by Jane Ashford
Emily was too surprised to evade. “That your mother was scandalized by us, and you could not keep up the connection.”
Richard looked startled, then self-conscious.
She was right. His mother had reacted just like all the neighbors and acquaintances who had found the Cranes “unsteady” and “unsound.”
“You believe I would say something so rude?”
“Plenty of others have done so.” At his expression, she added, “Oh, not in so many words. But I soon learned what they really meant when they told me the children I had been playing with could not come out or the girl who had joined in my walks was taken ill or the young man who had called was busy with estate matters.”
“They objected to…?”
“Everything. The way we lived, my father’s temper, my mother’s ideas.”
“I see.”
Emily berated herself silently. If he really had not come to say those things, she had herself given him the notion.
“That must have been very difficult.”
“I love my parents. And I admire the way they have done what they liked.” Pity was even worse than avoidance; she knew from bitter experience.
“Yes. But having chosen for themselves, they might have paid some heed to the consequences for you.”
“They gave me what they prized most.” She could never bear to hear them criticized.
“What?”
“Freedom to find my own way.”
“That is a gift indeed.”
Emily gazed at him. People of their own station in life never saw it that way. Others—Sarah Fitzgibbon, for example—understood, but never the so-called gentry.
“And a bit of a burden perhaps?”
She blinked.
“Obeying the rules is easy, after all. There is no need to think or choose among alternatives. Still less to chart a new course.”
He seemed to be talking to himself rather than to her, but Emily understood exactly what he meant. “Where to begin?” she murmured.
He turned to her with an arrested expression, and started to speak. But then he appeared to change his mind, or not to know it fully. There was a silence that eventually grew awkward.
Emily was about to break it when he said, “Have you found it?”
“What?”
“Your own way.”
He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known. And he wasn’t at all like the person her aunt and others had made him out to be. It was very confusing, and it made it difficult to answer. Something in his eyes, though, pushed her toward honesty. “Not yet.”
Richard nodded once as if he too were searching for a place, a way to function in the world. Emily dismissed the idea as ridiculous. He was firmly established in society.
“Perhaps we should sit down?”
She started. “I beg your pardon. Of course.”
They sat opposite each other in front of the hearth.
“Have you any more news from your mysterious friends?”
“They have found someone who may be able to discover the identity of the attackers.”
“Someone?”
Emily nodded.
“You do not intend to tell me anything about this person?”
“I can’t.”
“Because your friends have forbidden you to do so?”
“They would be angry if I…”
“Have you asked them?” he wondered.
“I don’t need to ask. I know how they feel.”
Richard considered this. He looked annoyed. “You know, it will be impossible to pursue this matter if we do not trust one another.”
“It is not that I—”
“And can we? We are barely acquainted. You cannot be sure I will not betray your friends somehow. And I do not know how far I may confide in you.”
Protest rose to her lips, and no further.
“Perhaps our collaboration is doomed before it starts.”
“I don’t…”
He held up a hand for silence. She pressed her lips together. “Unless we are both willing to take a chance.”
For some reason, this simple sentence took Emily’s breath away. He meant only that they would tell each other everything they discovered. There was no reason in the world for her pulse to pound—no reason for her to feel that he was suggesting a revolution in her life. He was gazing steadily at her, expectant. The risk of speaking seemed overwhelming, as if the wrong words might wreak havoc beyond her comprehension. “I will ask the…my friends if I may tell you,” she managed.
He nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
Emily’s relief was equally out of proportion. What was the matter with her?
“So then. A plan.”
Gathering her wits with difficulty, she asked, “You spoke to the groom—the one who was with us when…in the carriage?” Fiercely, she commanded her cheeks not to flush.
“Yes. He seems a trustworthy fellow. He’s been with my mother for some years. When we rested the horses at the White Hart, an ostler brought him a mug of beer. It must have been laced with something, and they tampered with the harness while he was drinking it. By the time we set off, he was too befuddled to notice the cut.”
Emily leaned forward. “If we find that ostler…”
“I’ve inquired. No one seemed to know who I meant.”
She sank back, disappointed.
“A dead end, though it does tell us that a watch is being kept.”
“Someone followed us to Hampstead. And to the park that day.” Emily shivered. It was unpleasant to think of spies observing one’s movements.
“You really believe you saw someone push that urn?”
“I can’t be sure. It was so quick—a movement in the corner of my eye.” An idea struck her. “We might hire watchers of our own, to see who is following you.”
Richard smiled slightly. “To watch the watchers?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t wish to become the head of a circus parade.”
“But…”
“I can keep an eye out as well as anyone. If someone is following me, I will discover them.” He seemed to read Emily’s doubts in her face. “I have been stalked for three days running by a jungle cat. I can spot a human hunter. But why am I being hunted?” he murmured. “That is the real puzzle.”
“An enemy?” ventured Emily.
