn’t the cleverest idea to run through the park alone at night, the idea of being exposed to family and friends was unthinkable in my present agitated state of mind. A strange wheezing, roaring noise behind me indicated that Griffin was following, and since his were the eyes I wanted to avoid the most, I dashed into the park and towards a clump of trees, feeling my chances of evading him would be far greater there than on the streets.

Pausing to catch my breath, I heard the metal gate clang and knew Griffin had followed me in. The park was lined with trees and almost completely dark, only small patches of dappled light reaching the edges. I crept along between the iron fence and the trees, and was surprised to hear the gate close a second time.

I stopped. Had Griffin had left the park? Indecision gripped me as I tried to decide whether or not I could chance racing across the open expanse to the far gate. A bulky silhouette passed in front of me which, due to having spent time in the previously mentioned appreciation of his manly proportions, I easily identified as belonging to Griffin.

He moved with absolute silence, a task that certainly must not have been easy for so large a man. I put it down to his years of travel in dangerous places, and crept out to watch with curiosity as he skirted the front of the trees.

To be truthful, I was feeling more than a little ridiculous. The adrenaline that started my flight was wearing off, leaving me wondering what I was doing skulking around a park late at night, hiding from the one person I wanted so desperately to be with.

Griffin
’s cold eyes and the mortifying scene with Lord Sherringham flashed through my head and I felt a little less ridiculous.

“A weapon,” I whispered soundlessly to myself. “What you need is a weapon in case you run into those two thugs again.” I felt along the ground for a stick or fallen branch, but the groundskeepers had done a meticulous job, my search resulting in nothing but a handful of twigs. I hurried forward on the tips of my toes to a large fir tree slightly to the left, where I had spied a low branch. It was small in diameter, but considering the situation, I felt it would make an excellent weapon. I worked the branch back and forth quickly, trying to break it off.

With a soft snap, the branch severed. I clutched it and started off after Griffin. Although I had every confidence in Griffin’s ability to handle two men by himself, I worried that the fall and tussle in the street might have drained his reserve strength. I wanted to be at the ready should he need me.

A woman’s scream pierced the night and was quickly silenced. I froze next to a large shrub, wondering if I should take cover, or if I should go on ahead to assist whatever female the two thugs were now no doubt terrorizing. Angry voices shouting ahead decided me. Although I didn’t recognize Griffin’s bellow, I was sure he was in trouble. As I ran past a large cedar bush, an arm reached out and coiled around me, a hand clamping down over my mouth. I was pulled to the side, flailing my branch in what I thought was a menacing manner until a familiar voice hissed, “Stop swatting that thing around and be quiet.”

Griffin
let go of my face and crept forward. I leaned over quietly and put my mouth to his ear. “The man with the bowler is Mr. Jones. He’s the one who has been following me.”

 “You mean someone really was following you?” His breath tickled my neck.

“Yes.” I grabbed his ears and made him lean down long enough to kiss him. He pulled me tighter for a second kiss, then gently pushed me behind him.

“Stay here.”  He started to leave then turned back as I followed him out. “Stay
here
!”

“Absolutely not. Where are you going?”

“I have unfinished business with those two. For once, do as I say and stay here.”

I was about to protest when he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“So help me God, woman—” he muttered and pulled me to him a third time. His kiss was hot and hard and quick, and stole all my breath. Before I could blink he dashed off in pursuit of Mr. Jones and Percy.

“Well!” I said to no one in particular, fanning myself with the branch, still feeling the imprint of his kisses. A few moments later, recollection of the embarrassment of the evening drove the many pleasurable thoughts from my mind. I had no intention of remaining where I was, and no desire to wait for Griffin in my present mood. I went after him.

A shot rang out, quickly followed by another. Suddenly I was running, racing down the line of trees, heedless of the noise I made. I flung myself out into the open area and flew at the man bending over a figure on the ground.

Being by nature a passive and peace-loving woman, not at all given to emotions of a turbulent nature, I have never had any violent thoughts before—at least, not before I met Griffin. However, the sight of my beloved lying dead on the ground, his life’s blood flowing away while his murderer stood gloating overhead was too much for me. I hurled myself at the villain, catching him off guard, trying to get my hands around his neck as we crashed to the ground.

“If you’ve killed him—” I yelled, sprawled across the man’s chest, my fingers digging into his neck.

The coward squawked in terror, obviously pleading for mercy, but I was not in a merciful mood. I dug my fingers in tighter around his Adam’s apple. Suddenly his body twisted and I was on my back, pinned to the ground, his face looming over mine.

“Are you mad?” a hoarse voice breathed in my ear. I stopped struggling and flung my arms around his head, kissing every reachable spot.

“Are you all right? You’re not hurt? I thought you had been shot!”

“So I gather.”

I released his head and allowed him to move next to me, laying on the grass, breathing heavily and rubbing his neck. I sat up. “Then who were you standing over?”

We both looked. There was no one on the ground.

“Damnation! He’s gone,” Griffin snarled, and leaped up.

A quick search of the area turned up nothing but the pistol that Griffin had wrestled away from Percy. Griffin put the pistol in his pocket and turned to me, swearing softly to himself. One of his lovely eyes was swelling and starting to discolor, the other glared out at me balefully. I yearned take him in my arms, to comfort him, to kiss him—

“Good night,” I said instead, and ran back the way I had come.

He bellowed my name but I ignored it, bolting across the lit area to where I could see the shadow of a gate. It took me a moment to orient myself, but I soon had my bearings and made my way home at a fast trot, slowing to a walk only when I encountered other people. I caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror—my eyes were wild, my hair disheveled and full of twigs, the lovely dress torn, smears of dirt running down my cheeks, and somehow I had acquired a decorative clump of leaves in my bosom.

Later, I sat calmly combing my hair, wondering about the primitive compulsion for flight that had possessed me earlier, and waited for the knock that I knew would come at my door.

“Cassandra?” My sister’s voice accompanied the knock. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I answered. “I would rather be alone tonight, though.”

Listening intently I heard the soft murmur of voices.

“Will you not let me in, dear?”

“No, thank you, Mabel. I just want to sleep.”

More murmuring.

“All right. I will talk with you in the morning. Sleep well.”

I sighed with relief as she left, picked up my once lovely Worth gown, and sat on the foot of my bed.

“Now what do I do?” I asked my reflection in the mirror. “I have disgraced my family and confirmed Griffin’s worst fears as to my character.”

The reflection had no answers. I crawled into bed, fully expecting to stay awake the entire night with my heartache and worries, but fate willed otherwise.