by Stella Riley
‘Bloody buggering ’ell,’ swore Buxton softly.
Eden’s throat closed and he merely nodded. Then, swallowing, he said quietly, ‘They’re terrified and we’ll just frighten them more. Get some of our women … Jenny or --’
He stopped abruptly and looked down as something he hadn’t previously seen stirred near his foot. It was another child. A little boy, probably about six years old, with matted blond curls and huge eyes. But what froze Eden to the marrow was the fact that, despite those eyes being awash with terror, the child’s mouth was curled in a desperate smile as a pair of small arms wrapped themselves around his boot.
Eden suddenly wanted to vomit. If he permitted himself to contemplate the role of these children in a cess-pit like this, he would vomit. It took all his self-control to remain perfectly still whilst repeating his order to Buxton. Then, when the trooper’s presence behind him had been replaced with that of his Major, he said with soft implacability, ‘I’ll have this place closed down and see Northcote and Quinn in hell. Go and hurry those women up here.’
Equally sick, Ned nodded and disappeared.
Very slowly, as he would to a frightened animal, Eden bent and extended one hand to where the child could reach it if he chose. He said, ‘It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.’
The little fingers clutched his boot even more tightly and that terrible, caricature of a smile wavered.
His eyes stinging and pure agony excoriating his throat, Eden tried again.
‘Don’t be frightened. I’m here to help. I promise.’
Across in the corner, one of the girls came uncertainly to her feet. Her voice frail and far older than her years, she said dully, ‘Help? Nobody helps. Nobody ever has.’
‘They will now,’ replied Eden unevenly. ‘By God, they will now.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
TWELVE
Leaving four of the women and one of Sergeant Trotter’s troopers to coax the terrified children out of the attic and take them to safety, Eden gained the street where the rest of his little army were anxiously waiting. He forced what he’d seen inside to the furthest corner of his mind. There would be time enough to clean out that particular rat’s nest later. Right now, his priority was Lydia … and he knew of only one other place where he might find her.
The possibility that he might not find her – or not find her in time – was beginning to impair his ability to think clearly. He tried to work out how long it had been since she’d been taken. A little over two hours, he thought, though it felt longer. But everything that had happened since then had happened very quickly so … two hours; at worst, two and a half.
Competently handing him a loaded pistol along with a small bag of additional powder and shot, Tobias said succinctly, ‘Anything?’
Eden shook his head and met his brother’s unusually austere gaze.
‘No. No sign of either Quinn or Lydia. It just … wasted time.’
‘You don’t believe that. Ned told me what you found inside. But for now, we’re all awaiting your orders.’
‘Northcote’s house.’ Eden hesitated and then added tonelessly, ‘If she’s not there … Toby, I don’t know where else to look.’
‘There isn’t anywhere else,’ came the bracing reply. ‘She’ll be there and this time I’m coming with you. So let’s get moving. You can hand out your instructions along the way.’
By the time Colonel Maxwell and his troop reached Temple Bar, he had formulated and outlined a plan. In order to create a diversion that would draw the attention of both neighbours and occupants to the front of Northcote’s house, Eden simply asked them to start a riot.
‘You’ve all seen a mob at work. Be angry and threatening. Throw stones at the windows, hurl insults at Northcote himself … and one of you women can scream that he’s snatched your sister or your daughter for his evil brothel. Make it as noisy as you can and don’t hold back with the accusations and curses. If someone opens the door, push forward as far as the steps and set up a shout for Northcote to come out and show himself. Trooper Hayes … regard yourself as acting-sergeant for the evening and take charge out here.’
‘Gawd! Thank you, Colonel. Honoured, sir.’ Dan saluted. ‘Come on, folks – better start gathering missiles. Don’t want to turn up empty-handed, do we?’
Leaving them to it, Eden turned to Sergeant Trotter.
‘Rob … you and your men stay on the fringes as if you’re waiting for reinforcements – which is what you’ll say if anyone asks why you’re not doing anything.’
