The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “Digby, you dead man?” He poked the hulking human with his finger.

  Digby let out a horrid groan, his hands moving to the injury on his head.

  “He hit me good.” Digby moaned, struggling to sit up.

  “That's what you get for talkin', you understand?” Nash helped him to shuffle upright against the barrel he had been briefly pinned to.

  “My ear’s all hurt.” Digby lamented, his face falling. Nash sighed. The poor man was dumb as bricks, but he was loyal, and he was a friend.

  None of Nash's thugs had started off as his friends, but it was hard not to form a communal bond when together they habitually committed a variety of crimes and divided the spoils, with a large cut obviously going to Riphook.

  “Let's get you back to the warren, shall we?”

  “I want to go home,” Digby held his head confused. “I hurt and I am hungry. Two times today I get hurt. I went to pick that man up so he couldn't get to you, but he knocked me out. I wasn't even kicking her. Why when I do good things, I get hurt?”

  “I know.” Nash rubbed his back a bit, gesturing him to his feet. “But yesterday you did not get hurt at all.”

  “That's true.” Digby managed a gruff smile, the gentle giant that he was.

  “Come on, let's get you home, my friend. We'll find you something for that ear.”

  The two climbed the rickety steps and emerged into the cool London night. The storm had mainly subsided, and now the breeze blew kindly about the blocks, gently badgering the sealed shutters of the upper floors.

  It had become the fair August evening that everyone had hoped for, despite the weather blown in from the coast.

  The street was dark – pitch dark – and nestled in the crook of villainous alleyways and questionable establishments. This was Riphook's part of town, and it was kept the way he liked it.

  The buildings jagged up several stories and lay upon each other in a particular fashion, creating a ramshackle series of rooftops that wrapped around thousands of skinny chimneys.

  As the night was a pleasant one, the thoroughfares of the boroughs were full of an assortment of people. Many were drinking in various states of merriment, and some were drinking among their own despair. Others hustled their bodies or trinkets while boasting loudly of their wares.

  Nash led Digby through the wicked maze, giving out the required nods to the correct people when necessary. He was a known figure around those parts and had put the work in to be so. Riphook, gruff and brutal as he was, trusted Nash with a tremendous amount of responsibility.

  After a bit of a stroll they arrived at their warren of a home. Down through a grate in the ground and a short jaunt in an old Roman sewer, they came to the abandoned cistern, deep beneath the city earth.

  They were greeted by the sight of their little colony of misfit criminals, huddled by a scattering of little fires and random cookware.

  “Nash's back,” a boy perked up, and everyone jumped to their feet. They hurried to greet the two newcomers, asking a slew of questions about wealth and food.

  “Easy, easy now.” Nash brushed some of the children aside and gave respectful nods to the older members of his gang who were laying about the outer areas of the old cistern. “I ain't got nothin' for ya. Get on.” Nash patted a few of the children on the head and sent them back to their fires.

  Nash was exhausted. It had been a hard day. He had failed in his duty to Riphook, and he had taken a bit of a beating in the scuffle.

  Nash felt ashamed for how his rage had consumed him, and how he had been intent on killing Leah. He didn't truly want to kill her, he had just gotten carried away as only a violent criminal could.

  “Let me see your ear.” Nash beckoned the mammoth over. He cleaned the wound carefully, as well as the new gash made by the flagon, and patched them up with what clean cotton he could find among the chests. “All right then.” He gave Digby two firm raps on his back. Then he stood, stretched his back, and made his way towards his bed.

  “You gon' lie down, boss?” Digby asked.

  “I'm going to sleep for a day.” Nash grunted back, flopping down on a mess of furs that made up his sleeping area.

  “Will you sing that song for us, boss?” Digby asked.

  “Yes, sing it Nash.” one of the children added.

  “Sing it.” another child echoed.

  “Alright, alright.” Nash conceded, kicking his feet up and laying his hands beneath his head. “But then I'm off to sleep.”

  Nash cleared his throat a bit, shut his eyes, and began to sing in a surprisingly smooth voice. The tune floated up and bounced around the old Roman stone, filling the chamber with the simple nursery rhyme, sending orphans and crooks off to sleep.

  Oranges and lemons, sing the bells of St. Clement's.

  You owe me five farthings, sing by the bells of St. Martin's.

  When will you pay me, sing the bells at Old Bailey.

  When I grow rich, sing the bells of Shoreditch.

  When then will that be, sing the bells of Stepney.

  I do not know, sings the great bell at Bow

  Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes the chopper to chop off your head!

  Chip, chop, chip, chop, the last man is dead!

  The final line brought a rise of giggles from the younger ones, as it usually did, and the tone changed suddenly from a slow, somber one to a light-hearted joke.

  Then all the outlaws curled down for their sleep and drifted off dreaming of their next meal. As Nash lay there, drifting away, ignoring the bruises on his skin, Leah's face kept swimming back to him.

