Fletcher jerked his head toward the entryway and made room for them to pass by him. “Did they explain the situation?”
Martin nodded. “Have you found anything?”
“Not yet. The students just left, so we ain’t checked their bedchambers yet. I suspect we’ve arrived on the scene before the scoundrels.”
“What do you want us to do?” Hollis asked.
“I want you to wait until Elizabeth comes back inside and ask her.”
Hollis grinned. Martin’s amusement was less obvious. Fletcher wasn’t overly bothered. Elizabeth was more than capable of directing the efforts at her own school.
Something crashing toward the back of the school caught their attention.
“What’s that way?” Martin asked, motioning to the corridor behind the stairs.
“Kitchen.”
“Are the servants in there?”
Fletcher’s pulse picked up pace. The housekeeper, Fanny, and Janey had all been outside helping Elizabeth send the students on their way. “No.”
The men exchanged the briefest of glances, then moved with measured step toward the kitchen, cautiously approaching each turn and bend. A narrow set of back steps set them just outside the kitchen door.
Fletcher carefully looked around the doorframe. Two of Mrs. George’s bullyboys. One had just set fire to the worktable.
“On ’em!” he barked.
Martin and Hollis rushed in. Chaos erupted. The man holding the torch dropped it, popping up his fists. It was a good thing all the Dreadfuls spent time sparring at headquarters.
Fletcher dove for the torch, tossing it in the large cooking fireplace. He stamped out the smoldering spots on the floor where the flames had been, then snatched up the suds bucket near the dirty dishes that had been abandoned by the housekeeper. He tossed the water on the burning table. The flames weren’t entirely doused, so he grabbed a heavy rug from the hearth and swatted at the table over and over, beating at the flames. If the fire spread, the whole school would go.
One of the ruffians, the one giving Martin a run for his money, slipped free enough to dart to the hearth and grab for the torch. If he started a second fire, they’d be done for. Fletcher spun around and landed a bare-knuckle jab directly on the man’s nose.
A crunch. Blood, some of it Fletcher’s.
Martin was on the thug in a flash, taking the man down. Across the room, Hollis struggled to keep his feet. These were big, vicious men, the sort who took down mountainous villains with little effort. The Dreadfuls weren’t built like tree trunks, but they were scrappy.
“Tie ’im up and help Hollis,” Fletcher barked to Martin, beating at the flames again.
Elizabeth arrived in just that minute. Her wide eyes took in the scene in an instant. She didn’t cower, didn’t faint, didn’t do any of the things most men assumed all women did when faced with the slightest shock. Rather, she took up a towel and beat at the flames as well.
The fire, at last, was out, but the table was a blackened mess, cracked and broken in places. Much like one of the miscreant’s nose.
Martin and Hollis had the arsonists tied up good and tight, thanks to the Dreadfuls’ efforts in practicing knots. Bloodied lips and black eyes testified to the difficulty they’d had in the fight.
Between the lingering powder in her horribly mussed hair and the singes along her borrowed, lower-class clothes, Elizabeth looked nearly as bad as the rest of them. With the immediate crisis past, Fletcher felt sharply the pain of his split knuckles.
“You’re bleeding,” she said to him.
“And your school was almost on fire. Worth the trade, I’d say.”
She wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. “Why would they try to burn the school if their aim was kidnapping?”
Fletcher hunched down in front of the man whose nose he’d given a bit of character and grasped the man’s shirtfront in his uninjured fist. “Why the fire? Tell me.”
The man spit in his face. Fletcher didn’t care.
“I’ll break your nose a second time,” he warned.
“We did what we do when someone shortchanges Mrs. George.”
Fletcher shoved the man down once more and stood, crossing to Elizabeth. “The girls they came to steal weren’t here.”
“So their only choice was to burn down the school?”
“The likes of George and Allen ain’t exactly the saintly type.”
“The threats of arson at Hogg’s school,” she said. “Might those be this same sort of spite?”
“Hogg gives street children options other’n being enslaved to no-accounts like Allen and George and Four-Finger Mike. That’d set their blood boilin’ and no doubting it.”
Elizabeth grew very still. “Mr. Allen knows Daniel was in the York Place mews. That would give him added reason to be vengeful toward Mr. Hogg’s school.”
Fletcher looked to Hollis and Martin. “You two, keep an eye on these louts and this school.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I need you to do something probably dangerous.”
She didn’t hesitate but nodded firmly and with conviction. She walked with him from the kitchen.
“I’m for Bow Street.” He spoke as they walked quickly to the outside door. “I’ve a contact there what can summon enough of the Metropolitan Police to take care of these bullyboys and whatever’s found at Hogg’s school.”
“Can they get to York Place fast enough?”
“I don’t know. That’s where you come in.” He met her eye, needing to know she was up for what he was about to ask her. “Stone, Brogan, and some of the others are at our headquarters. I need you to go there and tell them. They can get to York Place fast, and they know how to handle themselves.”
“The Dread Penny Society headquarters?”
Lud, he was treading on dangerous ground. He nodded.
“Are you allowed to tell me this?”
