Till Dawn Tames the Night (2 page)

Without further prompting, the barkeep decided to retire. He skittered from the room and dashed for his quarters.

"Now," Murdoch said, turning back to his men, "who is ta stay an' who is ta go?"

"The only way we'll be going is with Vashon's knife in our gut." One of the men lifted his head. His pale blue eyes stared vacantly past his leader. A mad smile curled his lips, and he began to laugh. "So I guess we'll be staying!"

"That's right," Murdoch pronounced, easing back to the bench. He warily eyed the crazed young man,
then
kicked a broken bottle of gin out of his way. He was just about to send one of the men to get another round when a shadow fell across him. He glanced up and met with his nemesis.

"V-Vashon," he choked out, scrambling to his feet. Immediately his minions did likewise, and with slackened jaws they stared at the demon before them. He had taken them all by surprise, and if they had been frightened waiting for him, now that he was here, they were terrified.

Cringing, they watched him step forward. Though Vashon's attire—a dark blue frock coat and pale buckskin breeches—was restrained and costly, it was clear this man was bad company. He towered over the lot of them by at least a head. Yet his great height wasn't what sent fear crawling
down
every spine. Nor was it his well-muscled form. It was his expression.

Vashon's face was handsome, uncommonly handsome, but it was as hard and merciless as a Spartan's. Written deep into his eyes seemed to be the knowledge that he found the world to be an ugly place. And in his world, his wretched place devoid of beauty or peace, he looked as if he'd developed a great capacity for destruction. By just one glance it was easy to believe this man would do what he needed to, no matter how wrong, no matter how brutal. He seemed to wear his past in his eyes almost as he wore the pistol in his belt. It was hard not to further the comparison by wondering if this man, like the pistol, wasn't just as quick, explosive.
And deadly.

"Vashon," Murdoch quavered, "I canna thank ye enough fer
comin
'. I dinna know if ye would come. . . ."

"We've come. So tell me your information."

At the plural reference, Murdoch looked to the door. A burly pirate stood there. He appeared to have twice Vashon's years, but even though his hair was gray and his gut had expanded with age, he looked quite capable of using the pistol he had aimed right at Murdoch's head.

Murdoch turned his eyes back to Vashon. He gulped. "W-w-would ye
be
havin
' a drink with us,
guv
'-nor . . . ?"

"I want your information.
Now."

With those words, all the men held their breath, save the speaker and the man behind him holding the pistol. Even the mad henchman with the pale blue eyes quit smiling. It was obvious it wouldn't do to try this Vashon's patience.

Murdoch gulped again and summoned his courage. His voice took on an imploring tone. "I hate ta inconvenience ye, Vashon, even ta be thinkin' such things, but there is the matter o' price?"

"I'll determine if what you have is worth paying for." Vashon crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He looked down upon Murdoch and his cohorts as if they were no better than a pack of mangy curs. His stare un-glued Murdoch altogether.

"I'll tell
ye
then," Murdoch conceded hastily.
" 'Tis
no problem at all. Because, ye see, guv'nor, I know
ye'll
pay.
Ye're
a man after me own heart. I admire
ye
. I trust ye—"

"Get on with it," Vashon demanded, obviously disgusted by Murdoch's bootlicking.

"O' course,
o'course
, guv'nor!"
Murdoch rattled. "I canna wait ta tell ye, for what I
know'll
be worth more ta ye than all yer gold!"

"Your note said something about the Star of
Aran
. What do you know about the emerald?"

"I know where 'tis."

Vashon stiffened. His gaze burned into Murdoch. Deadly quiet, he said, "If you know where the Star is, why aren't you going after it?"

"We-e-ell, 'tis a bit more complicated than
that.
. . ."

Straightening, Vashon abruptly motioned to his man. "Isaac, let's quit these lying fools."

"Wait!" Murdoch cried, following him to the door.
"All right!
All right! I dinna know where the jewel is! But I know where the viscount is lookin', and I know how much you hate the Viscount Blackwell!"

Vashon turned and grabbed Murdoch by his jacket. This mere gesture sent two of Murdoch's frightened men scurrying for the door. With his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets, Murdoch watched a portion of his salvation run bowlegged out into the night.

"I know all about Josiah Peterborough," Vashon calmly informed him, all the while pressing him against the wall, "and I know where he is looking. But the Star's not in Ireland. So he and you are wasting time." The pirate released him. Terrified, Murdoch slid to the floor like a rag doll.

Vashon turned to go, and with him went Murdoch's hope for gold. Desperate, he scrambled to his feet and grasped the pirate's sleeve.

"But now Blackwell is
searchin
' elsewhere! He's
searchin
' for the gel an' only I know where she is!"

With that statement, Vashon paused. Coolly he turned back. "You know where she is?"

"The viscount got a clue the gel might be in London. So he's been all o'er trying ta
dig
her up. He's told everyone about her an' the locket she'd be wearing.
Brightson
here"—Murdoch nodded to one of his remaining cohorts —"he saw a gel with that same locket an' followed her home. We
was
going ta give Peterborough the information, 'til we decided ye hated him so much
ye'd
probably pay more."

Vashon's eyes narrowed. "What does the viscount plan to do with this girl once he finds her—if he finds her? As I recall, she was only four when her father died. What could she remember about the Star?"

Looking as if he'd just escaped execution, Murdoch nervously hitched up his breeches and offered, "I dinna know
wha
' she remembers, guv'nor, but I do know Blackwell wants her. An' when he finds her, he plans ta kidnap her. An' surely ye know he ain't much above torture ta
git
what he wants. Ask old Danny here. He used ta work fer him." Murdoch motioned to the man with the pale blue eyes, who sent them a mad little smile only to turn his interest to his thumb.

