by Lucy Wild
“My aunt and uncle are dead,” she said, bursting into tears.
“Come,” Georgia replied, looking past her at horses approaching from the distance. “We must make it back to the train before they catch us.”
Georgia turned her horse and together they rode along the trail, glancing back occasionally to see their pursuers close behind. “This way,” Georgia said, turning her horse towards a trail off to the right. “The first train stops at Levisham. I bought us both tickets just in case. If we are lucky it will still be there.”
The trail headed downhill towards the station in the valley and the horses had to slow to avoid stumbling on the rocky terrain. Looking behind her, Eleanor saw her pursuers grow nearer. They were an evil looking bunch, two of them brandishing pistols, two behind them grimacing as they urged their horses ever faster. One caught on the edge of a loose stone and stumbled, taking its rider down with it.
“Come on!” Georgia cried as a train whistle echoed at the station. “It will leave any moment.”
The trail flattened at the bottom of the valley and Georgia brought her horse to a halt beside the platform, leaping down with surprising haste and catching Eleanor as she almost fell from Galahad. They looked back and their pursuers were almost on them.
Georgia took Eleanor by the hand and they ran onto the station platform, pushing their way through the crowds, diving into the very last carriage just as the wheels began to turn. Looking out of the window, Eleanor could see the three remaining villains attempting to shove their way past the people on the platform. The crowds were too thick for them, the masses surging forwards as the train eased out of the station. The villains looked in each window as the carriages moved past and Eleanor ducked out of sight as they passed by. She did not breathe until they were out of the station and rattling steadily along the track.
Georgia laughed with relief as she sat up on the seat opposite a startled looking middle aged gentleman. “Running late for the train,” she explained. “Didn’t want to miss it.”
Chapter 10
William only saw Eleanor at all because he had decided to take the afternoon off work. Life at the club had only just got back to normal. It had taken weeks of hard work to fix the damage done by the Jones family. As for the Joneses themselves, they seemed to be lying low, only seen out first thing in the morning or late at night, presumably hoping the law would forget what they did to Julian.
Of Julian, there had been no sign. A funeral had been carried out at the church on top of the cliff, an empty coffin used to represent the dead as was the case with drowned sailors. The grieving staff of the club were given a chance to mourn but to William it all seemed a bit of a farce. They were supposed to gather round and pretend he was in there. Worst of all, everyone else seemed to manage it. Was he so cold and unemotional he was incapable of joining in with their grief? Or was it more a collective madness to mourn a man without even having proof of his death.
But if he was not drowned, he seemed to have no interest in returning and William thought he knew why that might be. Having taken over the running of the Jet Club, he had found its financial situation far more precarious than Julian had ever let on. Money had been dripping away for years by the looks of things and he had regular letters from creditors demanding payment. Unless they turned things around, there was a chance that the Duke of Ryedale would end up in debtors’ prison on his behalf.
He knew that he could return home and raise the funds to keep the club afloat but if he did so, there was a risk he would end up in gaol for a different reason, that of killing the Marquis in their duel. A duel that seemed to have taken place in a different life, it was almost impossible for him to picture himself in that clearing, the pistol in his hand, the Marquis scowling back at him.
Throwing himself into solving the club’s problems had been a far better solution than bailing it out with his personal fortune. It distracted him from thinking about the past, from thinking about Eleanor.
On the day he decided to take the afternoon off, the place was almost empty. The usual early regulars were absent and when William enquired of the girls why that might be, he was informed that was the day the first ever train into Whitby was due. It became apparent that his commitment to running the club had caused him to remain ignorant of the biggest news in the town for quite some time.
“What is so special about the arrival of a train?” he had asked.
“You should go and see for yourself,” Isabella said from her dressing table, a strange look on her face. “Take some time off before you drop dead of exhaustion.”
So it was that William found himself amongst the crowds gathered by the train station as the locomotive drew near, plumes of white smoke billowing behind it. The entire town seemed to be there to see it and William stood at the back of them all, enjoying the spectacle.
The platform was so filled with people it seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to disembark. Station staff shouted to little effect. At the entrance to the station a brass band had struck up, the sound of music competing with the hissing of the steam engine.
Something caught William’s eye at the edge of the platform and he glanced that way in time to see one of the Jones brothers with a distinct bulge in the pocket of his jacket. Was he carrying a gun? Another second and the crowd hid him from view again.
William watched closely as the crowds moved once more, revealing the man. He was intent on watching the train slowing to a halt, staring into the windows of each passing carriage. William approached him from behind, walking slowly, mingling with the crowd to remain unseen until he was almost on him. Just as the train stopped, he grabbed the man by the shoulders, spinning him round whilst reaching into his pocket. The ruffian had no time to react before his own pistol was digging into his ribs. “Who are you looking for?” William asked.
