by Tilda Booth
When Jane entered the kitchen, she found Cook and the sharp-tongued maid, Mary—the original Mary—sitting at the table, laughing together. Cook was enjoying the leftover trifle while Mary cleaned and sharpened a wicked-looking set of knives laid out on a cloth pad in front of her.
“Miss Jane,” said Cook. “Come to have a chat?”
“I was thinking that a nice cup of cocoa would be just the thing before bed.” In the pantry she pulled out a bottle of milk, taking down a pot and the tin of cocoa from a shelf.
Cook rose to her feet. “I’ll do that, Miss.”
“That’s all right. I can do it myself.”
“No, I insist.” Cook took the pot out of Jane’s hand. “I’ll send Mary up with it when it’s done. You run along and she’ll be up in a tick.” She winked at Mary, who giggled in a way that was completely at odds with the sight of her running a blade over the whetstone.
Jane frowned but saw no way to graciously insist. Instead, she left the kitchen and took the back stairs two at a time until she reached the second floor. Smoothing her skirts, she walked sedately to her room. Once there, she put her Derringer into her reticule, along with all the pound notes she had. She rifled through her vanity table, tossing items in her haste, until she found the tin of laudanum powder. With luck she would be able to convince the guard outside Wells’ door to drink the cocoa when it arrived.
While she was pondering how to approach the guard, Mary knocked on her door and entered with a china pot.
“Just put it over there, please,” said Jane.
Mary did as she was told and left, closing the door behind her. Jane dumped the powder into the cocoa and stirred it, taking care to dissolve it completely, then poured it into the accompanying cup. Peeking into the hallway, she suppressed a curse. Mary had not gone back downstairs, but was flirting with Jack instead.
Damn and blast. What to do? What to do? She retrieved her special sal volatile, the one that had put the Scotland Yard man to sleep so effectively outside of Wells’ house, and took a deep breath and screamed, “A mouse! A mouse!”
In a flash, Mary was at her door, barging in without even knocking.
Jane stepped behind the maid and waved the vial under Mary’s nose, causing her to collapse backward straight into Jane’s arms.
“Oh Lord, help! Jack, come quick. Mary’s fainted.”
When Jack came into the room, he rushed to Mary’s prostrate form. With a silent plea for forgiveness, Jane whacked him on the back of his head with the bedwarmer. It wasn’t enough to render him unconscious, but a strong whiff of the ether from her doctored sal volatile was enough to finish the job. She searched through his pockets until she found his keys, then left, careful to lock her door behind her. On cat feet, she ran down the hall, unlocked Wells’ door and opened it.
For the second time that night, Jane walked in on a man in a dressing gown, but on this occasion she had no time for embarrassment. “Get dressed, quickly,” she hissed.
Wells looked up from the book in his lap and stared at her in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”
She almost burst into nervous tears. “For God’s Sake, George, we have no time. Get dressed and come with me, if you want to live.”
Something in her voice must have made him understand that this was no trick, for he jumped up and grabbed his trousers, putting them on under his robe without even asking her to turn around. She looked behind her up and down the hall to make sure that no one was coming, and by the time she’d finished checking, he was already at her side, pulling on his shirt, jacket in one hand, feet stuffed haphazardly into his shoes.
She led him down the back stairs, to the entrance to the garden, but then she stopped, at a loss where to go next. There were guards all around the house, and she had no idea how she would get George past them.
George grabbed a raincoat off a peg by the door, a voluminous affair made to cover a much more massive man than him. He put it on, shrouding himself, then turned down the gaslight next to the door, leaving the entryway in darkness. “Now what?”
She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. Through the glass panel of the door she could see the shadowy outline of one of the guards, just yards from them, standing like a stone under one of the eaves, out of the rain. “I don’t know. Easton has men at all the exits.”
“Easton?”
“You know him as Mr. Smith.”
“Ah.” He pondered for a moment. “We’ll need a distraction.”
She nodded, hands clenched tight. “I’ll go to the front, call to the guards, and you can escape out the back.”
“What will they do to you when they realize that you’ve helped me escape?”
Images of Flewellyn as she’d last seen him, giving his wife a kiss before they’d all piled into the coach the night of the kidnapping, entered her head. “Nothing. I’ll be all right.”
“You’re lying.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he put his finger on her lips. “We’ll leave together. Where’s Easton? Perhaps we can use him as a hostage for our escape.”
“Too dangerous. Last I saw, he was sleeping in his study, three sheets to the wind. Overpowering him should be easy, but in his state he’ll be a liability.”
George cocked his head. “Inebriated, eh? Can we get to his study without being seen?”
“I think so. But we don’t have much time.”
