The Dark Lady (12 page)

Ian nodded, swiped the flowers from her fingers, and marched into the inn.

Heat from the fires enveloped him and he let out a contented sigh, feeling momentarily transported. He would never be quite as warm as he’d been in India, but this would do. For now.

He stomped the snow from his boots in the entryway and then headed up the narrow stairs. Hopefully Eva had eaten a bit of porridge. Then again, she might have thrown the entire lot on the floor.

She’d always been stubborn. Something he’d always loved about her, even if it could be infuriating. He prayed
they wouldn’t war with each other. Surely, she’d see he only had her best interests at heart?

At present, he hoped she’d drifted off to sleep. Rest was the only thing she needed as much as food. She’d be upon the bed, her body entwined in the covers. God, but he wanted to strip that horrid piece of cloth from her body, slip her into a hot bath, and massage the worry and pain from her muscles.

He slipped the key Mrs. Marlock had given him from his pocket, balancing the packages and flowers with one arm as he stuck the bit of iron into the hole.

The door swung open and he entered quietly, not wanting to wake her if she slept. But the moment he stepped in the room, his gut clenched.

The blue quilted covers of the bed remained in perfect place. The few chairs were empty and the food lay untouched, though the porridge had been cleaned from the floor.

In short, the room was empty with barely a sign that anyone had been there at all.

Ian dropped the packages and flowers, the pale petals scattering at his feet. He whipped around, panic blurring his vision.

He thundered out into the hall, not bothering to shut the door behind him. “Mrs. Marlock!”

Could Thomas be onto them so quickly? Had Mrs. Palmer’s henchmen taken her?

“Mrs. Marlock!” he shouted again, rushing down the stairs and into the main hall. The sound of a clock ticked in the silence, mixing with his ragged breath.

“Ah! Mr. Blacktower.” Mrs. Marlock hurried toward him, her face beaming beneath her cap.

“Where is she?” he demanded, coming to an abrupt halt.

Mrs. Marlock’s brows creased ever so slightly, her lips
still arranged in her smile. “Mrs. Blacktower? Why, she went out, sir.”

“What?” His heart thudded hard in his chest, drowning out the panic rushing through his brain. It was all he could do not to commence yelling at her as if he were still at Khyber Post supervising drills.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice slowing with confusion. “She borrowed a frock and a cloak. She went out about an hour ago.” Mrs. Marlock nibbled her lower lip. “She said it was most important, I assure you.”

Ian snapped his gaze to the door. An hour. And she was not yet returned. “Did she say anything else?”

Mrs. Marlock’s smile vanished at his panicked tone. “She did say she needed an apothecary. Is the young lady not well, sir?”

Ian closed his eyes. Christ! He should have known this would happen. And he’d been a damn fool. The damnedest fool. “She is quite well. ’Tis my mistake. She’d mentioned she planned to step out.”

Mrs. Marlock’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “There, now.” She folded her hands before her assuredly. “I knew all was well.”

“Yes. Of course.” Ian nodded, his mouth drying. “Which way did you direct her?”

“Johnson’s Apothecary. It’s just a few lanes over.” Mrs. Marlock’s smile flitted from her face as she started to fiddle with her gown.

“Yes?” Ian urged. There was something the woman didn’t wish to disclose.

“Now, you mustn’t be angry.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. “I tried to convince her to wait for you or my kitchen boy, Ned, to come back from the shops.”

Ian took a step toward her, narrowing his eyes. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I told her she must be wary at Bickling Lane. Some rough men do hang about there.” Mrs. Marlock rushed. “But it’s morning and most likely they’ll be sleeping off the night—”

“You let her go?!” he roared, fear gripping him so hard he barely caught himself from grabbing her.

“Well—” Her voice pitched up to a squeak. “I could not make her wait. She was most insistent, and what with her ways of a great lady, I didn’t feel I could order her to stay—”

Ian lifted a finger and pointed it at the ridiculous woman. “If anything happens to her—” He couldn’t quite finish. Good God, what had he done? This was his fault, not this poor woman’s. “Forgive me.”

“I am sorry, sir, if I am to blame,” she rambled pathetically.

