Nowhere Near Respectable

by Mary Jo Putney

Impossible to check scents in this crowd, especially since the third kidnapper had used no cologne or scented soap. These items were the province of the well-off. In a mass of not very well-washed humanity, identifying one man by his personal scent would be almost impossible unless she was right on top of him. But she had seen the man fairly closely, and perhaps that would enable her to spot him.

  They passed Carmichael and Cassie, who were staying in one place and keeping a sharp eye on the crowd. Although Carmichael, like Mackenzie, seemed to sometimes get distracted by the fight. Men!

  Peddlers moved through the crowd, too, selling hot pies and beer from the tavern that sponsored the match. Mackenzie bought a pair of the pies. Kiri ate hers with relish.

  They paused in their perambulations as they ate. Kiri looked at the boxing ring again and shuddered at the sight of the fighters, both of whom had blood streaming down their chests from blows to the face. “Isn’t it done yet?”

  “They’re both still standing and willing to fight. I think McKee will end it soon, though. His greater skill is starting to show.”

  Kiri looked away, unable to watch more. Even with the noise of the crowd, she could hear the thud of fists smashing into flesh. She and Mackenzie had halted by the parked carriages, so she studied them. Better to look at horses than human brutality.

  Her gaze sharpened. Between two of the carriages, a broad, muscular fellow who looked like the boxer-kidnapper was accosted by several other men. They cornered him, and it looked like a heated argument was taking place.

  Her boxer tried to escape, but the others pursued and began to beat him. Though he fought back, he was outnumbered and quickly knocked to the ground. Kiri’s fingers bit into Mackenzie’s arm. “A man has been attacked, and he might be the one we’re looking for! There, between the carriages.”

  Then she darted toward the fight.

  Yanked out of watching the match, Mac swung around. The parked carriages were behind them, and he saw that murder was being attempted between a phaeton and a high-perch curricle. The victim was down and being kicked viciously by his attackers.

  Mac bolted after Kiri. She moved amazingly fast despite her skirts, but he was able to overtake her. When they were close enough to be heard about the noise of the crowd, he called out, “Eh, there! What’s going on?”

  “Stay out of this!” one of the attackers snarled. “Ollie here is gettin’ what he deserves!”

  “Doesn’t look like a fair fight to me.” Mac was close enough now to swing his cane. He smashed the heavy brass head across the throat of the man who’d spoken. Not with killing force, just aiming to drive the attackers off.

  No such luck. Suddenly three men were attacking Mac. He used the cane like a quarterstaff, blocking blows and clubbing his assailants.

  Kiri had stayed with him, damn it, and despite her skills, he winced when he saw her go after the man holding Ollie down. She tossed the fellow into a carriage wheel. He didn’t even know what hit him as he landed on the frozen ground.

  Wishing that this fight was more visible so the attackers would see the advantage of retreat, Mac smashed the head of his cane between the second man’s legs. His target gave a strange, agonized wail and fell, clutching himself.

  The third man brought out a knife and held it like an expert. An advantage of the cane was it allowed Mac to keep his distance. Properly directed, it could smash a knife from a villain’s hand. Like now.

  Yells came from behind, and men from the crowd poured into the space between the carriages. The fight exploded as beer-soaked boxing fans joined in, some of them supporters of McKee going after those who favored Cullen.

  Mac kicked into serious fighting mode, using the skills and instincts of a lifetime. Cane, fist, feet, elbows, knees—but where the devil was Kiri? No matter how good a fighter she was, this free-for-all was no place for a woman. He spun around, swinging his cane to keep others away while he scanned the brawling bodies.

  Then his frantic gaze moved behind the phaeton, and he saw Kiri lying in a pool of blood.

  Chapter 32

  Kiri! The horrific images seared in his brain flared to appalling life. His heart seemed to stop and he swayed as blackness closed in on him.

  No! He damned well would not faint. Could not. Not this time.

  Fighting off dizziness, he stumbled toward her, more terrified than he’d ever been in his life. She might be above his touch, but he needed to know she was alive and happy somewhere in the world. He needed her. . . .

