The Memory of Your Kiss (22 page)

She wondered what Zachary’s marriage had been like. What kind of woman had his wife been? Lieutenant Harrelson had said she was a Spanish gentlewoman—and a partisan fighter. The two images did not fit somehow. What was it that had made him love her? Or had he loved her? She knew from her own experience that factors other than love often brought—and kept—people together.

In another London townhouse Zachary too was finding sleep elusive, though his had been a very long day. It started shortly after breakfast with a meeting with the Bow Street Runners who were keeping Percival Laughton under surveillance. He had met them in their office, a small drab windowless room that contained two scarred desks and an assortment of chairs as well as a small table with a teapot and several dirty cups. A large detailed map of London hung on the wall.

“You have something to report to me?” Zachary asked, taking a chair.

“We do.” John Ruskin, the older of the two, leaned back in the chair behind his desk, his hands hooked into the pockets of his vest. “As you know, your fellow Laughton has rooms in a lodging house. He’s real close to the woman who runs it. Real close, if you get my meaning.”

Zachary waved his hand impatiently. “I have no interest in whom the man takes to his bed.”

“His lady friend has a brother named Daniel Olson. It appears that Laughton is engaged in some sort of business with this Olson fellow. Olson has a sometime partner known only as Scrubb.”

“Have you any idea of the nature of Laughton’s affiliation with them?”

“Not yet,” Ruskin admitted, “but the association bears watching.”

Ruskin’s younger partner, a man named Lowell, swung his long legs and feet off his desk and stood. “These are some rough types.” He circled an area on the map with his hand. “Operate here mostly—in Seven Dials.” Lowell had just named one of London’s most notorious districts. Respectable men avoided the area even in daylight.
“Usually press gangs, prostitutes, and so on, but they’ve been known to expand their activities to burglary in the more elegant parts of town.”

“And murder,” Ruskin said from his desk. “You want someone to disappear, they will see to it—for a price. Kidnapping would be within their services.”

Zachary nodded. “You are quite right: the association bears watching.”

Later, when he saw Laughton accost Sydney, Zachary wanted to wipe away the man’s smirk with a resounding facer, but, mindful of the time and place, he restrained himself. He did, however, enlist the aid of his Rangers in making sure it did not happen again. He also shared with them the information he had had from the Runners.

“I think we should just take him out of the picture,” Gordon said. “Treat him like the scum he is. Threatening a baby, yet.”

“This is London, Gordie. Have to wait ’til he does something,” McIntyre said.

Gordon was not persuaded. “Bah! An ounce of prevention seems in order.”

“For now, we just watch,” Zachary warned.

“I hear his creditors are becoming impatient,” McIntyre said. “They won’t want him running off to the continent again.”

The day after the Rodham garden party, Paxton House was besieged with morning callers. Sydney had anticipated this onslaught, so dressed carefully in a day dress of mauve muslin trimmed with a wide black sash at the fashionable high waist. A large bow in the back had streamers hanging nearly to the hem. A black and white cameo hung from a silver chain around her neck.

She mentally dismissed many of the callers as eager gossips whose primary interest was in harvesting some seed of sensation they could then plant in the next drawing room. Sydney, Aunt Harriet, and Celia adroitly turned the conversations whenever someone asked a question or dropped an innuendo about how and why William had become attached to the Paxton household. He just had, and that was that.

One particularly aggressive dowager voiced a desire “to see those dear little children. Might she just peek into the nursery?”

Sydney skewered her with a look of utter wonder. “I am sorry, ma’am, but we do not display children like denizens of a freak show.”

The affronted woman, obviously used to getting her own way, huffed and departed.

“That was neatly done,” said Zachary, who had arrived a few minutes earlier with his mother and Lieutenant Harrelson.

“I’ve probably made an enemy for life,” she replied.

“Well, if it is true that one is judged by the friends he chooses, it must also be true of the enemies one makes. I think your reputation will survive.”

“Hmm. I think there may be a compliment in there somewhere, so I thank you.”

He grinned and gave her a mocking bow, then turned to join Nathan and Allyson Thornton as Sydney was called upon to greet arriving guests. Finally, the crowd of visitors thinned appreciably, leaving special friends who had been invited to stay longer: the Quintin party, the Thorntons, and Louisa, a late arrival who had slipped away to the nursery almost immediately.

Celia and Trevor had had their heads together for several minutes. Now Trevor said, “I assume everyone knows Vauxhall Gardens is presenting an extravaganza of the Battle of Vitoria.” Vauxhall Gardens was a popular amusement park offering balloon ascents, tightrope walkers, and concerts as well as other entertainments. The gardens themselves were quite spectacular with long walks and byways that were especially attractive to lovers. High sticklers frequently disapproved.