Twice on the way to Easton’s study they’d had to hide to avoid being seen by servants or guards. The first time they’d ducked into a dark alcove, and George, pressed against her, had said, “I know you carry a pistol. Do you have any bullets? Two or three of them? Yes, that will do very well.”
When at last they slipped into Easton’s study, Wells had loosened the casings on the three bullets she’d given him.
His actions made no sense to her. “What are you going to do?”
Ignoring her, Wells stared at Robert Easton, still snoring in his armchair. “I think I know him. But from where?”
“We don’t have time for this.”
George shook himself and grinned at her. She felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach at that grin. “Right, I just need… Ah, here it is.” To her astonishment, he pulled out a silver teaspoon from his pocket and walked over to the large brass clock on the mantelpiece.
“Where did you get that?”
“Stole it the second night I was here. Easton was kind enough to point out that Mary only watches the knives.” He turned the clock around and quickly opened it using the spoon to loosen the screws. “One never knows when a spoon might come in handy. Have you got a pound note?”
Jane couldn’t quite see what he did with the note but after no more than two minutes he announced, “Done. We’d best get out of here and hide. We have…” he turned the hands of the clock to read 11:55, “…five minutes.”
They hurried back the way they came, waiting at the foot of the back stairs. They didn’t wait long. Just a couple of minutes after they reached their hiding place, a faint chime followed by a muffled boom and the sound of Robert Easton yelling in panic came to their ears.
Throwing open the back door, Jane called out, “Something’s happened in the study. Hurry, I think there’s trouble.”
The guard from the back came to life, running through the rain and into the house. He barely glanced at George, who looked like just another guard in his purloined rain slicker. “You stay here and watch the door.” The guard took off for the interior of the house.
As soon as the guard was out of sight, Jane and George ran out into the garden. They could see the other guard by the garden entrance drifting away from his post, trying to see what the commotion was at the front of the house. When his back was turned, the two of them slipped past, their sounds and movement masked by the fortuitous rain.
Chapter Five
“You’ll have to sh-show me that trick with the g-gunpowder and the c-clock.” Jane’s teeth were chattering so badly George could barely understan
d her. They were in a carriage, one of the older horse-drawn ones, heading towards Wells’ house. Jane was soaked through. Thanks to his stolen Mackintosh, George was dry, but he felt the chill without a proper coat. He slipped off the rain slicker and tried to put it around her shoulders, but she shrugged it off. “I th-think that w-would just k-keep the w-water in.”
George put a hand on her arm. The material of her blouse was drenched, and underneath he could feel shivers running through her clammy skin. “Take off your shirt.”
“I b-beg y-your p-pardon?”
“Don’t go all missish on me now. We’ve got to get you warm. I’ll give you my jacket but we must get you dry first.”
“N-no p-point in b-both of us g-getting pneumonia.”
“For just once, can you stop arguing and do as I say?” He reached toward her neck to unbutton her blouse, but she pushed his hands away and did it herself.
His fingers itched to help her as she attacked the tiny pearl buttons with fingers so frozen it took her an age to get them all undone. When he helped her remove the shirt, the sopping linen made a squelching sound as he peeled it off her skin. It was too wet to use as a towel, so he took off his own shirt and used it to mop her up before draping his jacket around her shoulders. The damp shirt was uncomfortable when he donned it again.
Jane still shivered. George put his arms around her and rubbed her until he could feel her body begin to relax.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It was the least I could do, since you engineered my escape.”
“I believe that fell under making amends for having kidnapped you in the first place.” As she bent her head, George saw a glint of water at the edge of her lashes, but he couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t come from the rain. He pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin, his hand still moving in short, fast strokes over her back to warm her.
“May I ask why you did so?”
Her hand crept up the front of his shirt as she nestled a little closer. “Easton was going to send a message to the Prime Minister with…” her voice faltered, “…with your hand.”
George grew even colder. “I see.”
“Oh, George, I’m so sorry.” Jane started to cry into his shoulder. “I’m crying. I don’t understand. I never cry,” she said between strangled sobs.
Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up. Her skin was blotchy, her eyes red, her hair a Medusa’s tangle, her mouth turned downward and pinched at the corners. He did what he’d been dying to do since that first night when she had berated and lectured him. He bent his head down and kissed her.
Her lips were soft and sweet. He pressed his mouth against hers and felt her sobs quiet. Her mouth was open and she was kissing him back, her hands flat against his chest. She made a noise, not a sob but more like a needy little whimper, and the sound of it made the heat rise in his body. His hands wandered underneath the jacket, brushing against the damp ribbons and steel of her corset, then higher, to the silky skin above it. When his fingers touched her shoulder blades, kneading the delicate muscles there, she gasped into his mouth and clutched at him.