‘You mean we can’t join in?’ asked the Sergeant regretfully.
‘And while all this is going on?’ asked Tobias, as they continued their way down the Strand, ‘what will you be doing?’
‘We,’ corrected Eden. ‘You and I, along with Ned, Nick, Peter and Trooper Buxton – will be breaking into the house from the back.’
‘And me,’ snapped Aubrey. ‘I’m coming as well.’
‘No. You’re going to stay here and back up Sergeant Trotter if any Militia turn up with questions. If they do, insist on them entering the house. No one in their right mind is going to shoot a Militiaman.’
‘But --’
‘No!’ said Eden, long past being tactful. ‘There won’t be any time to stand about dithering – so I’m taking the five men I can best rely on.’ Slowing his pace, he called softly, ‘We’re nearly there. Those coming with me turn off towards the river now. The rest of you … start surging and grumbling. And be careful.’
* * *
Inside Northcote’s house, Lydia had talked, persuaded and cajoled herself to a standstill. None of it had done any good. His lordship not only wanted to know the location of Stephen’s papers … he also refused to believe that she didn’t know what was in them. In between long enervating silences under that empty dark gaze, his questions veered back and forth between the two and, between fatigue and fright, Lydia knew that sooner or later she was going to make a bad mistake. The only thing that surprised her was that so far he hadn’t laid a hand on her – or, more likely, summoned one of his minions to do so.
For what seemed like the hundredth time, he asked her what – aside from his mother’s letters – was contained in her late husband’s papers; and for the hundredth time she replied wearily, ‘Nothing that I saw. There were pages and pages and I’d neither the time nor the inclination to read it all – nor even to see what else might be there apart from the letters. Why won’t you believe me?’
‘Because I am not a credulous man – and you, Madam, are not a stupid woman. When you found something that you had repeatedly been asked to produce, you knew it contained information that someone wanted very badly. You would have been determined to find out what that information was. And even if, by some stretch of the imagination, you were not – your new husband undoubtedly would have been.’ He allowed a glacial silence to touch the edges of the room and then said, ‘I will ask one last time. What have you learned about me?’
I know you’re a misbegotten cur who makes his money out of prostitution and blackmail. But if I admit to knowing anything at all, you’ll guess that Eden and I both know everything. And after you’ve killed me, you’ll go after him. I can’t let that happen.
‘Nothing! Truly – I swear it. Nothing.’
Without a word he stood up and rang the small bell that stood beside him on the table.
Instantly, the door opened to admit one of the men who had hauled her out of the Black Dog.
‘Yes, milord?’
‘The lady proves uncooperative, Herbert. I believe I will permit you to exercise your talents.’
Herbert grinned and his fingers strayed to the knife at his belt. ‘Thank you, milord.’
All the air promptly evaporated from Lydia’s lungs and she was suddenly very cold.
‘No blades,’ said Northcote negligently. ‘Not just yet. Something a little more … inventive, I think.’
‘Hot irons, sir?’ suggested Herbert hopefully.
‘Mm.
Perhaps. But she is so stubborn, I believe it might be entertaining to try something a little more lingering.’
‘Lingering, milord?’
‘Yes. Put your imagination to work, Herbert. Surprise me.’ He looked Lydia over in a considering manner and then resumed his seat. ‘I’m curious to discover how deep her obstinacy goes. See to it.’
The man bobbed a bow and went out.
Lydia stared at Northcote, trying not to show her panic. She’d known that eventually they’d resort to violence but she’d expected a few blows; something she’d been fairly confident she could withstand. But this? Mention of knives, hot irons and something lingering had sent her heart ricocheting around her chest like a wild thing.
She said raggedly, ‘You d-don’t need to hurt me. I’ve promised to give you what you want. You can have it first thing in the morning if --’
‘Enough. You have exceeded my patience. The next time you speak, it had better be to say something I want to hear.’
Lydia pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say anything stupid. So that she wouldn’t shame herself by pleading with a man who hadn’t a scrap of humanity in him.