  He would have to catch her…for his gang's sake.

  Chapter 6

  Leah woke to the feeling of sun rays striking down through the wide windows of the guest room. In the daylight, the finery of her environment was revealed in full. Each hanging picture sported its own, uniquely ornate frame. Even the most basic of the furniture – be it the water basin, the writing desk, or a footstool – all reflected the eye of a wealthy collector.

  She looked out from the bedside window at the estate in its morning routine. She could see servants a ways off, tending the miniature livestock beyond the yard, and the sun shone brightly over the tops of the distant tree line.

  It is not so bad of a place to look at.

  Leah turned away from the window and located the water basin, a few steps away from the bed nestled between two large shelves. She had the desperate urge to wash her face and hair, so she moved to pull the blanket aside.

  The movement caused her great pain from her torso, and she lay back, gasping. She lay against the pillow which she had fought the night before, gazing upwards at the wooden paneling of the ceiling.

  “Club-footed buggers.” she uttered, thinking of Nash and his gang. They had really worked her over. Leah tended to lean toward optimism when appraising her chances, and so the night before he had not accepted the true nature of her injuries. Now, waking in the light of day, she felt the totality of her bruising.

  “Miss Benson?” there was a rap at the door, and the rosy-faced housekeeper entered with a small serving tray, on which was a bowl of steaming broth.

  “Hello?” Leah croaked, perking up a bit on her elbows, gingerly.

  “Oh, it is good to see you wake.” the housekeeper exclaimed, bustling over in her layered gowns. She set the tray atop a small marble-topped table and pulled up a small stool beside the bed. “Dear girl.” she took Leah's closest hand. “You're alright now, you hear me?”

  “Right.” Leah mumbled, trying to make sense of this woman. “Where am I, exactly?”

  “His Grace's estate at Worthington, dear.” the housekeeper replied, patted her hand a bit, and then became suddenly flustered. “Oh, dear is me, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Mrs. Redford, dear, the housekeeper. I'll take good care of you, hear now?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Redford.” Leah smiled weakly. “But where is Worthington?”

  “South of London, dear, w
e're not far from the sea.”

  “The sea?” Leah's ears became excited. Perhaps there is a way to France to be found here, after all.

  “Now come, dear, you have to eat something.” Mrs. Redford withdrew from the bed, waddling to the soup. “The Duke has sent word to London for a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” Leah felt a slight panic rise up in her chest. “No, I don't need a doctor.” She had heard all sorts of stories about doctors, stories that frightened her beyond curiosity. In the past, she had had a few dealings with doctors that worked only to reinforce her stereotypes.

  “Oh yes, you do.” Mrs. Redford retorted, lifting the tray after neatly arranging the spoon beside the bowl. “It's alright now, he's the family doctor. He'll take good care of you.”

  As if to cement the fact that she would, in fact, be seeing the doctor, Mrs. Redford planted the tray across Leah's waist, trapping her in the bed, lest she dare risk disturbing the piping broth. The steam of the soup wafted up into her nose, and she was suddenly struck by overwhelming hunger. She had not eaten anything in over a day.

  “Now eat.” Mrs. Redford instructed. “When I come back that bowl best be empty. Otherwise,” she turned and winked, “the doctor will hear about it. Now I'll be back for that bowl. I'm sure His Grace would like to know of your waking.”

  “I don't doubt it.” Leah feinted another smile. This woman was clearly kind enough, but still she was uneasy at the thought of a doctor examining her.

  The door clicked shut behind Mrs. Redford, and Leah was alone with the bowl of soup. Upon closer examination she found it to be a chowder of sorts, filled with carrots and potatoes and clams from the shore. She first tried a spoonful and basked in the delectable flavor. There was more salt than she was accustomed to, for salt was horribly expensive, and so every over flavor seemed to stretch into something new.

  She took spoonful after spoonful until, growing frustrated at her rate of consumption, she lifted the bowl despite the pain in her ribs and drank down the whole portion.

  She did not spill a drop, as she had learned from a very young age not to waste food. When she lay back again against the pillow, she was full of rich warmth, glowing with that temporary happiness that follows such a satiation.

  This is not so bad at all. If she had to lay low and recover somewhere, this catered mansion was not the worst place for it. She could hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall. It must be him.

  Leah reminded herself that her aim was to extract passage across the channel from him, and she began to format her thoughts correctly. She knew how to work a man like him. He was the thrill-seeking type, and she knew all about that.

  “Miss Benson?” he called from beyond the door. “May I enter?”

  “Of course,” Leah answered softly. The door opened and as the handle twisted, Leah saw that it was made of silver. They must polish it daily.

  This set off a bit of a chain reaction of thought, and Leah began to balk mentally at the amount of upkeep these antiques required. What a life that is, to polish silver doorknobs.