“Yes. So?” Zachary asked.

“So let us get up a party to attend—say on Saturday,” Trevor said.

Celia said, “Oh, Sydney, do say you will approve. You know you have wanted something special as a diversion for the girls and Geoffrey and his friend. It would be such fun.”

Geoffrey had returned to town, bringing his friend with him, precisely for the royal visit and such celebrations.

“What do you think, Aunt Harriet? Lady Leonora?”

“Certainly—if we have sufficient escort. I am sure Captain Thompson would happily join us,” Aunt Harriet said. “Geoffrey and his friend are old enough to serve in that role as well.”

Lady Leonora looked at her son, who nodded. “I haven’t been to
Vauxhall in years,” she said. “In my day, young people enjoyed excursions there immensely.”

“It’s settled, then,” Sydney said. “Allyson, Nathan—you will join us, won’t you?”

When her husband also nodded his assent, Allyson said, “Of course. As Celia says, it will be great fun.”

T
he
Paxton-Quintin party for the excursion to Vauxhall was an eclectic group of varying ages. Aunt Harriet, Captain Thompson, and the elder Quintins represented one end of the age spectrum. Next came Sydney, her cousin, and their friends, including Lieutenant McIntyre. Sydney’s young family members, along with the street urchin Walter made up the youngest part of the group. After gaining the approval of Miss Fairfax and her sister, Sydney had invited Walter to join them as a reward for his helpfulness to the sisters and for his diligence at learning his letters.

“Wally will be so pleased,” Penelope Fairfax had said. “He works very hard, you know.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Sydney replied. “It is always nice when we win now and then.”

Penelope nodded. “I feel certain we have won over our Wally, but that wretched woman, Alice Barnet, still tries to lure him back to her lair—or steal him!”

“So far, he has been clever—and fast—in eluding her,” Priscilla said.

Ringside seating at three tables had been arranged at Vauxhall Gardens. Once again, Sydney happily found herself seated beside Zachary, conscious of his every small movement, the warmth of his body, an occasional hint of that spicy combination of scents that was just Zachary.

The program consisted of a preliminary concert during which everyone enjoyed a supper of such foods and drinks as the Gardens provided: cold chicken and thinly sliced ham, lemonade, ratafia, and wine. Then came the extravaganza featuring a reenactment of the Battle of Vitoria, the turning point of the war in the Peninsula. Using a megaphone, an announcer with a sonorous voice explained each scene. The orchestra musicians with loud horns and drums added to the explosive sounds of cannon and other weapons, shouting men, and neighing horses in the arena. The audience jeered figures wearing large caricature masks of Joseph Bonaparte and his entourage and cheered those depicting Wellington and his army. The smell of smoke hanging over the arena added to the battle atmosphere. There were exaggerated “deaths” and a generous amount of red paint to simulate blood. Sydney decided that the general public was getting its money’s worth in sensationalism and gore.

Seeing the pleasure the youngest members of the party took in the spectacle, Zachary, Harrelson, and McIntyre—who had all lived through the Battle of Vitoria—made few comments on the show’s authenticity during the performance, though Sydney did observe them exchanging skeptical looks now and then or rolling their eyes. A musical interlude followed the battle show. The three young girls, Marybeth, Amy, and Anne, begged to be allowed to walk along some of the paths.

“Only if Geoffrey and Mr. Atkins will escort you,” Sydney said, casting her brother a questioning glance. At almost fifteen, Geoffrey was already as tall as many men and his friend, Reginald Atkins, was of a similar size and build.

“Please, Geoffrey,” Marybeth said.

“Sure. Why not?” Geoffrey said with a show of nonchalance, though Sydney suspected the two boys were as eager to move about as were the girls.

Seeing disappointment on Walter’s face, Sydney added, “And you must allow Walter to accompany you.”

“All right,” the girls chorused.

Walter’s eyes lit with delight and he scrambled from his seat.

“Mind that you stay on the main paths that are well lit,” Sydney cautioned.

“We will.”

When the young folks had left, Horatio Quinton said, “So, tell me, you who lived through it, did this performance come even close to the reality of Vitoria?”

McIntyre responded. “The basic premise of the show conveys an overview and the underlying truth is accurate enough.”

“Hindsight provides perspective,” Zachary said. “We certainly did not know
then
that Vitoria was the turning point.”

Lord Nathan Thornton had also served in the Peninsula, but had been called home a year before the Battle of Vitoria to serve a purpose similar to that of the Rangers, but in England. He now chimed in with, “I doubt anyone in a given battle or other mission ever sees much beyond his own tiny piece of the giant jigsaw puzzle of a cataclysmic event.”

