The Lady and the Highwayman
Page 27
Intriguing, but not reason enough. One need only look at the pile of coins on the entryway table to know that much. “We don’t let people wander in, declarin’ themselves interested. That ain’t how this works. You know that.”
Nolan was unmoved. “For this’n, you’ll want to make an exception.”
“What makes you so certain?” Fletcher asked.
A smile slowly spread over Nolan’s face. “Would I be interrupting if I weren’t certain?”
They all knew Nolan too well to think he’d get up off his bench for anything that wasn’t worth their time or the risk he was taking interrupting the meeting.
“Who is he?”
Nolan dipped his head. “Mr. King.”
Fletcher was on his feet on the instant. Half the room was as well, the other half staring in disbelief. King? They’d been searching for him for weeks. Fletcher had been searching for him. Elizabeth knew him, knew him well. Still, she wouldn’t have told him where the Dread Penny Society made its headquarters.
She wouldn’t have. Yet King was here.
He didn’t know how both things could be true, but he knew they were. Fletcher met each of the Dreadfuls’ eyes. One nod after another. His gaze fell last on Stone.
The often-silent man spoke. “Looking for King started this whole muddle. It’s best we see it through.”
True as the day was long. Fletcher turned to Nolan. “Let King in.”
Nolan slipped out. All eyes were on the empty doorway. From the darkness beyond, a walking stick tapped against the floor. The clack of shoes joined, both growing louder.
A shadowy silhouette appeared where Nolan had been. King wasn’t very tall, even with a stovepipe hat on his head. Fletcher could make out little beyond that. Too much darkness shadowed the entryway.
King took a single step into the spill of light from the council room lanterns.
“Bung your eye,” he breathed.
Elizabeth—Elizabeth—quirked an eyebrow beneath the tall hat sitting at a jaunty angle on her head, her hair pulled up in a loose bun. Her high-polished walking stick tapped against the floor once more as she took another step, her heeled, pull-button boots echoing their earlier sound as well. She was not merely wearing trousers, she was wearing trousers. And a shirtwaist and tailcoat precisely in the style of a man’s but tailored quite perfectly to her.
Fletcher attempted to swallow and found it took more effort than it ought. He didn’t bother trying to look away; he knew he’d never manage that. No one else in the room had either.
Elizabeth eyed them all, chin at a confident angle, her expression one of patience and expectation. She continued her slow, steady walk into the room and up the aisle directly to him. She stopped just out of arm’s reach and met his gaze.
He cleared his throat. “Mr. King?”
A hint of a smile pulled at her lips. “Surprised?”
“By a few things.”
“You said members have to wear trousers.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “Fortunately, I know a very talented tailor.”
“That tailor is either my new favorite person or my new archenemy.”
She pulled her hat off her head and, with an expertise that matched his own, tossed it, brim down and spinning, onto the throne-like chair he usually occupied. She then faced the room of shocked, amused, and stunned-into-silence men around her.
“I am Mr. King, reigning monarch of the penny dreadfuls. I give my time and effort to the causes of the poor, the oppressed, the afflicted. And I am wearing trousers.” She added the last bit with a flourish to indicate her unexpected attire.
Brogan didn’t bother suppressing his laughter. Hollis let his grin blossom as well. Martin hid his smile behind his hand.
“I am here to apply for membership in the Dread Penny Society, having met all the requirements.”
“This is highly unusual,” Kumar stated the obvious without true disapproval.
“And highly risky,” Fletcher said quietly to Elizabeth. “Should word of this—you dressing as a man and petitioning for membership in, essentially, a gentlemen’s club—reach the ears of Society, you could lose everything, dove.”
She met his eye and, for the first time since her breath-catching entrance, her surety gave way to the tiniest hint of doubt. “I told myself I’d find a means of salvaging your membership. Revealing the location of headquarters is only tolerated when the person being told is applying for membership.”
“You mean to exploit a loophole?”
“I mean to save your skin,” she said.
Even Stone allowed a glimmer of appreciation in his usually unreadable eyes.