“You are not.” He shouldn’t have left Eva alone. He shouldn’t have trusted her to stay. “You are very kind.”

Praying to God that after all this he wouldn’t find Eva in the snow, knocked down by toughs, he whipped around and ran for the door.

The very image of her bloodied on the ground shot him down through the street, oblivious to those around him. Heading as fast as he could in the direction Mrs. Marlock had indicated. Praying he wouldn’t be too late.

Eva clutched the small brown bottle of laudanum in a fierce grasp. In less than a quarter of an hour she’d measure out a tincture and the world would be right again. Then she would not feel as if she might crawl out of her skin at any moment.

Her feet made fast dips in the snow and she stared straight ahead as she avoided the looks of strangers. There were few people on this street, which was only the
more comforting. In truth, she could barely stand the abrasion of being out amid the bustle of life.

Gritting her teeth, Eva picked up her pace. The thin leather shoes she had borrowed didn’t fit. With each stride, she clenched her toes into the bottoms to keep them from catching in the snow.

She looked ahead. Only three more lanes up, a right turn, and then a short burst to the inn.

The apothecary had looked at her quite strangely when she’d insisted he send the bill to Mrs. Marlock, but he hadn’t argued, recognizing the quality of her speech if not her clothing and appearance.

Now, which lane had Mrs. Marlock said to avoid?

Eva stopped at a crossroads. Carriages and carts choked through the small yet busier way. Blicker Street. This must have been the one to avoid. Yes. Her mind fluttered as she tried to recall exactly what the woman had said.

Goodness, she had not been so long without her medicine since . . .

Balking at the hint of remembrance, she shook the thought away before it could take root. It mattered not. In a few moments, she would slip away from such things.

She waited for the heavily laden coal cart to pass and then she darted across the narrow intersection, avoiding piles of steaming horse leavings. With a healthy measure of relief, she charged up the street and turned down the next lane. She didn’t even look at the narrow street sign screwed into the building. If she went this way, she’d be heading to the inn.

It took her several moments to realize the surrounding silence was broken only by the distant rattling of carriage and cart wheels.

Once it occurred to her, she slowed and came to a halt. The strangeness of it gave her pause. The sides of
the buildings were tall, blackened bricks. Windowless, they stretched just like the never-ending walls of the asylum.

Her eyes widened and her breath increased. She’d made a mistake. There were no doors in the walls, either. But there were little lean-tos of oddly put-together pieces of wood. Smoke drifted up from the cracks of the makeshift homes, proving that there were indeed people who lived in such hovels.

She stopped. This was not right. A hunted feeling crept over her, worse than the feel of needing her medicine. Quickly, she turned to go back, but she stopped at the sight before her.

There was a single figure standing near the entrance to the alley.

A man.

Eva clutched the laudanum bottle. The same fear that had slithered inside her when Matthew would come about snaked down her spine. She snapped her gaze back over her shoulder to the other end of the lane. If she kept walking, she’d have to pass the lean-tos. And the Lord alone knew who might be inside. On the other hand, if she turned back, she’d have to brush by the man.

Steps crunched in the snow. She was obsessed with steps. Steps she didn’t know, but the same dreadful, heavy sort of steps that had echoed on many a night in the asylum. Eva ground her teeth down and twisted toward the man at the end of the alley.

Slowly, he sauntered forward. A bent top hat sat atop his greasy black hair. Coal and dirt smeared his face and hands. Just like a streak of blood, a jaunty red scarf circled his thick throat.

He stopped, his legs braced wide, stretching his ratty black trousers. “You lost, luv?”

That rough voice rumbled down the alley.

She glanced right, then left, her skin crawling as she desperately looked for any form of escape. “I—”

“Sad to see a girl lost,” another voice boomed from behind Eva’s back.

Eva reeled around, her body pulled toward that other voice, her situation becoming all too clear.

Another man, shorter, squatter, emerged from one of the lean-tos. He wasn’t wearing a coat, his once white shirt a dingy yellow. His stained mud brown breeches were half undone, hanging on stocky hips.

She stood still, desperately trying to will them away. But that would never happen. Experience had taught her such hopes seldom—if ever—bore fruit. She lifted her chin and said as firmly as she could, “Sirs, I am merely trying to find my inn.”