“True,” Captain Thompson said. “Have to let writers and historians sort it out later.”

“And they usually get it only half right,” McIntyre said.

“Perhaps half a loaf is better than none,” Lady Leonora said.

Anything she or anyone else might have added to this sage comment was cut off by the sudden appearance of the twins, Anne and Amy. The girls were running, holding their skirts hiked indecorously above their ankles, and screaming, “Sydney! Come quickly! Help!”

Sydney jumped up, as did Zachary and the other men at the table. “What is it? What happened?” she asked.

The girls were out of breath.

“A woman,” Anne said.

“And a man,” Amy added.

“They grabbed—”

“Wally and Marybeth.”

The twins were used to finishing each other’s sentences.

“They were behind the rest of us,” Anne went on.

“Room for only two on the path,” Amy explained.

“Marybeth screamed.”

“So did Wally.”

“Geoffrey and Reggie chased—”

“Told us to get you—”

Instantly, Zachary took charge. “Come. Show us where. Harrelson, McIntyre, Thornton—see to the entrances. They must have a carriage.”

“Here, son. You may need this.” Horatio Quintin handed Zachary a small pistol from an inside pocket of his jacket.

Zachary looked surprised, but took it and said to the twins, “Let’s go.”

“I’m coming, too,” Sydney said.

“I’ll notify the Vauxhall people,” Captain Thompson said. “They must have guards all around this place.”

It was only a matter of a very few minutes, but it seemed much longer. Sydney felt she was seeing the scene from afar even as she lived each fearful second. She and Anne quickly followed Zachary and Amy.

Terror gripped her. Marybeth. Sweet Marybeth. She could not imagine life without her baby sister. And Walter was turning into such a nice lad. She heard Zachary’s questions as they hurried to the spot.

“A man and a woman. Did you see anyone else?”

“No, just those two,” Amy said.

“Did they say anything?”

Amy glanced back at Anne who said, “The man didn’t say much. Yelled when Marybeth bit his hand.”

Amy added, “The woman grabbled Wally’s arm and twisted it. She said something like ‘you won’t get away from me again, you miserable brat.’ He kept pulling to get away, but she held tight.”

Alice Barnet, Sydney thought, her terror increasing tenfold, for the Barnet woman ran one of London’s most notorious “flash” houses. Originally intended to provide for and protect abandoned children, these facilities were training grounds for pickpockets and prostitutes. The people who ran them—mostly women—pocketed any money the children brought in. Images of Marybeth forced into prostitution and of Walter sent back to that sordid life threatened to undo Sydney. She struggled to tamp down her nausea.

“Here. This is the place,” the girls said.

The gravel on the path had been seriously disturbed.

“Walter and Marybeth did not go quietly,” Zachary observed. “With luck, they will slow their captors.”

“They went that way.” Amy pointed.

A few minutes later, the path parted, branching off in three directions, but Geoffrey’s friend Reggie Atkins was there to show them the way. The boy was very excited and spoke in short bursts as he pointed to the right. “Geoff is still following them. We almost caught up to them. He told me to wait here to show you the way.”

“We are near the west entrance,” Zachary said.

“You girls stay close with Mr. Atkins,” Sydney ordered, hastening to keep up with Zachary.

Moments later, they reached the entrance where gas lamps on either side of the gate illuminated a chaotic scene.

Two adults were trying to cram two wriggling, screaming youngsters into a carriage whose driver was yelling, “Hurry up!” as he tried to hold his team steady. A third youngster, Geoffrey, clawed at the man, trying to rescue his sister. The man, taller and much heavier than the boy, managed to thrust him aside. Geoffrey stumbled and fell, but quickly scrambled to his feet and began the assault anew.

The woman already looked frazzled as Walter kicked and screamed, “Let go o’ me. I ain’t goin’ with you.”

“Oh, yes you are, brat. Now shut your mouth an’ get in there.” One by one, she pried his fingers loose from the edge of the carriage door as she still held onto his other arm and tried to avoid his thrashing feet.

Meanwhile, the man kept trying to fend off Geoffrey and control the equally uncooperative Marybeth.

“Yeow!” he yelled. “She bit me again!”

“Don’t let her get away,” the woman said. “That Fish woman will pay good money for her. She’s just the right age.”

This remark hit Sydney like a slash of sleet, cold and brutal, for she knew who “that Fish woman” was: the madam of a brothel that catered to clients who preferred very young girls.