  Clutching the edge of the phaeton to keep himself upright and swinging his club in his other hand, he forced his way through the melee.

  He was half a dozen feet away when Kiri scrambled to her feet, then hauled up the battered Ollie. There was blood on her cheek and splashed heavily across her cloak, but she didn’t move like she’d been injured.

  But so much blood! Hoarsely he asked, “Kiri, where are you hurt?”

  His panic must have been visible, because her voice was reassuring when she replied, “I’m fine, the blood isn’t mine. Our kidnapper here fell against the carriage and cut his head, and he bled like a stuck pig.” As Ollie struggled to escape, she grabbed at his coat. “Don’t let him get away!”

  The boxer was large, but not as large as Mac. He grabbed the fellow’s arms and wrestled the wrists together, then hauled out his handcuffs and snapped them in place. He still felt unsteady, but it helped if he didn’t look at Kiri. Didn’t think of the sight of her lying on the ground with blood all around her. The scarlet terror of blood across her beautiful face. He almost retched before he managed to suppress the image again.

  Carmichael and Cassie appeared, having made their way through the brawl from the other side of the field. They both showed some scuffs and rumples, but no real damage. Kiri said, “This is our kidnapper.”

  “A good thing we have a large carriage,” Carmichael said tersely. “We’ll take him to join his fellow kidnapper.” He caught Ollie by the arm and frog-marched him away toward where their carriage waited at the back of the group of vehicles. Cassie walked on Ollie’s other side.

  Rather than follow immediately, Kiri took Mac’s arm. “You look ready to fall over. Were you hurt?”

  “No more than a few bruises.” He tried without much success to keep his voice light. “You know I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

  “At least the blood isn’t yours this time.” Still holding his arm, she got him started walking after the others.

  “Thought . . . it was yours.” He screwed his eyes closed, trying to block out the horrific images. “A bloodied woman is . . . worse.”

  “I see.”

  From her thoughtful voice, he suspected she saw too damned much. He did his best to pull himself together.

  By the time they reached the carriage, Cassie and Carmichael and their prisoner were inside. Mac thought he was composed enough to fool anyone except Kiri.

  Ollie sat in the middle of the backward-facing seat with Rob beside him. His shoulders trembled as he stared at his handcuffed wrists. An improvised bandage covered his head wound, but there was bloody evidence of the laceration all over the man.

  Mac would have sat on Ollie’s other side, but Kiri took that seat. Maybe she wanted to smell the man. She also took up less space than Mac. The seat would have been very crowded with three men jammed together on it.

  After the carriage set off toward Kirkland’s office, Ollie said in a Newcastle accent, “What you goin’ to do to me? I swore I wouldn’t talk about the kidnapping!”

  Carmichael glanced at Mac, silently turning the interrogation over to him. Mac didn’t know if it was because he sat directly opposite the prisoner, or if Rob realized that Mac needed a job to focus on so he wouldn’t fall apart.

  Ollie had pretty much proved he was their man by his confession. Mac glanced at Kiri, who gave a nod of confirmation. They had their kidnapper. Returning his gaze to their prisoner, he ordered, “Look at me.”

  Reluctantly Ollie lifted his head, and Mac imm
ediately saw two things. First, he was young, more boy than man. Second, from the slackness of his expression, he’d suffered brain damage in the ring. Guessing that patient questions would work better than intimidation, he asked, “What’s your full name?”

  “Oliver Brown,” he muttered. “Ollie.”

  “Of Newcastle?”

  “Aye,” the boy said, looking surprised that Mac knew that.

  “Who attacked you?”

  “They were sent by the flash cove.” Ollie looked puzzled and uncertain. “They like to kill me. Why’d you stop ’em? What you goin’ to do with me?”

  “I want to find out what you know about the kidnappers so we can catch them,” Mac explained, his gaze locked on Ollie’s. “How did you get involved with them?”

  Ollie looked from one face to the other. The presence of two women and two strange men must have convinced him that they hadn’t come from the flash cove, and that he would benefit by talking. He said haltingly, “My friend Ruffian O’Rourke knew I was trying to earn enough money to get to Newcastle.”