  “Ah, Miss Benson.” the Duke said, clasping his hands together. “I am so glad to see you wake.”

  “Leah,” Leah corrected him for a fourth time. “and that's what she said.” she nodded to Mrs. Redford who had entered behind the Duke.

  “Oh good, you have eaten it.” the housekeeper exclaimed, retrieving the serving tray. “Did you like it?”

  “It was very good.” Leah tried to make a kind expression, but her left eye remained bruised and the attempt failed somewhat.

  “Some more for you?” Mrs. Redford pitched up her voice a bit, and Leah was gladdened by her light-hearted personality. It was a special kind of comfort.

  “If I may.”

  “I believe the kitchen has made some ten gallons of it.” the Duke chimed in. “You should feel free to eat as much as you please.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your Grace.” Mrs. Redford added.

  “Right, of course.” Leah shook her head.

  “It is quite alright, Mrs. Redford.” the Duke held up his hand. “Go and find her some more of the chowder.”

  “Right away, Your Grace.” the housekeeper bowed her head and made her way out of the door.

  “So,” the Duke began after a brief pause of silence. “how are you?”

  “Well enough, though I cannot seem to sit up without being in pain.”

  “Yes, well, you have broken some ribs, I believe.” the Duke drew up the stool Mrs. Redford has sat on earlier. “I have sent for my friend, Dr. Fowler, from London to attend your recovery.”

  “No,” Leah answered coldly. “no doctors.”

  “Dr. Fowler is a friend.” the Duke said, taken aback. “He has known my family for a great number of years.”

  “No doctors.” Leah insisted. “I won't let him near me.”

  “What is this nonsense?” the Duke protested, sitting further upright. “You must not fall prey to the superstitions of the common folk. Doctors are men of medical science. They do a great deal of good for our world, not evil as the stories would have you believe.”

  “The superstitions of the common folk.” Leah repeated in a dry tone, angling her eyes towards him.

  “No, I did not mean–” the Duke blundered. “Oh, I feel foolish.” He hung his head a bit, bouncing his knee.

  “It is fine.” Leah conceded, rolling her eyes. “I am not offended. But I ask you, have you ever been to medical school?”

  “Well, no, I took the standard route.”

  “Standard route?” she asked, curiously.

  “It is a joke, I admit, but not a good one.” The Duke folded his leg atop his knee.

  “Tell me.” Leah said, but it rang out like a suggestive command.

  “Well, I am born of a wealthy family. It is no secret. My father was the Duke before me. There are plenty of us, Dukes and Earls and Barons, I mean, and for all of us there are but three roads to choose from in life. Firstly, we may become military men. This is what I mean by the standard route. It is the oldest, indeed, originally the only way of life on these islands.”

  “What are the other choices?” Leah was intrigued. She knew nothing of upper-class culture, and it was interesting to see how the Duke had conceptualized his life choices.

  “Second, we may become students of the law, so that we may sit in the House of Lords and yap at each other for hours. And third, although this is the newest of paths, is to become a man of medical science. These are the three choices to a man of my stature.”

  “Why did you not choose a different path?” Leah inquired, cocking her head a bit to study his reply. He seemed troubled, she could tell from the lines furrowing on his forehead as he considered the answer. Perhaps he does not know, and it tears at him.

  “There was a war on, I suppose.” he said after a time, running his hat around in his hands, watching the rotation of the brim. “I was young, adventurous, and I had a keen urge to earn a bit of reputation.”

  “Perhaps you are still a tad adventurous, Your Grace.” Leah grinned. “How is your back?”

  “Fine, it is nothing.” He sat straight again, looking up from his hat. “I have had far worse.”

  “I believe that.” Leah chuckled her answer a bit and grimaced from the pain.

  “The doctor will give you something for the pain.” the Duke offered, gently.

  “No doctors, I have said twice now.” she shot back.

  “Oh, come now, this again?”

  “I spent a year working for the students at that Royal Academy or what have you.” Leah argued. This seemed to surprise the Duke, as it was a fairly impressive sentence.

  “You mean the Royal Society of Medicine?”

  “That's the one.”

  “You did?” He blinked. “That is an accredited position. I did not know they allowed women inside. But if you worked there, then why should a person of medicine such as yourself –”

  “I didn't work in the school.” Leah rolled he
r eyes again. Perhaps he is not as smart as I had imagined. “I sold them corpses from the parish cemetery.”

  “Beg pardon?” The Duke looked to be at a loss for words.

  “Where do you think they get all the bodies they do their experiments on?” Leah sighed. “Keep your ears closer to the ground, Your Grace.” She smiled and rested her head back down on her pillow, once again staring at the ceiling.

  “I had heard rumors of grave robbing, but I am astounded to hear them confirmed and with such regularity.” The Duke shook his head. “It is troubling. I feel that a more improved method can be developed when the advancement of medical science is at stake.” He shook his head distantly.