The door opened again and Herbert plodded in. He wasn’t bearing any of the implements of torture that Lydia’s imagination had conjured up in unpleasant detail. He was carrying … a bucket.
A bucket? she thought incredulously. And still uncomprehendingly as what appeared to be water sloshed over the side, What can he do with that - unless it isn’t just water. Or – or there’s something else in it.
‘Think you might like this one, sir,’ Herbert said cheerfully, setting down the bucket. ‘Beauty of it is, we can make it last as long as you want. There’s two ways of doing it, of course – and if it was a man, I’d go for t’other. But her being such a slip of a thing, I reckon this’n should do.’ He hesitated. ‘Maybe I should just roll the rug back? Don’t want it getting wet, do we, sir?’
‘Since it is a century-old Bokhara, we most assuredly do not.’
Lydia felt a bubble of hysterical rising in her throat.
Oh yes. By all means, protect the damned rug. It would be dreadful if I threw up over it. And with an involuntary shudder of apprehension, Eden … where are you? If you’re coming, now would be a good time. I don’t know what they’re going to do. If I did, it might be easier. But right now I’m really quite … afraid.
The carpet was rolled away to the side of the room and the bucket ceremoniously placed in the space mid-way between the Viscount and the chair on which Lydia sat.
‘Shall I begin, milord?’ asked Herbert.
Northcote yawned. ‘I am all anticipation.’
‘Milord?’
‘Just get on with it. Today, if possible.’
Herbert nodded, walked over to Lydia and hauled her to her feet, pinning her arms behind her in the same move. He shoved her towards the innocent-looking bucket and forced her down on her knees.
She looked into the contents of the bucket. Water. It was just … water.
Then, before she had time to grasp his intent, Herbert grabbed the base of her skull and bore her head down into the cold depths.
Shock caused an indrawn breath. Water invaded her nose, her mouth, her lungs; she choked, making everything very much worse. Unable to breathe or see or rid herself of the incoming tide, she struggled wildly but unavailingly against the iron grip that held her down. More choking … pain in her chest and in her head … a feeling of fading. Darkness.
Herbert hauled her up, brought her round with a hard thump between her shoulder-blades and released her hands. Lydia bent double, coughing, wheezing and regurgitating water from her nose and mouth. Desperate for air, she tried to breathe – but too soon and only brought on another fit of coughing to expel yet more water. Her head felt too large and her throat and chest hurt. People said drowning was peaceful. It wasn’t. It was terrifying and it hurt. More cautiously this time, she drew in gasps of blessed air; and was just beginning to breathe again when Herbert resumed his grasp and plunged her back into the bucket.
* * *
Northcote’s house was one of handful of narrow dwellings situated between Arundel House and the Savoy Palace which backed on to the river. Eden and his companions were therefore able to gain the rear of the property without undue difficulty – only to immediately find themselves facing four hulking brutes armed with what Eden was coming to recognise as the usual assortment of knives and cudgels.
Dodging a blow to his head, Eden snapped, ‘No firing – just put them down fast.’ After which everything happened at once.
One of the bruisers laughed. He stopped laughing when Tobias kicked him in the knee, wrenched the billet from his grasp and brought it down on the back of his skull. Ned dealt with his opponent with almost lazy precision, dropping him with a sword-thrust to the thigh before knocking him out. Nicholas struggled with a fellow nearly twice his size until Jem Buxton tripped him with a length of pipe and he went down with the two of them on top of him. Eden, meanwhile – having taken a hefty buffet to his shoulder and no longer caring for anything except getting to Lydia as fast as possible – didn’t trouble to disarm the man trying to dash his brains out. He simply ran him through the throat. Ned cast him a sharp glance and Tobias muttered a startled curse under his breath.
Peter, meanwhile, had slithered past the fight in favour of seeking a way into the house. When Eden arrived beside him, he said, ‘Window unlatched here, Colonel. If one of us got through, they could open what looks like the scullery door. I’d do it myself except I think I’d get stuck.’
