by S. G. Rogers
“What’s the address of the warehouse?” Brandon asked. “We’ll go search the place.”
“I was there a few days ago to fetch some props,” Miss Fields said. “I’ll show you.”
“I believe we can find the warehouse,” Theo said. “You’re needed here.”
“No, I’m just an understudy tonight.”
“We can’t allow you to put yourself in danger,” Theo said.
She edged toward the stage door. “Please let me help. If you don’t, I’ll just follow you anyway.”
Brandon nodded at Theo. “Let’s go. We haven’t a moment to waste.”
The trio sped from the theatre and down the alley. When they reached the street, Theo started to turn left, but Miss Fields grabbed his arm.
“This way is faster.”
The girl ran along the pavement, crossed the street, and ducked into another narrow alley. As Theo entered the dark alley, the hair began to prickle at the back of his neck. He didn’t know Miss Fields well at all, and suddenly he feared she might be working with the kidnappers and leading them into a trap. Apparently Brandon was thinking the same thing, because when they emerged from the alley, he paused.
“Forgive me, Theo, but are you sure we can trust this girl?”
“No, but we are heading toward the warehouse. Let’s keep our eyes open and our wits sharp.”
Miss Fields was already halfway down the block, so they hastened to catch up with her. When they reached the Thames, Miss Fields pulled them into the shadows and pointed to a warehouse. Two huge men were standing out front underneath a gas lamp, smoking cigarettes.
“A couple of giants,” Theo muttered.
“Simon must have hired those two as muscle,” she replied. “The warehouse is never guarded.”
“The question is, what are they guarding?” Theo said.
“Or whom,” she said.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Brandon nudged his brother with an elbow. “Ready for fisticuffs?”
“Always.”
“Wait,” Miss Fields said. “I know those fellows. I’ll lead them away from the door and then you can get inside more easily.”
“Don’t do anything dangerous!” Theo exclaimed.
She laughed. “Life is dangerous.”
She plucked several pins from her hair, pulled several locks down around her face, and yanked down one of her sleeves. Without any fanfare, she burst into tears, ran out of the shadows, and staggered toward the men. When they recognized Miss Fields, they exchanged a glance and went to meet her. Theo couldn’t hear what she said, but she was clearly distraught. She pointed and gesticulated toward a riverside tavern a block away. One of the men accompanied her toward the tavern, but the other man stood fast.
“Well, that evened the odds a bit,” Theo said.
“Let’s go.”
They no sooner had stepped from the shadows when a faint scream came from inside the warehouse. Brandon gasped, “Larken!”
He and Theo darted forward. Fortunately, the remaining guard had turned toward the scream and their approach was masked. Brandon reached him first, tackling him around the waist and sending him crashing into the side of the building. Clearly dazed, the thug staggered back, flailing his arms. Theo sank his fist into the man’s midsection.
“Find Larken, Brandon. I’ll take care of this one.”
Elysium sped toward the tavern, accompanied by Jasper, one of the men who were guarding the warehouse. They burst into the crowded establishment, and Jasper curled his fists.
“So which bloke was it?”
She backed away from him, a look of fright on her face. “This man tried to have his way with me!”
Jasper’s bewildered protests had no effect on the male patrons who rushed to her defense. The big man tried to flee, but he was caught a few yards away from the tavern and surrounded by a half dozen young bucks eager for a fight. When the beating commenced, Elysium didn’t feel at all bad about her false allegation. Jasper was well-known in the neighborhood as a bully. Furthermore, he never missed an opportunity to put his hands on her. She knew several women he’d abused badly, and whatever punishment he received at present was well-deserved.
The tavern emptied out as patrons hastened to watch the fight, but Elysium hailed the owner. “Summon the police!”
His wave was dismissive. “It’s just a fight.”
“No, there’s been a kidnapping at the Adelphi Theatre warehouse, and we need the police immediately!”
Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed a lantern from one of the tables and rushed from the establishment.
Larken hated herself for losing control, but if she screamed long and loud enough, surely someone would come, wouldn’t they? Even if it was Neville or Simon, at least she wouldn’t be trapped in a dark room full of hungry, squeaking rats.
A faint pounding noise—genuine this time—reached her ears. A crash was followed by the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.
“Larken?”
Brandon has come to rescue me! Her throat was so raw from screaming, her reply came out as an inaudible croak.
“Here! I’m here.”
There was a crash somewhere in the warehouse, followed by raised voices. Had Neville and Simon returned? Suddenly her concern for herself changed into worry for Brandon. If her kidnappers had no compunction about killing her, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him too and dump both their bodies in the river. Her eyes grew wide when she heard metal clashing against metal. Could that be swordplay, or was she going mad?
Brandon threw open the large door of the dark warehouse, which was lit only by the flickering street lamp outside. He took several steps inside and called Larken’s name.
“Watch out!” Theo exclaimed.
Rough hands seized hold of Brandon’s shoulders and threw him to the ground. Moments later, Theo landed beside him. The hulking guard loomed over them, along with two new arrivals. One held a dueling pistol.
“You ought not to have come, gents.”
The guard aimed a vicious kick at Brandon’s midsection, which knocked the wind out of him. As Brandon lay gasping, the giant grabbed hold of Theo’s lapels and tossed him backward, toward a table full of prop swords. Theo landed with a thud, and the table came crashing down. He groaned, but managed to stagger to his feet.
“The pistol is a harmless prop, Brandon,” he managed. “It won’t fire.”
“Good to know,” Brandon managed.
Simon laughed.
“I knew it was you all along, Simon, but I can’t believe you’re involved, Neville,” Theo said.
Neville scowled. “Maybe you’ve never been desperate.”
“I’ve been desperate plenty of times, but I never resorted to crime.”
“Bully for you,” Neville said.
“Enough talk.” Simon gestured toward the guard. “Shut them up.”
The guard aimed another kick at Brandon’s ribs, but he rolled out of the way. Theo scooped up two épées from the prop weapons at his feet and tossed one to Brandon.
“Catch!”
Brandon caught the épée with one hand and went to stand back to back with his brother. They brandished their swords at the three attackers.
“You’re outmatched,” Theo said.
“What a joke,” Simon scoffed. “Those are harmless props, too.”
Brandon and Theo slid the protective tips off their épées with their thumbs.
“A prop, yes, but no longer harmless,” Theo said.
When the guard advanced, hands outstretched, Brandon flicked his sword across the man’s palm. A red gash appeared and the guard cursed. With his bleeding hand cradled against his midsection, the giant edged toward the door.
“You can’t pay me enough to get cut up, Simon.”
As the guard fled, Simon hurled the harmless pistol at Theo. When Theo ducked out of the way, Simon picked up an épée from the floor and kicked one over to Neville. Both men removed the protective tips from their blades.<
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Brandon narrowed his eyes as he aimed his sword at Neville. “En garde, sir.”
“Gah, how I hate gentlemen!” Neville exclaimed.
If Brandon had hoped his sword contest with Neville would be easy, he was mistaken. Quite quickly he learned the man had been trained, and trained well. Steel blade clashed against steel blade, as he and Neville exchanged thrusts and parries. Several yards away, Theo and Simon were fighting with deathly seriousness.
From the corner of his eye, Brandon noticed Miss Fields in the doorway, a lantern in her hand. “Where is Larken?” she called out.
“Check in the back,” he managed.
“I’ll find her.”
Neville thrust the tip of his épée uncomfortably near Brandon’s heart. Thereafter, Brandon was forced to concentrate on fighting for his life.
The clashing of metal went on and on, and Larken was frantic to know what was happening. As she peered out into the darkness, a bobbing light grew closer. A wave of gratitude washed over her when a pretty, dark-haired woman with huge eyes appeared holding a lantern.
