My Fallen Angel

by Pamela Britton

  Lucy smiled, growing even more nervous under the eyes of the bar’s patrons. Beth shifted alongside of her.

  When they didn’t move, another voice boomed out, “Bet I could make ‘er come.”

  The place erupted into laughter.

  “Dickon, that dog’a yours don’t even come. Maybe ya should keep practicin’ on it afore ya move on ta something with two legs.”

  There were loud guffaws at this, some of the patrons even slapping the table with their big, callused hands. Lucy stared at the crowd, her face turning ten shades of crimson. She just knew they were being lewd. She gritted her teeth.Think of Garrick. Think of a big smile on his face. Think of approval.

  She clutched the scratchy wool of her cloak, lifting up her gown as she picked her way around scattered debris, scuffed boots, and overturned chairs.

  A burly man stood behind the counter washingtankards. Lucy headed straight for him, ignoring the sudden thought that he looked as if he could rip her arm off and beat her over the head with it.

  Still, she was unable to stop her nervousness from increasing enough so that her voice was a dry croak when she asked, “Are you the owner of this fine establishment?”

  He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at her through narrowed eyes as he meticulously washed the mugs with a filthy rag. Lucy glanced at Beth, who had shrunk so far back into her cloak, she looked like a monk on his way to a confessional. She turned back to the brute.

  “I am, ahh … I am looking for a man named Jolly. Perhaps you could direct me to him?”

  “Never ‘eard of ‘im.”

  At least he had answered her, Lucy thought. It was a start. She swallowed and tried again.“If you could direct me to the owner, perhaps he can help me?”

  “What’s a pretty lass such as you want with a blighter like Jolly?”

  The voice came from behind her. Lucy whirled to face a table surrounded by four men. She wasn’t sure which man had spoken, so her gaze encompassed them all.“I, ahh … I have something for him.”

  One of the men sat up straighter.“Aye, and what be that?”

  Lucy stared down at the pockmarked and dark-haired man who had the mahogany skin tone of a sailor.“What I have is for Jolly’s eyes only. However, if you know where we can find the man, it would be worth your while to tell me.”

  “’Ow worth my while?”

  Lucy reached under her cloak and pulled a gold coin from her reticule. She threw it onto the table where it rolled to a stop against the pewter mug with a tink.

  The man glanced at his companions, who eyed the piece covetously, then hastily reached out and scooped it up.“’E’s upstairs.”

  Lucy caught her breath.“Goodness, upstairs?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where?”

  “Fourth room on the left.”

  Lucy nodded excitedly.“Thank you, sir.” She grabbed Beth’s arm and headed toward the stairs, oblivious to the loud laughter erupting in their wake.

  Lucy stared at the battle-scarred oak door that was midway down the dark and narrow corridor, her brow furrowed in confusion as she listened to the sounds on the other side of the door.

  “What do you think it is?” Beth asked for about the thousandth time.

  They both listened to the rhythmic groans, lips pursed.“I’ve no idea,” Lucy murmured.“It almost sounds as if he’s hurt.”

  Beth leaned forward, but Lucy went so far as to place her ear against the door. When she pulled back, one eyebrow was quirked up in question.“Perhaps Mr. Jolly is suffering from indigestion?” she conjectured.

  Beth shrugged and Lucy leaned forward again, her eyes opening wide when she heard the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of something banging against a wall.

  “Good heavens,” Beth murmured, “he must be in need of help.”

  Lucy straightened, her expression almost panicked.“We have to go in there, Beth. We can’t have Mr. Jolly die before we have time to question him.”

  She tried the handle, pushed on it with all her might, only to realize it was locked. Next she pushed on the door, then pounded on it in frustration when it wouldn’t budge. She turned to Beth, growing more and more upset when the moans began to get louder.

  “Step back,” she said, an idea suddenly coming to mind.

  “Why?” Beth’s brow was furrowed in puzzlement.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Oh no,” Beth groaned.

  “Move.”

  “But, Lucy—”

  “Please, Beth. There’s no time to argue.”

  Reluctantly, Beth did as asked. Lucy retreated, then eyed the door to Jolly’s room with the grim determination of a knight storming a castle. Taking a deep breath, she charged.