“You took an enormous risk coming here as you did,” Fletcher said.
“No fear. I still have Móirín’s knife in my boot.” She turned back to the others. “Vote, then. In or out.”
“First, though,” Hollis jumped in. “We have an opportunity to settle our previous matter quite quickly. Fletcher revealed our location to someone who, technically, was eligible to receive that information. He hasn’t, if one is being fully honest, violated any of our rules.”
“Is she eligible, though?” Irving asked. There was no mistaking the hope in his tone and expression.
“Our bylaws don’t specifically ban women from joining,” Stone said. “I say she’s eligible.”
“Then I’m calling for the vote on Fletch,” Hollis said. “All insisting his membership be revoked, make yourselves heard.”
Not a soul spoke.
“All finding no cause to dismiss him?” Hollis continued.
A chorus of “ayes” filled the large room. Relief surged through Fletcher. Relief. Gratitude. Exhaustion. The sealed letter on the small table nearby contained the Dread Master’s vote, one that carried the weight of two of theirs. Enough to break a tie. Enough to create one. Not enough to overthrow a unanimous decision. As custom dictated when the Dread Master’s voice was not needed, Fletcher would take the parchment to the fire after the meeting and burn it, unopened.
“Resume your place, Fletcher Walker.” Brogan jerked his head toward the throne.
Fletcher crossed to it. He took up Elizabeth’s hat, then sat in the familiar spot. Ah, but he’d missed his chair. When his eyes met hers, she smiled softly, dipped her head, and turned to go.
To go?
“Mr. King,” he called out.
She turned back, eyeing him with confused curiosity.
“Did you not wish for a vote on your membership? That is why you came, after all.”
She leaned on her walking stick. “That’s not why I came, Mr. Walker. I’ve done what I came for.”
She’d saved him.
Stone, of all people, burst into the momentary silence. “I’m calling for a vote. All feeling Mr. King hasn’t shown herself worthy to be counted among us, make yourself known.”
“And then take yourself off,” Fletcher added for good measure.
Chuckles and headshakes were all that answered.
“All feeling Mr. King belongs here as much as any of the rest of us?” Stone continued.
With “ayes” as enthusiastic as those cast in Fletcher’s favor, the Dreadfuls welcomed a surprising, brave, remarkable woman among them. They’d turned a would-be rival into an ally. An ally who’d saved his skin at great risk to herself.
“Welcome to the Dread Penny Society, Mr. King,” Fletcher said as he languidly stood, her hat still in his hand. He crossed to her and set it on her head.
“You’re not angry with me for keeping this secret?” she asked.
“On the contrary.” He wrapped one arm around her. He turned his head ever so slightly to address the membership. “I’m breaking with tradition, lads, and sealing this vote with something more than a handshake.”
“Go on, then,” Brogan called.
“No obj
ections,” Irving tossed out.
Fletcher looked to Elizabeth once more. “Any objections from our newest Dreadful?”
“None whatsoever.”
Fletcher tugged Elizabeth close enough to entirely close the gap between them. She tossed her walking stick to Hollis, who caught it with a laugh. Elizabeth held Fletcher’s face in her hands, her eyes fixed on him.
“I do love you, you know,” she whispered.
“I know it, and I’m amazed by it.”
Her mouth twisted saucily. “I think you’d best show me a bit of that amazement.”
“My pleasure, dove.”
He kissed her. He kissed her in that room full of the odds and ends of the literary world, in the council chamber of the group she’d confronted in order to save his hide and give him back his future. He kissed her with all the emotion in his heart and the love he’d struggled with for weeks.
Then he held her in his arms, marveling that she was here with him, with them. He’d found the other half of his very soul, and they had an entire lifetime ahead of them to weave tales, to rescue children, and to fall further and further into love.
I could not have hoped to make this story half as authentic and accurate without the invaluable information and insights I gained from the following:
• Susie Dent’s many brilliant books on dialect and etymology.
• Normanby Hall’s exhibit on Victorian-era clothing.
• The Charles Booth archive at the London School of Economics and Political Science.