“Larken! Are you hurt?”
Although Larken wondered how the stranger knew her name, she was too worried about Brandon to pay it much attention.
“No, but I’m tied up.” She could barely whisper. She used her free hand to point to Hetty’s knife on the filing cabinet. “Can you cut me loose?”
The woman put the lantern down, grabbed the knife, and stepped over Hetty’s prone body on her way around the desk. As she sawed through the ropes, Larken felt them loosen.
“What happened to Hetty?” the woman asked.
“I drugged her with laudanum. I hope she’s not dead.”
“I can hear her snoring, so I think she’s fine.”
“I thought that noise was a rat.”
“It was, rather.”
The ropes fell away and Larken managed to stand. “Thank you. Who are you?”
The woman laughed. “Don’t you remember me? I don’t suppose you ever saw me with much hair in the orphanage.”
Larken gasped as she suddenly recognized the woman’s voice. “Josie?”
“Yes, but let’s talk later.” She tossed the knife onto the desk with a clatter. “Your husband and his brother are in trouble.”
Chapter Thirteen
New Beginnings
LARKEN AND JOSIE TRAVERSED the warehouse and approached the large open door, where street lamps and the newly risen moon illuminated a broad swath of the floor. Silhouetted against the light were two pairs of men, engaged in swordplay. Although Larken had seen fencing before, this was different. From the expressions on the men’s faces, it wasn’t a contest of skill and strategy, but a fight to the death.
A sheen of sweat covered Brandon’s face as he lunged at Neville. His clothes were marked with rips and red streaks, and the bare wrist above his sword was scored with shallow gashes. Larken bit her lip to avoid crying out his name. His opponent was also bleeding in several places, and was cradling his bloody left arm against his chest. Despite his injuries, however, Neville seemed to be possessed with a malevolent, burning passion to kill Brandon at all costs.
Nearby, Theo was pressing his advantage against Simon, who appeared to be overmatched. Both men had suffered multiple wounds, but Simon was reeling with exhaustion. With a sudden downward twisting movement, Theo disarmed him, sending his épée skittering off into the darkness. Before Larken realized what was happening, Simon charged at her. Her shriek distracted Brandon long enough for Neville to get past his guard. The tip of his épée pierced Brandon in the shoulder, but he countered with downward stroke across Neville’s face. A red gash appeared across the man’s forehead and cheek, and he dropped his sword with a howl of rage. Blinded by blood and pain, he staggered backward.
Simon lodged his forearm across Larken’s throat and he held a derringer to her temple. The small-caliber weapon was ineffective at longer distances, but could kill instantly at point-blank range.
“Get back, all of you.”
Simon gritted his teeth as he spoke, and Larken knew he was a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger. Brandon started forward, but Simon brandished his pistol in warning.
“I can assure you, this is no prop. Miss Pettigrew and I are leaving now. The ransom note explains how and where the money is to be paid. If you ever want to see her alive again, I suggest you follow my instructions to the letter.”
Suddenly a guttural gasp escaped his lips and Simon’s forearm eased its pressure on Larken’s throat. She couldn’t see what had caused his reaction, but she recognized Hetty’s voice.
“I ain’t hanging for you or no one. Let her go or I’ll send my blade straight through your black heart.”
When Simon raised his arms, Josie reached over and pulled Larken to safety. Brandon rushed over and wrapped Larken in a tight embrace.
“I prayed that you would be all right,” he whispered.
“Get that knife out of my back, Hetty, or I swear I’ll shoot you,” Simon muttered.
“Drop the gun.”
Hetty must have twisted the tip of her knife into his flesh, because Simon’s resulting wince was followed by the derringer clattering to the ground.
“Now get out of here, and if you try anything funny, I warn you I was raised on a farm with seven brothers,” she said. “I can throw this blade better than any of them.”
He edged forward. “You’ll regret this.”