With the exception of Trooper Buxton, everyone clustered about Eden to eye the window in question. It was a little above even Peter’s reach and far too small, they all agreed, to admit any of them with the possible exception of Nicholas – for whom pulling himself through with only one arm was going to be difficult.
‘What do you think, Nick?’ asked Eden dubiously. ‘It’s tricky but --’
‘Colonel?’ came a whisper from a few feet away.
‘-- if Toby and Peter boost you up, you might be able --’
‘Colonel!’
Eden spun round with an impatient, ‘What?’ on his tongue and then stopped dead.
Standing in front of the open door, picklocks dangling from one hand, Buxton said modestly, ‘Thought this might be easier, sir.’
Tobias gave a snort of laughter.
‘Christ, Jem,’ muttered Eden, dropping a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘You brought a set of picklocks to my wedding?’
‘Habit, sir.’ Buxton gave a bashful shrug. ‘Never know when they’ll come in handy.’
‘So it seems. Right, gentlemen – here we go.’
They were all only too aware of their limited knowledge. They might be facing two men or twenty, armed either as those in the garden had been or with loaded pistols. And they didn’t know the lay-out of the house or the particular room they needed to find. All they could be grateful for as yet was that they’d got inside apparently undetected and that the only occupant of the kitchen was a sleepy scullery-maid.
She gave a squeal but fell silent when an extremely large young man gave her a beautiful smile and said, ‘Now, darling. If I lock you in the larder, there’s no saying how long it would be before someone came to let you out. So why don’t you stay quietly by the fire and forget you ever saw us?’
Bemused and faintly dazzled, the maid nodded and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.
‘For God’s sake, Toby,’ muttered Eden, as he led the way out of the room. ‘What is it with you?’
Tobias grinned and shrugged. ‘Why use rope when a bit of charm can serve just as well?’
They gained the main floor of the house without incident but as they reached the hall they could hear the tell-tale sounds of an angry crowd outside. Something heavy thudded against the front door, followed by the sound of breaking glass. A thick-set fellow rushed out from an adjoining room and stopped dead when he clapped eyes on the in
vaders. He opened his mouth to shout but changed his mind when both Eden and Ned levelled their pistols at him.
‘How many bruisers in the house?’ demanded Eden softly. ‘Quickly, now. Including yourself, how many?’
‘Four. And four others out the back.’
‘Not any more,’ came the silky reply. ‘Those inside … where are they?’
‘Two on the second-floor landing and another in with the boss.’
‘And that’s all?’
The man kept his attention fixed warily on the pistols.
‘Far as I know. He – Sir sent all the servants off for the night.’
‘No prizes for guessing why,’ remarked Eden grimly. Then, ‘Peter, Buxton … tie him up, gag him and get him out of sight. Knock him out, if you have to – then open the front door and let Dan and a few of the others in to keep watch down here, so you can follow the rest of us upstairs.’
They reached the first floor and were about to continue up when Tobias dropped a hand on his brother’s arm and said, ‘Wait. Listen.’
From above them, they heard booted feet clattering along the landing. Someone hammered on a closed door, presumably burst through it and shouted, ‘Sir – look outside! There’s a bloody riot, right up to the steps. They’re throwing mud and bricks and God knows what besides. One of the windows has been broke already and – and they’re shouting things, sir. Th-things about you. What d’you want done about it?’
There was a moment of silence, before a low-pitched voice said something they couldn’t hear. Then the guard said unhappily, ‘Well, we can try. But there’s an awful lot of ’em, sir. I’ll fetch the men from the garden but I still don’t rightly see as how wiv just them and Barker downstairs we’re going to --’
His words were cut off by that maddeningly indistinct low-pitched voice. Then came the sound of a door closing and feet heading back towards the stairs.
‘They’re coming down. How very helpful of them,’ murmured Eden; and signalled Tobias and Ned to one side of the staircase while he and Nicholas took the other.