• The United States Library of Congress’s “WPA Slave Narratives” project archive.
I could not have hoped to survive the crafting of this tale with half so many functioning brain cells without the following:
• Jolene Perry, the first person with whom I shared this story in detail and who responded with such unabashed enthusiasm I finally began to believe that maybe I could pull this thing off.
• Lisa Mangum, whose invaluable editorial feedback included a not-so-subtle reminder that a romance ought to have at least a few romantic moments tossed in the mix somewhere—advice I apparently require often.
• The Bear Lake Monsters writers’ group, who kept my spirits and confidence up while life gleefully beat me to a pulp during the writing of this story.
• My family, who, despite being quite bored of hearing about these characters who reside in my head, continued to nod and smile vaguely each and every time I began expounding at length about Fletcher, Elizabeth, and the gang.
• Pam Victorio, who is not afraid to tell me when my expansive plans for my brilliant future are neither brilliant nor verifiable, and who expertly sets my feet back on solid ground, pointed in the right direction.
• Twisted Mango Diet Coke—both my liquid joy and my Achilles’ heel.
1.The Dread Master’s identity is never revealed. What are your theories about who the secretive leader might be?
2.Is Fletcher justified in keeping the Dread Master’s identity a secret from Hollis, his closest friend and confidant? Is Hollis justified in his frustration over Fletcher’s refusal to share that information with him?
3.Victorian London was a more ethnically diverse place than is often acknowledged. The members of the Dread Penny Society, to a degree, reflect that diversity. How do you think their diverse backgrounds help their efforts? What complications might it cause?
4.Each of the Dreadfuls has a personal passion—an area of injustice, inequality, or lack of opportunity—that he is particularly determined to address. If you were a member of this band of philanthropists, what would your passion be?
5.Elizabeth and Fletcher both acknowledge that their upbringings and careers will make a relationship between them difficult, with potential consequences for Elizabeth’s school, specifically. What problems might await them in the future? How do you think they will weather those storms?
6.In what way do you think Elizabeth’s actions in the final scene of the book will impact the future of the Dread Penny Society? How will it impact her career as a secret penny dreadful author?
7.Quintin Hogg is a real figure from history who founded the York Place Ragged School in London, where the poorest of that city’s children could receive an education. While the events surrounding that school are fictionalized here, the education of the poor and destitute faced significant opposition at this time. Why do you think that was?
8.At this time, a child’s opportunity for education and the type of education he or she might receive depended almost entirely on that child’s wealth, ethnicity, and gender. In what ways has educational inequality improved since the nineteenth century? In what ways could it still improve?
9.What Victorian-era issues and problems could you imagine the Dread Penny Society tackling? What future adventures do you think await them?
Sarah M. Eden is a USA TodayTM best-selling author of historical romances. Her previous Proper Romance novel Longing for Home won the Foreword Reviews 2013 IndieFab Book of the Year award for romance. Hope Springs won the 2014 Whitney Award for “Best Novel of the Year,” and The Sheriffs of Savage Wells was a Foreword Reviews 2016 Book of the Year finalist for romance.
Combining her obsession with history and an affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She happily spends hours perusing the reference shelves of her local library and dreams of one day traveling to all the places she reads about. Sarah is represented by Pam Victorio at D4EO Literary Agency.
Visit Sarah at www.sarahmeden.com.
Contents
Chapter 1
The Lady and the Highway: Installment I
Chapter 2
The Vampire's Tower: Chapter I
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
The Lady and the Highway: Installment II
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
The Vampire's Tower: Chapter II
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Vampire's Tower: Chapter III
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
The Lady and the Highway: Installment III
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Vampire's Tower: Chapter IV
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
The Vampire's Tower: Chapter V
Chapter 19
The Lady and the Highway: Installment IV
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
The Lady and the Highway: Installment V
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
The Vampire's Tower: Chapter VI
Chapter 25
The Lady and the Highway: Installment VI
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
The Lady and the Highway: Installment VII
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Landmarks
Cover