  The air whooshed out of her lungs like air up a chimney.

  “Lucy!” Beth wailed as Lucy slowly sank to the ground. Her back slid against the door, splinters catching her dress.“You fool! I could have told you the door was too solid for such a stunt.”

  “Supposed to work,” Lucy gasped.“Works in books.”

  “Ooooh,” Beth huffed.“You and those books. I’m going to burn them all by the time—”

  Click.

  Both of them stiffened.

  Lucy looked up.

  Beth stepped back.

  “Good heavens,” she cried a moment later, her eyes widening as she gawked at the man standing before them. She looked away, moaning, “Lucy, he’s … he’s naked. And he’s got a pistol.”

  Lucy stared, transfixed, at the man’s midsection.“Beth,” she said slowly, “that is not a pistol.”

  9

  Garrick listened to the sounds that came from the other side of the wall with half an ear. Thank God Jolly was done, for there was no way he could have taken much more of those all-too-familiar moans. Every minute had been sheer torture. Images of Lucy kept entering his mind. Lucy lying underneath him, her red hair fanned out around her, her face filled with longing as she gazed up at him. He would tease her mercifully, bring her to a fevered pitch, and she would arch her head back and say …

  “Let go of me, you pig!”

  Garrick snapped back to the present.

  “Beth, kick him!”

  He shot up out of his chair. It couldn’t be, he thought. Disbelief surged through him.

  “Kick him between the legs!”

  It was.

  Lucy.

  He charged toward the door, rage filling him, rage at one little mite of a titian-haired wildcat. All of his earlierfantasies were forgotten. They wafted away like so much fog under the heat of a blazing sun.How dare she! he thought. How dare she follow him again. What an absolutely foolhardy thing to do. He jerked the door open.

  Jolly’s room was in chaos. Even so, the sight that greeted him was one he would never forget. He stood there, his mouth gaping open, eyes disbelieving.

  Lucy was perched atop Jolly’s back, pummeling him with a fist, her petticoat-clad legs clasped around his bare waist. Jolly careened from side to side, naked as the day he was born. An outraged woman whom Garrick assumed was Beth kicked him with one ivory-clad, slippered foot, a pained expression on her face as she tried not to stare at his jiggling private parts. Jolly’s mistress bounced up and down on the bed, her gigantic breasts swinging to and fro, her hands clenched to her rouged cheeks in agitation. When she saw Garrick, she screamed.

  Garrick blinked and was suddenly, unaccountably, and thoroughly filled with hysterical laughter. He shook his head, trying not to let it escape, having to bite his lip to do so. “Stop caterwauling,” he sputtered.

  The mistress kept right on screaming and so he pulled a pistol from his belt and waved it in her direction; her scream died into a strangled gasp.

  Lucy froze; her head snapped up.

  Beth whirled, then yelped in fright when she spied the weapon.

  Jolly was the only one who reacted with anything approaching logic.“Get the bloody bitch off o’ me,” he roared.

  Garrick looked at Lucy, who immediately r
eleased her stranglehold around Jolly’s neck and slowly slid to the floor, her expression filled with dismay and surprise.

  “Garrick,” she panted, “how, ahh, nice to see you.”

  Beth’s eyes widened.

  Garrick pasted what he hoped was a ferocious expression on his face, all the while fighting the laughter that threatened to erupt. The look must have worked, for Lucy took a hasty step back. He glanced at Jolly, still standing there, the paunch of his over-large belly hanging over his too-narrow hips. Lucy, the little hoyden, peeked glances at his rear.

  “Stop staring,” he snapped, some of his amusement fading.“Both of you come here.”

  Beth lost no time in complying, but Lucy dragged her feet as if she were a child as she headed toward the corner of the room. She looked up at him, her expression sheepish.“Garrick I—”

  “Don’t,” Garrick interrupted, “say a word.”

  Lucy swallowed audibly, then nodded.

  Jolly continued to stand, his mistress staring in silence, a maroon-colored spread pulled up to her breasts.

  “If it’s all the same with you morts, I’d like ta pull on me breeches,” Jolly said.“They’re o’er by the chair.” He pointed toward the comer of the room, then started shuffling in that direction.