“You feel tired, then?” the short one asked, taking a few steps forward. “We’ve a place you can rest.”

The tall one closed the distance a bit more. His unwashed scent filled the cold air. “My word, yes. You can have a lie-down. And George and me, we can keep you warm.”

George grinned, baring his scum-covered teeth. “We’d hate for you to be chilled, wouldn’t we, Ed?”

Why had the laudanum been so important? She knew why. For heaven’s sake, she was shaking with need for it. But then she realized that wasn’t the only reason she was shaking. Anger pulsed through her veins. Anger at Matthew, who had terrorized her, and anger at these bloody animals who were terrorizing her now.

“Let me pass,” she gritted, shifting from foot to foot.

George laughed, a hacking, cruel little bark. “Of course, luv.”

“But first,” Ed said jauntily, his black-stained hands going to the fold of his trousers, “you must pay the toll.”

A
cornered animal couldn’t have felt any more aware of its surroundings than Eva did in that moment. Her blood pumped viciously, slamming through her ears. The air tasted sharp and bitter with coal. She could even smell the rank sweat and dark ale off the two men.

Ed and George began to slowly close in. Clearly, they weren’t overly concerned about such a small woman as herself fighting them. Without thinking, Eva tucked her bottle into her borrowed coat, then jerked the fabric from her shoulders, letting it drop with a thump to the muddy snow.

She didn’t feel the icy wind. She felt nothing but the foreign, and all-powerful, will to survive. No one was going to hurt her again.

George laughed again. “You hungry for it?”

Eva snapped her focus from man to man. They were large, their steps relaxed, but then, they thought she was just going to meekly accept her fate.

Ed reached out, his fingers like long, stained hooks.

Eva forced herself to remain still. She had to let them get just close enough.

“Look at her, George. I think she might beg for it.” Ed touched her chin.

Eva winced, sucking in slow breaths. She could do this.

Ed’s eyes narrowed, lust darkening the pupils. His fingers dug into her skin. He bent in.

The smell of sour beer and urine surrounded her, and she fought back vomit. Though Ed held her head rigid, she spotted George out of the corner of her eye, a grin on his pockmarked face as he watched. She sensed in his jackal-like smile that he would be the harder, crueler of the two. The years in the asylum had attuned her to the cruelty of men. Of how deep it was rooted in their hearts.

Ed arched her neck back a little farther, and she let her arms dangle at her sides. George whistled and clapped.

It was worse than Matthew. God, at least he had bathed now and again. Ed reeked of last night’s drink and months of decaying food. She was sick of such men.

Anticipation shot through her veins before she flexed her hands and drove her rigid fingertips into his throat.

Ed choked, his eyes rolling back for a moment, and his grip released.

George gaped.

Eva took the opportunity. Darting forward, she grabbed George’s shoulders, glaring into his stunned eyes. With all her might, she drove her knee up into his groin. A howl of pain tore through the air and he bent, gasping. But as she twisted to run, George grabbed hold of her, his ragged nails so sharp against her flesh she cried out in surprise at the sting.

“You ruddy little bitch!” He gasped, his eyes blazing down at her.

“That’s right!” Eva struggled like a frenzied rat in a cat’s claws before she sucked up some spit and spat in his face with all the force she could muster.

She felt Ed come up right behind her, the heat of him touching her shoulder blades. Without thinking, she
threw her head back. The world exploded in sparks as the top of her head connected with his nose.

“Jaysus! Shit!” Ed screamed. The snow crunched under his boots as he staggered away.

George’s face grew red with fury. “Fun’s done, you little whore.” He threw her to the ground.

Her breath barreled out of her as her elbows hit the icy ground. She blinked, trying to focus on the men.

George towered over her. “You got grit, girl.”

Eva scrambled back, terror and the raging urge to fight ruling her. She wasn’t done by half yet, even if they were strong and tough.

George stepped forward and Eva shot her foot out. Her heel rammed into his knee and he groaned, falling to the ground.

Frantic now, Eva tried to get up, but Ed, whirling back to them, pressed his boot down on her hand. A scream tore from her lips. The pressure of it rocked through her. She could almost feel bones creaking and splintering.