Zachary rushed forward. “Stop! Stop right there! You are going nowhere with these children.” He jerked at the arm with which the woman held Wally, thus spinning her off balance and allowing the boy to escape.

The man was so startled at the interruption that his grip on Marybeth loosened and she quickly fled to Sydney’s side, crying in relief. Wally, too, immediately rushed to Sydney. She now cradled a child under either arm.

The coachman, apparently seeing no profit for himself in this scene, whipped up his team and pulled away, leaving Alice Barnet and her male companion standing on the side of the street. Zachary released his grip on the woman’s arm, but drew the pistol his father had given him and motioned for the two to stand together. The woman was not yet ready to give up, though.

She shouted at Sydney. “That boy is mine. You can’t have him.”

“Are you his mother?” Sydney asked.

“No, but—”

“Then he is not yours.”

“Yes, he is. His mother sold him to me. He is my property.”

Sydney looked down at Wally’s upturned face. His stricken look told her this was true. She hugged him even closer.

By now the Vauxhall guards had arrived and were ready to take charge. And right on their heels, Trevor Harrelson appeared and said, “Confound it! I missed everything.”

Zachary put away his weapon. “It must have escaped your notice, madam, that England abolished slavery several years ago.”

“Don’t matter. I paid good money for his services,” she said with a note of triumph.

“But not the clothing he wears,” Zachary said. “Should you choose to pursue this matter, I will personally have you charged with trying to steal his garments—a crime for which I am sure you know you could be hanged or transported.”

“That’s true, Alice. Best give it up,” her assistant said.

“Hmpf.” She turned away in a show of contempt, but Sydney detected a trace of fear at the mention of hanging or transportation.

By now, Amy, Anne, and the Atkins boy had caught up with them and stood watching the altercation.

Calming and comforting Marybeth and Wally, Sydney said, “You are all right now. You are safe. I want you to go back with Geoffrey and Reggie and the twins.” She glanced at Trevor and said, “Lieutenant Harrelson, would you mind going with them?”

“Be glad to, my lady.”

As Geoffrey, his friend, and the girls nodded their assent to this idea, Sydney added, “Stay close and stay on the main path. The fireworks will start soon. Aunt Harriet will be worried. You must tell her and the others what has happened. We will be along soon.”

The Vauxhall guards took down the names of the Barnet woman and her companion and forbade their ever returning to the gardens, but did not release them yet.

Sydney was furious at the thought that they were getting off so easily for what they had attempted to do.
Attempted
. In that word lay the problem. Were she to pursue the matter, the newspapers—never mind ordinary gossips—would consider it a godsend, what with the
names of some of the people even remotely involved. And probably in the end for something only attempted, but not achieved, the result would be the same.

Reading the frustration on Sydney’s face, Zachary said, “You think they deserve far more severe punishment, don’t you?”

“Yes. It’s outrageous. That woman and her ilk send children out to beg and steal knowing full well they can be hanged for stealing as much as a—a handkerchief. Hanged! One little boy having only six years cried on the gallows for his ‘mommy.’ And—and what she planned for Marybeth—” Sydney burst into tears.

Zachary could not help himself. He simply stepped closer, took her in his arms, and held her tightly as she sobbed. He knew she was suffering shock and relief over what might have been. “Don’t cry, Sydney. Please don’t cry. Your sister is safe. Wally is, too,” he murmured, stroking her back. “You can’t save all London’s street urchins.”

“But—but there shouldn’t—shouldn’t be any—to save,” she said through sobs that were subsiding.

At this point McIntyre and Thornton arrived. McIntyre raised an eyebrow at seeing Zachary embracing Sydney, but made no comment.

Thornton turned to Zachary. “You want us to make sure these two just quietly disappear, Major? Easy enough to do in the dock area.”

Sydney stepped away from his embrace and Zachary felt a sense of loss, but reacted to Thornton’s suggestion by scowling at the two miscreants. Their fear clearly showed that they knew the idea was feasible and these soldiers were undoubtedly capable of performing such a deed. After all, London was a city with no police force, a city in which unspeakable acts were carried out in darkness every night. Zachary deliberately let them stew in their fear as little enough payback for what they had put those children through.

He held their gaze, trying to convey a full measure of his contempt. He fervently hoped they thought he really would carry through on such an act. Finally, he said. “Yes, it is a good idea. Excellent, in fact.” He paused. “But, frankly, we haven’t the time tonight. We have their names. We know where they live and operate.” His voice hardened as he turned directly to the would-be kidnappers. “If either of you ever—in any way—annoys Lady Paxton or any of her associates, we
will
come after you. In fact, you might find it
healthier to move your activities elsewhere. Perhaps take up some honest work?”