“None of your business,” the man replied.
“Brave talk for a man about to die.”
“You’d never shoot me. Not with all these people here.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. The last man I shot had people around him too.”
The ruffian looked into William’s eyes, his face dropping as he realised the Duke spoke the truth. “Please,” he stuttered. “I have a family.”
“I know all about your family. We are still sweeping up the mess. Now, who are you looking for?”
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“I do not know her name. I was only given a description and told to deal with her.”
“Who told you? Who are you working for?”
“I cannot tell.”
“Damn you, tell me.”
William glanced behind the Jones brother and froze. It was all the time the man needed to twist free and run, pushing his way through the crowds as William continued to stare at the train. It could not be. How was that possible?
As he remained glued to the spot, several men seemed to emerge from the crowds. It was more of the Jones family and they were all honing in on the last carriage, heading for the person he was staring at.
The sight of their movement brought him out of his reverie just in time. Shoving past the crowd, he moved forwards until he was able to grab the woman by the shoulder and pull her away from the train.
“What are you doing?” she asked, grasping his wrist. “Unhand me at once. William, is that you?”
He looked at her and nodded without stopping. “Good afternoon Eleanor. Come with me if you want to live.”
Chapter 11
When Eleanor saw William at the station, she could hardly believe her eyes. She had not thought of him once during the journey from Levisham, her attention taken up by the gentleman sat opposite her and Georgia.
He had introduced himself as Martin Goffham, before enquiring of their health as they sat recovering from their sprint for the train. “You look a trifle unwell,” he said. “Are you certain you should be travelling?”
“It is a little late to change our minds,” Geor
gia replied, glancing outside as the countryside rolled past the window. “We are quite well, I can assure you.”
“Even with those ruffians out for your blood?”
“What? What are you talking about? We were merely rushing for the train.” Georgia’s hand slid down to her pocket as Eleanor stiffened in her seat.
“The men on horseback, two of them with pistols. I saw them following you down the hillside. Do you owe them money?”
“Not at all. What on earth makes you think that?”
“Pursuits are almost all about money in my experience.”
“Well this one was not,” Eleanor snapped. “They meant to kill me.”
The man shrugged. “Ah well, they were obviously not up to the task.”
Georgia’s hand was in her pocket by that point and as Martin finished speaking, she brought out a wicked looking dagger and had it by his throat before he could say another word. “If you are in league with them,” she said quietly,” tell me now.”
“Would be a pity to stain these new seats with blood,” he replied, pulling back the blanket over his lap to reveal a pistol pointing back at Georgia.
She pulled the knife away slowly, watching him all the while. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Not someone you need fear,” he replied. “Whoever those men were, I am not working with them. In fact, I am currently not working at all.”
“What do you normally do?” Eleanor asked.
“Assist people,” he replied. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Why are you on this train? And why do you carry a gun?”
“I owe someone money and I owe someone money.”
Eleanor frowned before realising. “I see.”
“Perhaps we could help each other,” Georgia said. “You are in need of funds and we are in need of assistance.”
“Protect you from men like that? You look like you can protect yourselves with a blade like that.”
“Not against that many, I could not. How big is your debt?”
“Five pounds at the last tally.”
“We will pay you six to ensure our safety until we reach our destination.”
“You do not look like you have six pounds on your person.”
“I do not, but upon our arrival, you will have it.”
“A likely story.”
“Listen, you are travelling with us for the duration anyway. What do you have to lose?”
“Apart from my life?”
“Apart from that.”
Martin held out his hand. Georgia shook his but as she did so, he moved at lightning speed towards her, reaching into her pocket and drawing out the knife, sitting back down with it before she even realised what was happening.
“This is an impressive blade,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Where did you get it?”
“As a matter of fact,” Georgia replied, snatching it back off him, “it belongs to my friend here.”
“What?” Eleanor asked. “No it doesn’t.”
Georgia turned to face her. “It belonged to your mother. She wanted you to have it. Said it would protect you.”
“What? Why? How did you know my mother?”
“I worked for your parents before they died.”
“You knew my parents?”
“I knew you and your sister as well. You were quite the pair.”
“I do not remember my sister,” Eleanor said quietly.
“She remembers you though.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I was her governess. When you were born, she was sent away. I was not told why, just that I should assist her in travelling and then return. It was months later when I returned and you had grown so much, you were like a different child. I was barely back a week when your mother gave me that knife. She told me to look after it until I needed it. Only then was I to give it to you with her blessings and a warning.”
“A warning? What warning?” Eleanor’s mind was spinning at this revelation. Could it be true? Her head hurt as she trawled her memories, a flash of the woman’s face coming to her as from across a great distance. She had known her, a long time ago but it was there, a vestige of memory from a happier time.