  “Don’t move.” Somehow, Garrick managed to keep his face straight as he looked at Lucy.“Hand him his breeches, Lucy. And keep your eyes off him.”

  Lucy blushed, then nodded. She was about to hand Jolly his trousers when Garrick stopped her by saying, “Check his pockets first.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened, but she did as told. Her fingers searched first one pocket, then the other. She gasped when she pulled out a small pistol, palming it in a knowledgeable fashion. When she pulled the hammer back to see if it was loaded and primed, Garrick’s eyebrows rose.

  “It’s loaded,” she said in a small voice.

  Garrick shook his head at Jolly.“Is that the only weapon?”

  “Aye,” he croaked.

  Lucy squeezed the legs of the breeches and confirmed his words with a nod.

  “Hand them back to him.” He turned back to Jolly.“Get dressed.”

  Jolly pulled on his breeches with a hasty wiggle. When he was done, he and Garrick stared at each other, Jolly with fear, Garrick as if he were staring at a rodent.

  “W-what’da ya wants?” Jolly stammered.

  “Some questions answered.”

  Jolly seemed to pale.“What’da ya wants ta know?”

  “Everything.”

  “Ever’thin’?” Jolly gulped. Then he tilted his head, scratched his scalp, a look of confusion crossing his pug-dog face.“Ever’thin’ ‘bout whats?”

  “Tom.”

  Jolly licked his lips; his left eye began to tick.“Tom?” he croaked.“Tom who?”

  Garrick took a threatening step toward him; Lucy and Beth stuck to his backside like barnacles on a ship.“Quit repeating my words, Jolly. I know of your part in blackmailing the Countess of Selborne, so there’s no need to play games. I also know you possess proof that Tom is really the son of the Earl of Selborne. I want that proof now.”

  “Yes, now,” Lucy chimed in.

  Garrick frowned down at her, but she ignored him.

  “Don’t know what yer talkin’s about,” Jolly stuttered.

  “Liar,” Lucy called.

  “Lucy,” Garrick warned. He turned to Jolly with an arrogant stare.“Liar,” he pronounced.

  Jolly, shifted; sweat beaded on his forehead.

  Garrick slowly raised the pistol toward Jolly’s head, drawing the hammer back with a fiendish grin.“Very well, if you won’t tell me what I want to know, I’ve no choice but to kill you.”

  Someone gasped, Garrick guessed Beth. Jolly’s mistress emitted a small squeak, and Jolly himself seemed to pale all the way down to his toes. He lowered his arms out in front of him in a gesture of self-defense.“I already told the gent what I knows,” he whined.“I don’t know no more’n that. So ya ken go aheads and shoot me. Rather that than a beatin’ like last times. And I ain’t told no one nothin’, just likes I promised and if that ain’t good enough fer ya, than so be its.”

  Garrick’s brow furrowed.“What gent?”

  Jolly looked confused again.“The gent what was here a month ago.” When Garrick said nothing, Jolly said with a quaver, “Ya are from the countess, ain’t ya?”

  “No.”

  Jolly looked panicked.“I, well, I—”

  Striding forward, Garrick placed a hand around Jolly’s throat; Lucy and Beth hung back.

  “The countess sent men asking questions?”

  “Yes,” Jolly gasped out.

  “What did you tell them?”

  Silence.

  “What did you tell them?” Garrick shook him a little.

  “I didn’t tell them nothin.’”

  Garrick had had enough. He aimed the pistol at the ground.

  CRA-AACK!

  “Argh!” Jolly bellowed.“Argh. Argh. Arrrrgh. Me toe! Me bleeding toe.” He hopped up and down, clutching his injured foot.“’E shot me in the bleedin’ toe.”

  “So I did,” Garrick announced.

  “You bastard. Ah, me toe. Me bleeding toe. I think it’s gone!”

  Garrick glanced down.“It’s still there.”

  Jolly didn’t look reassured. He peeked down, his expression clearing a bit when he realized the digit was, indeed, still attached.“So ‘tis,” he murmured.

  Garrick took another threatening step.“Now. What did you tell the countess’s man?”