“Says who?”
With a growl of frustration, Simon sprinted for the door. “Come on, Neville!”
The injured man staggered after him as best he could. Larken heard shouting outside, and the sound of footfall.
“Stop, you’re under arrest!”
The police had arrived, but Larken’s relief lasted only a moment. When she glanced up, she could see Brandon was extraordinarily pale. Worse, his shirt was soaked with a spreading red stain.
“Theo! Brandon’s hurt!” she exclaimed.
Theo darted over and eased his brother to the ground. “We’ve got to get him to a surgeon!”
After that, it was Larken’s turn to pray.
When Brandon opened his eyes, dawn was just lighting the windows of his room. As he stirred, his movement seemed constricted and he glanced down to see his torso swathed in a large bandage. In addition, his right hand and wrist were wrapped in gauze and he felt sore all over. He could have been put through a meat grinder for all the attention he paid to his injuries, however, because Larken was sitting in a chair pulled up close to his bed, sleeping soundly. Her golden hair had fallen from its pins and her bloodstained clothes had not been changed from the night before. Nevertheless, she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. My angel. My wife.
“Larken.”
Almost instantly she was awake, an expression of panic on her face. She leaned forward and reached for his hand. “How are you feeling?”
He focused on the deep bruising on her wrists. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Is Theo all right?”
“He suffered cuts and bruises, but he’s going to be fine. You, on the other hand, must stay in bed for a few days while we wait on you, hand and foot.”
His chuckle was followed by a wince of pain.
“Shall I summon the surgeon?” Larken asked.
“No. All I want is you.”
The silken skin of her cheek invited his caress. He answered its call, tracing the contours with his fingertips.
“My life would’ve been meaningless if you’d come to any harm,” he murmured.
Moisture glistened in the corners of Larken’s eyes.
“My misadventure ended well, thanks to you and Theo. The police arrested Simon and Neville, but in the excitement Hetty slipped away.” She shrugged. “Since she saved my life at the end, I’m rather glad.”
“If you’re glad, so am I.”
Larken helped him sip from a glass of water. After his thirst was sated, his eyelids be
came exceedingly heavy. She was just saying something about her pretend friend Josie when he drifted off once more.
A tender kiss on Brandon’s forehead didn’t seem nearly enough to convey Larken’s sentiments, but since he’d fallen asleep, it was the best she could do. She returned to her own room and asked Nell to bring her hot water for a bath. As she disrobed, the black and blue marks left by the ropes around her arms, wrists, and waist became obvious. Still, her injuries were nothing compared to poor Theo and especially Brandon. Both brothers had come to her rescue in a splendidly gallant fashion…like something from a melodrama.
Strange and wonderful at the same time had been the presence of Josie Wilkes! How she’d happened to be there was still a mystery. After Brandon had collapsed in the warehouse, Larken had focused almost exclusively on him. She’d not thanked Josie for her assistance, nor behaved in any way like she was happy to be reunited with her old friend. It pained Larken grievously to think she might have hurt Josie’s feelings.
After she was dressed, she went to wake Myles. As if shot out of a cannon, he launched himself out of bed and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Mr. King said you’d be all right, and I believed him.” He was pressed against her so tightly, his voice was muffled by the fabric of her skirt.
“The King brothers are heroes,” she said. “You would have been so proud! They defended me with swords, just like in The Three Musketeers.”
He pulled back, clearly puzzled. “What are musketeers?”
“Expert swordsmen who protected the king of France and had all manner of adventures. I’ve seen the book in the library downstairs. If you wish, I’ll begin reading it to you tonight.”
“Yes, please.” He paused. “Is Mr. King badly hurt?”
“The surgeon said he’ll recover, but we must take good care of him.”
“He must love you very, very much to defend you with a sword!”
A warm sensation spread throughout Larken’s body, as if she’d stepped from a chilly cave into the glorious sunshine.