“That knife is like a person. It can be used for good or evil. It is for you to decide its purpose as it is for you to decide your purpose in life. You can hate as you did in the woods when I found you, or you can forgive. No one else can make such decisions for you.”
“It is a fine weapon,” Martin said. “It will serve you well. That is, if we make it to Whitby alive.”
“What can you tell me about my sister?” Eleanor asked, slipping the knife into her pocket.
“She was such a serious girl. Rarely smiled but when she did, it lit up the room. Your parents doted on her. It tore them apart to send her away.”
“Why did they do it?”
“I do not know but I know they must have had no choice. They were still grieving for her when I returned. Not that they had long after that.”
She lapsed into silence and Eleanor did too before eventually asking, “What of my mother? What was she like.”
“She loved you very much. She spoke so proudly of your first word, of the first time you crawled. She spent far more time with you than most parents ever do. Your father grumbled, said it was not right. He said it was the job of a governess to raise a child but she refused to listen to him. Even after Miss Eyre was hired to look after you, she would sneak into the hallway outside the nursery and watch you with a beaming smile on her face. I miss her.”
“So do I,” Eleanor said, unable to ask any more questions. Her mind remained on her family as the train travelled onwards. Death seemed to follow her wherever she went. First her parents, now her aunt and uncle. Would she bring only misery to her sister as well? She fingered the handle of the knife in her pocket, praying Providence would be kind to her, that her sister would be alive when they arrived. For if she was dead, what was left to live for?
At each station, Eleanor tensed up, expecting villains to drag her from the train. Only when they were moving again was she able to relax but by the time they pulled into Whitby, she was a bundle of nerves. The knife weighed heavy in her pocket but she felt strangely comfortable having it by her side. It was, after all, a direct connection to the mother she had barely known.
She almost stabbed William before she realised it was him. They had just pulled into Whitby and she had barely stepped off the train before a hand grabbed her. She had hold of the knife in her pocket in under a second and was just bringing it out when she saw who it was looking down at her.
A tumult of emotion ran through her as he spoke to her for the first time since the duel. “Come with me if you want to live.”
Chapter 12
William led the way, his hand in his pocket, gun held ready. Behind him, Eleanor and Georgia stayed close together, looking around them for any sign of trouble. At the back, Martin had his own gun ready, just out of sight in his coat. The crowds thinned as soon as they were away from the train station which helped their movement but also made it easier for the Jones family to see them and begin to give chase.
Not for the first time, William was glad of the period he had spent exploring Whitby before finding work. He took them down one back alley after another, soon losing their pursuers in the labyrinth of tiny streets that seemed never ending.
Only when he was certain they were no longer being followed did he double back on himself and take them to the Jet Club, ushering them inside before closing the door firmly. “What are you doing here?” he asked Eleanor as she sank onto a chair beside the door.
“I might ask you the same question.”
“I could not remain at home after killing the Marquis.”
“What?”
“You told me you hated me for what I had done to him. How could I possibly remain after that?”
“You think you killed the Marquis? He is not dead.”
William staggered backw
ards. “He is not?”
“No, you blessed fool. He lives still as you would know if you had ever bothered to get in touch.”
“I felt certain I would be sent to gaol or the gallows if I showed my face again.”
“This is all well and good,” Georgia interrupted. “But we have more pressing concerns than you two catching up on your past. What do we do about those men who were chasing us?”
“That is a good point,” William replied.
“I have a better one,” Martin said. “I believe I am owed six pounds.”
“What? What for?” William asked, looking at him for the first time. “Who are you?”
“A man owed money.”
Eleanor stood up and turned to William. “We owe this fellow the sum in question.”
“You are in debt? What sort of noble are you?”
“She is the usual sort,” Martin replied. “Now am I to be paid or should I make a deal with your opposition?”
“You wouldn’t,” Eleanor said.
“I won’t have to if you pay up.”
“We can’t get to the money until we decide what to do.”
“That is too bad.”
William stepped between them, facing Martin. “I will pay you. Come with me.”
He led the way into the club, barely blinking at the sight of Lady Jet up on stage. The others were not so immune to the sight of rehearsals. There was a naked woman tied down to a table whilst being ravished by four men at once, a shocking sight for those not used to it.
“What is this place?” Eleanor asked, pulling up short and staring at Lady Jet as she uttered the most deplorable curses towards those standing around her.
“Welcome to the Jet Club,” William replied without stopping. He left them and entered the office, unlocking the safe and pulling out six precious pound notes. When he returned to the group they were still staring at Lady Jet as her act came to a climax at the same time as the men standing over her reached their own.
The table was lifted up and carried off the stage, Lady Jet still bound to it. “Here you are,” William said, passing the notes to Martin.