  It was clear Jolly was torn between spilling his guts and taking a chance Garrick wouldn’t shoot him. Again. Fear won out.“I told ‘im I didn’t have no ev’dence.” Slowly, gingerly, he set his foot down, wincing.“Semus was the one what ‘as proof.”

  “Semus?” Garrick asked.“Semus who.”

  “Semus is the man originally hired to kill Tom,” Lucy said in a small voice.“The man who never went through with the deed. According to Tom, he was killed by footpads last year.‘Tis how Jolly became Tom’s guardian.”

  Garrick’s gaze flew back to Jolly.

  “The chit’s right,” Jolly agreed.“But he ain’t dead. He only wanted everyone ta thinks so.”

  “But why?” Lucy asked.

  Jolly shifted on his feet, wincing in pain.“’Cause, I tol’ ‘im I was goin’ ta blackmail the countess.”

  Lucy appeared as confused as Garrick felt.“But hadn’t you already been blackmailing the countess?”

  Jolly looked up at Garrick.“Don’t she never shut up?”

  Garrick waved the gun.“Just answer the question.”

  Jolly frowned.“I didn’t know about Tom bein’ the countess’s relation until last year. Semus don’t hold his tongue so well when he’s drinkin’. Seems me brother’s loose lips were finally going to prove profitable for me.”

  Lucy gasped.

  “I knew he’d once worked with the countess. When I found Tom weren’t really ‘is son, I saw th’mmediate possibilities. Semus’d be a rich man by now if’n ‘e’d followed my advice.”

  “Where is Semus?” Garrick asked, trying to conceal his excitement.

  Jolly looked up at them, his expression resigned.“Spain. He went ta Madrid.”

  10

  “Spain,” Lucy’s aunt cried an hour later, her hands clutching at her gray dress. “We can’t go to Spain.”

  Sunshine poured into the sitting room, the light refracting through the window to illuminate Aunt Cornelia’s aging features as she sat in a high-backed chair.

  “We have to, my lady,” Garrick’s deep voice rumbled. “We’ve no choice in the matter. If the countess has henchmen watching Jolly, they now know of our presence. Time is of the essence and, unfortunately, I can’t leave you or Lucy behind.”

  Lucy absently traced an invisible pattern on her leg, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for her aunt’s reply.

  “You think they might come after us?” Aunt Cornelia final
ly asked.

  “’Tis possible.”

  “Can we go into hiding?”

  “You could,” he said with an edge of frustration, “but I cannot stay behind to protect you and Tom.”

  Oh, Auntie, Lucy thought, let us go. Let us go.

  “We could hire someone to protect us.”

  “I feel obligated to do the job myself. Besides, I believe you will be safer on a ship.”

  “You don’t know my niece, my lord.”

  “No, but I do know ships.”

  Lucy winced, still not wanting to look up. If she did, she feared her aunt might see how very much she wanted this.

  Her aunt was silent for a long moment. “’Twill be expensive.”

  “The expense will be covered by the duke, who has given me unlimited funds where the boy is concerned.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. Please, God, she prayed. Please.

  “Very well,” her aunt said.

  Lucy almost jumped up. They were going. Hallelujah. She would have Garrick all to herself for weeks and weeks and weeks. Finally, she dared to glance at the object of her fantasies.

  He glared.

  Her heart fell to her toes, just dropped out of her chest and splattered at his feet.

  “My lady, if I might ask for one more thing?”

  He hated her. She could see it in the way his eyes tried to freeze her heart.

  “What is it, my lord?”

  “If I might have a word with your niece.”

  Lucy’s gaze jerked up. Hope fluttered in her chest.

  “Why?” Cornelia asked, suspicion hovering in her blue eyes.

  “I have words I wish to exchange with her. Private words.”

  She held her breath.

  “What words?”

  Lucy didn’t move. He loved her.Please, please, please say you love me.

  “I wish to explain to her the pitfalls of dressing like a harlot and acting like a hoyden.”

  The breath gushed out of her.

  “Ah. I see. I wish you luck, my lord.”

  Her aunt rose and left the room, and Lucy met Garrick’s gaze bravely. Any hope that her plan might have impressed him a teeny-weeny bit fizzled in her breast when she saw the look in his eyes.