He frowned. The old Lord Warrington had certainly made enemies. He had probably offended most of the haut ton at one time or another. Some of them may have wished him dead for the insult or slight, but they were hardly the sort of men to plan actual attacks. Besides, he had been out of that world too long. “None that I can think of.”
“A quarrel?” wondered Emily. “Someone you bested at…something?”
“I have certainly had disagreements and rivalries. But none that warrants murder.”
“Your cousin Donald inherits your title,” she pointed out.
“Donald lives happily and distantly in Yorkshire.”
“He might have hired these ruffians we have heard of.”
“I admit I don’t know him well. But all reports make Donald a kindly country-loving man.” He shook his head. “No, I do not believe in him as the adversary.”
Emily reserved judgment on this point. “Who would wish to kill you?”
He shook his head. “I do not imagine myself a paragon of virtue, but I have never offended anyone so deeply, I would vow. My past holds no ruined gamesters or spurned lovers or jealous husbands.”
Emily looked down at her hands.
“A paltry record, really.” The old Warrington had been a paltry fellow. “A life without high drama.”
“Yet you do have an enemy.”
“Yes. Peculiar. And a bit heartening? Perhaps I wasn’t such a negligible f
ribble after all.”
She gave him an odd look. “It is not a joke.”
Richard let out a breath. “No. But it is far more diverting than I thought London would be.”
The look he gave her then made Emily’s pulse flutter.
“You are as fascinated as I,” he added almost teasingly.
“I am concerned…”
“Nonsense. Why should you care anything about me? We had barely met—indeed, we hadn’t even met—when this began. The mystery of it draws you.”
He was right, she thought. Curiosity, the challenge, had driven her into this search. But then, oddly, it seemed there was something else. She couldn’t quite grasp it.
“Admit it,” he insisted.
Emily nodded, unwilling to delve further into this slippery subject.
He smiled. “We are alike in that.”
He gave one satisfied nod, and his eyes smiled into hers for a moment. Their hazel depths were mesmerizing. Emily felt a strange little lurch, the sort of tremor she’d felt when looking down from a great and precipitous height.
“So. You will speak to your friends, and I will keep a sharp lookout for these watchers.”
“Perhaps you should find out if anything went on while you were away,” Emily suggested.
“Went on?”
“You were out of the way,” she reasoned slowly. “And someone clearly wants you out of the way. Why?”
“You are suggesting it might not be personal?”
“You said you have no enemies. If not, then it must be something else.”
“What?”
She shrugged.
Richard rose. “A question for another day. I must go. I promised my cousin I would take her driving in the park to observe the smart set.”
Emily stood also. “Mrs. Farrell?”
He nodded.
“Is she making a long visit?”
“I hope so,” was the fervent reply.
He took his leave, and Emily returned to the armchair. She had been so despondent earlier when she’d feared he had come to end their connection. Why didn’t she feel better now?
* * *
To Emily’s astonishment, Daniel Fitzgibbon readily agreed to see Richard. Indeed, he offered to take him to meet the Bruiser at his earliest convenience. He really didn’t wish to remain in contact with the fighter and his circle, she realized, which made her a bit wary about the whole matter.
The difficulty arose not over Richard, but when Emily herself insisted on coming along. “You shouldn’t be acquainted with no one like the Bruiser,” Daniel insisted.
“But I am acquainted with pickpockets and confidence men and ladies of…of dubious reputation…”
“Never mind them. They don’t hurt nobody. Not really hurt them.”
“And the Bruiser does?”
Daniel looked torn. “It’s not him so much. I mean, he beats coves bloody in the ring, but that’s the game there. It’s the people he knows. They ain’t so particular about where they put their fists.”
“But we aren’t meeting them.”
“No.” He drew the word out dubiously.
“I promise you I have no intention of doing so.”
He shook his head.
“You have no objection to taking Lord Warrington to meet the Bruiser, however? Because he is a man, I suppose.”
“Seems he can take care of himself,” Daniel declared.
“How can you know that?”
“Fought his way through a jungle full of tigers, they say.”
“You’ve heard of that?” asked Emily, too curious to correct the zoology.
“It’s talked of in the pubs.”
“Oh.” She took this in before returning to the real topic. “I am going,” she told Daniel. “I am working with Lord Warrington on this matter, and he never would have found the Bruiser without me. I won’t be shunted aside.”
“He’ll forbid you to go,” asserted her father’s old friend.
“Forbid me?”
“What sort of man would let his promised bride risk herself that way?”
“The sort who is confident of her abilities,” she responded automatically. But as soon as she spoke, she suffered a qualm of doubt. If the question were put to Richard, would he want her to come? Would he side with Daniel against her?
In the end, it was Sarah who convinced her father that it would be grossly unfair to exclude Emily from a scheme she herself had made. Sarah threatened him with various forms of retribution until he gave in, with poor grace, and agreed to escort both of them to a rendezvous with the fighter.