“Children’s lives are in danger. Some things are more important than rules.”
She raised up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re a good man, Fletcher.”
“And I’m hoping you’re a good runner.” He whispered the address to her.
“I’ll not tell anyone,” she swore, though she didn’t need to. He hadn’t the least doubt in her.
He set one of his etched pennies in her hand. “Go. Quickly. We’re going to save some children today, Elizabeth.”
She ran. So did he. If luck was with them, they’d be fast enough.
by Mr. King
Installment VI,
in which our Heroine faces great Danger and uncovers Secrets within the Forest and beyond!
Did Lucinda dare cry out? She stood at the very place on the road where she had last crossed paths with the highwayman and his band, the same road on which he had searched her carriage all those weeks ago, yet now saw not a single sign of him. She knew not where else to search, but she needed his help. Nanette needed his help.
Beneath her thick outercoat, the necklace the highwayman had found in her carriage rested heavy against her heart. Though she still did not know the jewelry’s origin, she had found it gave her courage and strength. It had, before anything else, afforded her a feeling of connection to her new home and new life. She pressed her hand to it as she stood on the deserted road, surrounded on all sides by the ever-thickening fog. She would not let her courage fail her now, not when so much depended upon it.
If the highwayman and his men were not here where she had expected to find them, she would simply have to take upon herself the task of searching out Nanette.
Sir Frederick had, as far as she could recall, rescued Nanette the first time from within the shadows of the forest. Therefore, into the forest Lucinda must go. One step, one breath at a time, she moved further into the thick of the fog and the cold of the ever-shaded trees. Calling out the girl
’s name might draw the attention of the monster within the woods, but she had little hope of finding the poor soul if she did not give Nanette a chance to hear her voice.
“Nanette!” she called. “Answer me, if you can. Nanette!”
On and on she walked. Though her fears never fully abated, her courage rose to the occasion. She had grown strong during her time at Calden Manor. She had discovered in herself an inner fortitude.
“Nanette!”
Quick steps came toward her from the darkness, too heavy to be Nanette’s. Ought she to run? Stand her ground? She hadn’t a thing with which to defend herself, having assumed the highwayman and his men would see to the necessary weaponry.
Nearer and nearer the sound came, only slightly dampened by the fog and trees. Merciful heavens! Where was she to go? What was she to do? She swallowed and forced a breath. She raised her fists, ready to do all she could to fend off the inevitable attack. It was her only hope.
In a swoosh of thick, dark fabric, a man grabbed her about the waist and pulled her off the road. The movement was so quick and so sudden, she hadn’t even a moment to react.
“You mustn’t call out like that, Lucinda. The beast has acute hearing.” Sir Frederick!
She clung to him, allowing her pulse to slow and calm. The air shuddered from her lungs. “I thought you were the monster.”
“It cannot be far,” he whispered. “I heard your voice quite clearly. It most certainly did as well.”
“I was trying to find Nanette.” Emotion broke in the words. She was so afraid for the girl, so overwhelmed herself.
“As am I.”
“I had hoped to secure the aid of the highwayman,” she said, “but I could not find him.”
“We will simply have to make do on our own.” He kept his arm around her as he led her through and around the nearby trees.
“You are not going to insist I return to Hilltop House?” She looked up at him, surprised by both the shake of his head and the disheveled nature of his appearance. He had, it seemed, already passed through an ordeal in his search. “Are you injured?”
“No, but I am worried.” He looked out over the misty forest, mouth set in an earnest line. “I had hoped to find our sweet little Nanette by now.”
Our Nanette. His choice of words touched her, even as his worry added to hers.
“Where did you find her last time? That would seem a good place to begin.”
He kept his arm around her, its warmth keeping the cold at bay. “I began there, I assure you. The ruined cottage was empty, with no sign of having been occupied recently.” “Have you any other idea where to search? You know more of the beast than I do.”
“There is a cave,” he said. “My father believed it was the beast’s lair.”
She looked up at him once more. “If its lair has been known all these years, why has the monster not been hunted or expelled?”
“It is dangerous,” he said, “and grows stronger when in the presence of our fear. Thus far, rooting it out has proven impossible.”
Her throat thickened with worry. “And you believe Nanette is there?”
“I do not want to believe it, but I do.”
Within the circle of his arms, she squared her shoulders. “Then we must go there. We must.”
“Screw your courage to the sticking place. It must not fail you.”
“I do not intend to allow it to falter.”
His arm tightened about her. “Your courage has impressed me from the beginning. I have known from the moment I first encountered you that yours was a courageous soul. That I was not wrong on that score does my heart good, both in this moment and in all the moments leading to this one.”
“I do not always feel brave.”
“And yet you are.”
And yet I am. She repeated those words in her mind as they walked on. The forest grew bone-chillingly cold. The fog, thicker the deeper they traveled, turned the midday sun dim as dusk. Just when she grew certain they could not possibly travel any farther without reaching the forest’s far edge, Sir Frederick stopped.
“Have we arrived at the cave?” How she wished her voice were steadier. Sir Frederick believed her brave and bold. She wanted to be precisely that.