  “You wanted to go home?”

  Ollie nodded. “Thought I’d come to London and be a champion prizefighter.” His smile was bitter. “Instead I got my brains scrambled. My pa’s a blacksmith and I never should’ve left the forge. Since I needed money to go home, Ruff said I could join him on a job where they wanted another man.”

  “What kind of job?” Mac prodded.

  Ollie looked frightened. “This flash cove needed some muscle. Ruff said it weren’t a robbery, so I figured it was all right. I’d earn enough in one night to go home. I didn’t know anyone would get hurt! Didn’t know they were tryin’ to snatch a girl, either.” His lips started to tremble. “Ruff was killed. He was my best friend in London.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “The flash cove was furious and wavin’ a pistol around. The Frenchie who wasn’t shot tried to calm him down, but I figgered I best disappear while I could. Decided to stay hid while I earned a couple of pounds, and then I’d walk my way home.”

  Walking north all the way to Newcastle with winter setting in was a sign of desperation. Mac asked, “Why did you come to the fight today?”

  Ollie looked down at his feet. “Sometime if a match ends too quick, they ask for volunteers for another fight. If I done that, I’d have me enough for a coach ticket home.”

  And possibly scrambled what wits the poor devil had left. “Instead, the flash cove guessed you might come to this match, and he sent his men to take care of you.”

  Ollie shrunk back in his seat. “What you goin’ to do with me?”

  “I don’t know,” Mac said. “That’s not my decision. But we won’t beat you and leave you for dead in the street.”

  Ollie tried a sneer. “Don’t s’pose you’d want to do that in front of the ladies.”

  “Don’t underestimate the ladies,” Mac said coolly. “Either of them is capable of killing you with her bare hands. Cooperate, and you may live to see Newcastle again.”

  His words made Ollie look warily at Kiri, who was squeezed against him in the seat. “I won’t be transported?”

  “Probably not, if you help us,” Mac said. “Now tell me about the flash cove. What did he look like? Do you know his name?”

  “Tall fellow. Only saw him with a mask.” Ollie pondered. “Brown hair. Might ha’ been in the army from the way he stood. Fancy clothes and a fancy smell.”

  Mac saw Kiri come alert at that, but she knew better than to think someone as inarticulate as Ollie could describe a cologne accurately. Mac continued to ask questions during the ride, but wasn’t able to elicit any useful details.

  When they reached the office, Carmichael said, “I’ll take Mr. Brown in. I’ve a few more questions to ask.”

  Ollie looked terrified as Carmichael hauled him off the carriage. Once they started toward Exeter Street, Kiri asked, “What will happen to poor Ollie? He looked frightened out of his limited wits.”

  “And well he should. After so many years as a Bow Street Runner, Rob could scare the wings off a fly with a single scowl,” Mac said dryly.

  Cassie laughed. “A good description. My guess is that Kirkland will get as much information as he can from young Mr. Brown, put him in the cell next to Clement until the conspiracy is broken, then buy him a coach ticket to Newcastle.”

  “He won’t be thrown into Newgate or transported?” Kiri asked.

  “No need,” Mac said. “He’s not a hardened criminal. Just a poor fool of a lad who had built up his strength in his father’s forge and thought that would make him a champion in London.”

  “Since Kirkland often works outside the law,” Cassie murmured, “he is sometimes in a position to offer unusual justice.”

  The rest of the ride was silent. Mac was glad the early dusk of November darkened the carriage enough that he couldn’t see the blood sullying Kiri’s lovely face. He was equally glad that the darkness obscured his own features, and his knotted fists.

  As the carriage pulled up at 11 Exeter Street, Cassie said, “You’ve done well, Kiri. Finding two of the kidnappers was remarkable.”

  “But I haven’t found the most important one,” Kiri said glumly. “We still don’t know who Ollie’s flash cove is, and he’s the one who matters.”

  “Even he might not be the man behind the plot,” Cassie pointed out. “This sort of work takes time and patience, like putting together a dissected map, piece by piece. Rob and Kirkland may be able to deduce more pieces by putting Ollie and Clement together.”