She wouldn’t tell Richard of his reluctance, Emily decided on her way home. In fact, she would tell him that Daniel would only do this favor if she were along. There was no sense having the argument all over again. The second time, she might lose.
* * *
Two days later, Richard sat in a hack facing Daniel Fitzgibbon as it wove its way through some of the seedier streets of London. Emily, beside him, was silent. She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, however, as the neighborhood grew less savory and the noise outside the vehicle more raucous.
Richard occupied himself by examining Fitzgibbon. He would have wagered a good deal that the man hadn’t always been a dancing master, and even more that his career included some shadier endeavors. Why else was he using a false name? How did Emily know him so well? No doubt her father had something to do with it.
“Here we are.” Fitzgibbon struck the roof to signal the driver to pull up before a tall narrow house in a bit better shape than others on the street.
Richard opened the cab door and stepped down, turning to offer Emily a hand. She held up the skirts of her gown as she climbed down.
“The Bruiser doesn’t like to leave his own part of town,” repeated Daniel.
“So you have said.” Richard surveyed the area. In broad daylight, it didn’t appear actually dangerous. He wouldn’t have cared to come here at night. A mocking laugh drew his attention. There were two burly ruffians leaning against the wall across the way. One of them pointed at Emily and sniggered. Richard caught his gaze and held it. After a moment, the man jerked his head and urged his companion away.
“Come on,” said Daniel. “No sense hanging about outside here.”
He was nervous, Richard noted. Fleetingly, he wondered if the man was leading them into some sort of trap. Were they to be robbed in this shabby place? But no, it was much more as if Fitzgibbon didn’t want to be anywhere near here himself.
“It’s a decent boardinghouse,” he said, his tone confirming Richard’s instincts. He sounded as if he were reassuring himself.
They went upstairs, and Fitzgibbon knocked on a door near the back. It was opened at once by one of the largest men Richard had ever seen. He stood well over six feet, and his heavy frame was overlaid by slabs of muscle, particularly in the arms and shoulders. His head, which looked rather small in contrast, showed scars from his bouts in the ring, and he had the horny hardened knuckles of a fighter. His hair was carrot red, and when he smiled—with surprising sweetness—large gaps showed in his teeth. “Mornin’ Daniel,” he said, gesturing them in.
Richard glanced at Emily, who looked a bit wide-eyed. Apparently, her father’s eccentric circle of friends had not extended quite so far as this.
“This is Lord Warrington,” Fitzgibbon was saying. “And…and Miss Crane.”
The extreme reluctance with which he spoke the last words roused a sudden suspicion in Richard’s mind. Who had insisted that Emily come on this expedition? Perhaps it hadn’t been Fitzgibbon after all.
“Yer lordship. Miss.” The giant moved uneasily. “I only got the one chair.”
It was a poor room, Richard acknowledged. There was an iron bed that scarcely looked as if it would support the man’s weight, a ri
ckety table with one straight chair, and a broken down wardrobe which presumably held all his possessions. He gestured Emily to the chair. “You know why we are here?”
“Daniel said someone’s after you. Asked me to put my ear to the ground, see what I could find out.”
Richard nodded. “And were you able to find out anything?”
“Oh. Like I tol’ Daniel, a couple of coves ha’ been talkin’ about a job they got, and the money comin’ to ’em when it’s done.”
“A job?”
The Bruiser grinned, but the effect was far from humorous. “That’s what they call it. When they’re out to do harm.”
“And what made you believe this had any connection to me?” Richard wondered.
The fighter looked confused.
“Was my name mentioned?”
“Oh. No names, yer lordship. They’re not as stupid as that.”
“Then why do you think they meant me?”
“They bragged as how it was a swell they were to do.”
That was probably unusual, but it was a slender connection. “I don’t suppose they let on who hired them.”
The Bruiser shook his head.
“No, they wouldn’t be that careless,” said Richard.
“Afeard some other cove would take the job from ’em,” the fighter elucidated.
“Like you, perhaps?” Richard was a bit impatient.
The fighter shook his head slowly. “I don’t do none of that,” he stated firmly.
Emily leaned forward. She didn’t look the least bit intimidated, Richard saw. “What is your name?” she asked.
All three men stared at her.
“Your mother didn’t call you Bruiser,” she added, with a smile that softened the question.
The huge man ducked his head. He was flushing, Richard noticed incredulously. “No, miss. She called me Jerry. Jerry Jenkins is my name.”
Emily nodded, still smiling.
Her smile encouraged the man to further confidences. “But it don’t sound well, for a fighter, you see. Jerry Jenkins. It’s too…lighthearted, like, for the ring. So I started callin’ meself the Bruiser.” He cocked his great fists and scowled.
“Very effective,” pronounced Emily, earning another grin.
The fighter turned back to Richard. “You a member of the Fancy, my lord? Look like you’d strip right well.”