"He plans to kidnap her then?" Vashon mused.

"Aye, an' as I see it, once Blackwell
gits
his paws on her, she ain't gonna be much use ta anyone else,
tha's
fer sure."

"Where is this girl?"

"She's in London."

The ominous pirate thought about this for a moment. Vashon looked as if he didn't quite believe Murdoch. His expression almost sent Murdoch scrambling for the corner.

"Go on."

Relief washed over Murdoch's features.
"There now!
I knew when we got this information that
ye'd
be wantin'
it! An' old Peterborough can just go ta the Devil, said I!" Anxious to please, and even more anxious to save himself from bodily harm, Murdoch wiped off a bench with his coat sleeve. He then offered the seat to Vashon. "Can I get you to rest, guv'nor? There ain't
no
need to—"

"I said, go on."

Murdoch blanched and looked up at the pirate's tall, unyielding figure. He couldn't get his next words out fast enough. "She's at an almshouse, right here in London— grew up there, I heard tell."

"What else."

"We-e-ell . . ." Murdoch hesitated. It was obvious that as much as he loved his life, he loved gold more. Using the last remnants of his courage, he stuttered, "I—

I hate to mention this, guv'nor, but
th
-there is the small detail of payment. . . ."

"Continue, I said."

He eyed Vashon uneasily. "The almshouse is called The Phipps-Bluefield Home for Little Wanderers
. 'Tis between the docks and Goodman's Fields in
Whitechapel
.
She works there now, helping the other poor lads and lassies, but we've heard tell that she's lookin' fer a new position. The owner's jus' died—or
somethin
' of that sort."

"Do you have her name?"

Murdoch nodded.

"Then what is it? Tell me her name and I'll know you have the right girl."

Hoping to end this night still possessing his life, but perhaps a little richer, Murdoch whispered, "I canna quite recall, guv'nor, but perhaps a wee bit of gold might—"

Without warning, Vashon grabbed Murdoch's soiled collar. His cohorts gasped in horror as the pirate forcibly pulled him up to his eye level. When Murdoch squealed like a stuck pig, Vashon said, "Tell me her name, you ass, otherwise you shall sorely regret summoning me here."

"Her name's Aurora! Aurora Dayne!" Murdoch choked.

Vashon released his hold. Murdoch stumbled to the dirty floor, coughing and rubbing his neck. The pirate studied him for a moment. He reached inside his greatcoat, and Murdoch's eyes widened with terror. The men started scrambling for cover, but Vashon only produced a bag full of coins.

"Correct answer, idiot."

With a cynically handsome smile, Vashon thumped the bag down on the floor beside Murdoch. Then, to everyone's relief, he said, "Now, tell me more. . . ."

The Phipps-Bluefield Home

for Little Wanderers

Aurora wiped a small patch of soot from her garret window and looked out at the London rooftops. It was time to leave, and though she had yearned for this moment for over a year, now that it was here she felt overwhelmed by it.

"I wish you weren't leaving," a girl's voice murmured behind her.

Aurora turned and gave the girl a small reassuring smile. "If I weren't going, Faith, you would not be blessed with my room."

The girl Faith looked around the tiny room. The floor, though bare, was swept and waxed; the walls were still white from their last whitewashing. The blankets were a bit worn and patched, but still the bed was freshly made and tightly tucked. Aurora could see the girl was pleased.

"Oh, I don't want you to go . . . but I
do
cherish the thought of my own room!" Faith burst out.

Aurora laughed. "I understand completely. I remember what a palace this little room was compared to sleeping downstairs with the children."

"Yet now what will your room be like?"

Faith's question caught Aurora off guard. "I—I really don't know," she managed to say. "I suppose when I get there, it will be much the same as this one."

"Except it won't be in a shabby old orphanage, will it? It'll be in a great mansion. You'll quickly forget us."

Aurora met Faith's reproachful stare. Immediately she went to her and took both her hands in her own. "I have to go, Faith. You know I must."

A tear fell down Faith's cheek. The girl wiped it away with a vengeance. "Why did Mrs. Bluefield have to die of consumption? Now John Phipps has come along and in one year ruined everything!"

Aurora's expression filled with sorrow. They hugged and Faith wept on her shoulder. When the girl's tears were spent, Aurora pulled back and said, "Now you know, Faith, John will take good care of the Home. He really is a decent man. It's just that I . . .
well,
I cannot seem to get along with him."

"He's a madman."

"No, no!" Aurora exclaimed.

"He is," Faith persisted, hiccoughing. "Your leaving is driving him crazy. He's been in a fit ever since you told him you wanted to go."

Aurora didn't meet her gaze. She wanted to deny Faith's words but it was difficult. From all outward appearances, John was a steady young man, righteously bent on improving the Home now that he'd inherited, but there were times . . . there were times when he seemed a bit unbalanced. And, unfortunately, she had always caught his attention more than the other girls at the Home, so she'd seen more of his erratic behavior.

She took a deep breath and finally looked at Faith. "He wouldn't hurt anyone. You know that, Faith. If I ever thought he'd do anything wrong, I would never leave. John just doesn't like to be told 'No,' but when I'm gone, he'll run the Home in a decent manner, I promise you that."

"I know. But I wish you weren't going. He frightens me."

"There's no reason to be frightened!"

"He does strange things.
Especially where you're concerned!"

"What do you mean?" Aurora asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

"Just yesterday I saw him staring at the sampler you made for Mrs. Bluefield when you were a child. And it's such a shame for it was a beautiful sampler, too, Aurora. It must have taken you months."

"What happened to it?" Aurora whispered.

"It's gone. John Phipps stood staring at it in the eating hall. Then I watched him calmly take it from its frame and put it into the hearth like it was merely kindling. Oh, Aurora, he was so cold about it!"