  It was a hope, Mac knew, though a slim one.

  For his part, he would pray that he could hold his shattered nerves together long enough to reach Exeter Street before he fell into screaming pieces.

  Ollie was thoroughly cowed when confronted by both Kirkland and Carmichael. Clutching his mug of hot, sweet tea, he said nervously, “The other fellow, the one with the eye patch, said if I cooperated it would go easier on me.”

  “It will.” Kirkland let the silence stretch until the young boxer was ready to jump out of his skin before he said coolly, “Did you know that your kidnapping attempt was not only a hanging offense, but treason against the Crown?”

  Ollie’s face turned white under the dirt and blood and his hands shook so badly that tea slopped from his mug. “No, sir! I didna’ know that! I’m no traitor!”

  “Then tell us everything you remember about the kidnapping.”

  “Yes, sir! Anything, sir!”

  Kirkland and Carmichael both asked questions. Ollie did his best, but he knew little more than he’d already revealed. After a frustrating hour, Kirkland decided to bring him face-to-face with Paul Clement, though he didn’t expect much to come of it. “I’m going to take you to another kidnapper. Perhaps that will jar loose more memories.”

  He and Carmichael escorted Ollie down to the cells and unlocked Clement’s door. Carmichael stood in the doorway, the regular guard just beyond him, but it was unlikely that Ollie would try to escape when he had food and relative warmth, and he was safe from the men who’d tried to beat him to death. Though Clement would jump at the chance to be free, he was too intelligent to think he could escape here and now.

  “I believe you two are acquainted,” Kirkland said as he took Ollie into the cell.

  “Aye, that’s the Frenchie,” Ollie said, pleased that he could finally answer a question. “He was with the flash cove that night. The cove even listened to him.”

  Clement had been lying on his bunk, but he stood when company arrived. “Indeed, the young man and I met on that ill-fated night, though I didn’t learn his name.”

  “It’s Oliver Brown,” Ollie said belligerently. “And I ain’t no traitor.”

  “Nor am I, to France.” Clement looked amused. “I saw my work here as serving my country in the same way a soldier does.”

  “Damned spy!” Ollie swung a fist at the Frenchman.

  Kirkland caught his wrist before the blow connected. Oliver Brown might
not be very bright, but his patriotism was real. “Does meeting inspire any more thoughts?”

  Clement shrugged. “Mr. Brown was the muscle. We did not engage.”

  Ollie frowned. “The Frenchie called the flash cove ‘Captain.’ Mebbe he was army, like I thought?”

  From the flicker in Clement’s eyes, Kirkland guessed that Ollie was right: the leader was a military officer. One more piece of information that might or might not be useful. “The captain wasn’t French?”

  Ollie shook his head. “He was as English as me and you.”

  Kirkland was inclined to believe that since Ollie was the sort to be instantly suspicious of foreigners, as he was of Clement. “That’s enough for tonight. Pleasant dreams, Monsieur Clement.”

  He escorted Ollie from the cell, locking the door and checking it as he left. “You’ll be in this cell, Mr. Brown. A meal will be sent down soon. And a towel and washbasin so you can remove the worst of the bloodstains.”

  The guard opened the door to the other cell and Ollie walked in. “Better than sleeping under a bridge,” the boy said. He looked hopefully at Kirkland. “’Ave I been cooperative enough, sir?”

  Despite his size and muscles, Ollie was still a painfully vulnerable boy. Sometimes Kirkland really hated his work. “You’ve been helpful. If you think of anything else that might help find the flash cove, tell the guard and he’ll summon me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silently Kirkland and Carmichael headed up the steps When they reached Kirkland’s office, Carmichael said, “I feel like I’ve been kicking a puppy.”

  Kirkland smiled crookedly. “The boy is an innocent fool.”

  “I’d say the only safe place for him is in the protection of his own family.” Carmichael cocked an inquisitive brow.

  “When this is over, I’ll put him on a coach and send him home,” Kirkland said. “Throwing him in prison would just add to government expense.”

  Carmichael gave a nod of satisfaction. The two of them were both capable of doing what must be done. But neither of them liked kicking puppies.