He motioned directly ahead of them. She took a step forward, slipping from his arms, and studied their misty surroundings. There was, indeed, a cave, its mouth wide and gaping and terrifying.
Her mind begged her to flee, to put as much distance between herself and the cavern as possible. But her heart, warmed by the touch of the necklace against her skin, insisted she remain.
“If Nanette is in there,” she said, “we must go inside. We must find our dear girl.”
Sir Frederick joined her. From underneath his heavy coat, he produced a small lantern, which he lit, and, together, they walked into the lair of the monster.
The air inside was dank and heavy. Long, pointed daggers of rock hung from the ceiling and jutted up from the ground. Water dripped, pooling in places. The cave ought to have been cold—no sunlight penetrated its interior—but it was not. The warm moistness of it was overwhelming, cloying.
Further into the dark deep, a growl echoed and bounced toward them. Lucinda’s every hair stood at attention, her pulse quickening.
“The beast will sense my fear,” she whispered to Sir Frederick.
“I do not doubt it already has. We must simply make certain it senses our bravery as well.”
“What if all the courage I can summon is not enough?”
“If anyone’s fortitude will be sufficient, I haven’t a doubt it will be yours.”
Another growl. Another rush of hot wind. They were drawing nearer. How many more steps before the beast was upon them?
Questions of the monster were quite suddenly swept aside at the sound of whimpering tears.
“Nanette?” she whispered.
Sir Frederick must have heard the cries as well. He slipped past her and, lantern held out in front of him, moved toward the sound. Around a bend in the cave, they found Nanette huddled against the wall, crying and shaking. She caught sight of them and leaped to her feet, rushing headlong into the strong arms Sir Frederick held out for her.
“We must move quickly, child,” he warned her. “The beast will know we are here.”
“We must go! Now!” Franticness added volume to Nanette’s pleas.
Sir Frederick kept the girl close. He held high the lantern they were depending upon. He looked to Lucinda. They exchanged silent nods of equal relief and concern. They had found Nanette, but they were far from safe.
At a quick clip, they retraced their steps but did not get far before the growls and snarls grew even louder. The monster must have been very close behind them.
It senses and thrives off your fear. Be brave.
Nanette froze, eyes wide. Not a muscle in her body moved.
Lucinda looked to Sir Frederick. Worry filled his features. “The monster has seized her,” he said.
“It is feeding on her fear?”
He nodded.
“Can you carry her out, even frozen as she is? Take her as far from here as possible?”
His gaze turned to something behind her, something that drained every drop of color from his face. “We are too late,” he whispered.
Lucinda’s lungs felt like stones in her chest. Her heart pounded against the heaviness. The weight seemed to spread, holding her arms still and her legs rooted to the spot. Moving felt increasingly impossible. Was the beast sensing her fear as well?
She yet faced Sir Frederick and could see that he, too, had grown unnaturally still, eyes frozen on the threat lurking behind her. The growling had stopped, replaced by the loud, steady breathing of something so near she could feel the heat emanating from its body.
If only the highwayman had found the legendary tali
sman! What hope had they of defeating the beast, or even escaping its clutches, without the protection of the missing amulet?
Against her chest, a warmth started, small and pointed at first, but spreading bit by bit. The necklace. The one the highwayman had found in her carriage! It was responding to the presence of the beast. Could it be the talisman they sought?
No. The highwayman had searched high and low for years. He would not have given it to her if he’d thought for even a moment it was a powerful amulet. Yet everywhere the warmth of it spread, her stiffness abated. It reached her neck. She could turn her head. Then her shoulders.
I am able to move. Only I am able. She and she alone could face the beast that had held so many captive for so many years, that had caused such pain and suffering. Only she.
Why had the highwayman not simply taken the amulet and faced down the beast himself rather than leaving the task to her? He’d not even told her what he’d actually given her.
Can I be so certain I am correct, that this is, in fact, the sought-after talisman? She was able to move enough that she could turn to face the beast if she chose. Whether or not the necklace she wore was the mystical charm destined to destroy the hideous beast, she had to at least try to save them all.
She set her hand on her coat, directly above the necklace. Its warmth spread farther, faster. I must do this.
Lucinda spun about. Mere inches away, a hideous face glared at her. A lion. A dragon. A demon. She didn’t know what it was, only that it was horrifying. It growled low in its throat, steam rising from its wide, flaring nostrils, saliva dripping from its long, pointed fangs.
As when she had been stopped by the highwayman, and later, rushing to the forest to save her home, Lucinda held her chin up, shoulders back, and told herself she was braver than she felt.
“I—” Her voice shook. She began again. “I am not—”
The beast released a piercing, earth-shaking howl, the heat of its breath nearly knocking her down. She ought to have been terrified, but she felt a growing calm.
“I am not—”
Again, it interrupted her declaration with an anger-filled roar. Its enormous clawed feet scratched at the cave floor. Its broad beastly shoulders crouched, glowing eyes narrowed on her.
The Lady and the Highwayman Page 24