The scent of her skin made him want to devour her.
Her hands went to his neck, her fingers curled in his hair. She shifted closer, and he reached under her knees, lifting her into his lap. She was a mass of sodden cloth and bustle. Only the weight of her legs pressing onto his hinted at her true form. He ached to push aside her dress and feel her skin against his. Before his fevered brain could make his hands act on that impulse, she giggled, low and sultry.
“Your mustache, it tickles.”
Jane’s words broke the spell. George nudged her off him and moved to the other side of the carriage. “I beg your pardon.” Never had those words sounded quite so inadequate.
She had a hand over her mouth, but her expression was decidedly impish. “Oh please don’t. There was nothing to apologize for in that performance.”
“Really, Jane, have you no sense of propriety whatsoever?”
“Very little when it comes to you, I’m beginning to discover.” She gave him a cheeky grin. George scowled at her but didn’t say anything. She added in a small voice, “I’m still rather chilled.”
Grudgingly, he moved back to sit next to her, making an impersonal band of his arms and putting them around her. She sighed. “I suppose I’m doomed to freeze to death, be it from rain or from your manner.”
He relented enough to lay the crook of his elbow across her back.
“You know, I believe that I’m the one who should be offended,” she reminded him.
In the dark, George flushed hot as he tried to maintain his dignity. “I’ve behaved inexcusably. Please accept my deepest apologies.”
“We both were carried away. Truly, if the events of tonight do not justify a little imprudence, I do not see what might.” Jane peeped up at him through her lashes. “If it makes you feel any better, I do not regret it even one iota, except that it seems to have caused you distress.”
“Your lack of regret only makes me feel worse.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I can see that all observations of civility must fall upon me, for you cannot be trusted to see to your own virtue.”
She straightened up. “Excuse me?”
If he hadn’t been so distraught, he might have paid more attention to the dangerous lilt in her voice.
“Well, it’s obvious you have no concept of proper behavior. Which really shouldn’t shock me. I can only assume no one has ever taught you how to behave like a proper lady.”
This time it was she who shoved him away and moved to sit on the other side of the carriage. “How dare you!”
Now her wrath was impossible for him to miss. “I didn’t mean to offend. I was merely saying that you obviously lack the benefit of a genteel upbringing.”
“Why you insufferable, judgmental, boorish—”
“And you, Jane, are the most incorrigible, wild hoyden I have ever had the misfortune—”
“You forget it was this hoyden who helped you escape.”
“From a kidnapping that you engineered.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Ah yes, that makes everything better.”
“Oh shut up.” Launching herself across the narrow space between them, Jane grabbed his face with both hands. “Just kiss me again.”
He couldn’t resist her. “Jane, you will be the death of me,” he managed before he put his arms around her and did as she asked.
A cough interrupted them. “’Ere, none o’ that. Are you gettin’ out?”
George broke the kiss. The carriage had stopped, the driver already on the ground and peering into the window from the outside.
The driver opened the door, and Jane looked out while George waited for her to exit in front of him. But instead of getting out, she ducked quickly back in and sat down, saying, “I’m afraid this is where we part company.” She held out her hand. “I’d say we must do this again, but I suspect neither of us would survive the experience.”
“What?” Still a bit dazed from their embrace earlier, the last thing he expected to hear was a matter-of-fact goodbye.
“You have guests. It would be best if I didn’t intrude.” She inclined her head toward the outside of the carriage.
“Oy, are you gettin’ out or what?” From outside, the cabby sounded annoyed.
“Just a minute, my good man.” George poked his head out the window, looking in the direction of his house. They were stopped a few doors down, as they’d only given the driver the square as the destination. The entry lamps were lit and light shone from behind the sheer curtains in the windows. A man stood in front of the steps leading up to the house, and his posture clearly advertised him as a Scotland Yard operative.
Patting Jane’s hand, George tried to reassure her. “You needn’t fear the police. I’ll tell them that you helped me escape. I promise no harm shall come to you.”
Jane’s lips pinched he
r smile into something small and bitter. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep, George. I can’t allow myself to be taken by Scotland Yard, not for any reason.”
“Are you well known to them, then?” The pit of George’s stomach sank.
“I should hope not. Really, George, you do have a low opinion of me.” She shook her head. “It’s not Scotland Yard in general that I fear, but certain members within it. Easton’s reach is very long, and my life won’t be worth a tuppence if I’m remanded into their custody, even if it’s only for the most innocent of questioning.” She looked down at her wet clothes. “And really, I don’t think even I could spin a tale that would put my presence with you, both of us half-naked and you having been missing for the better part of a week, in an even remotely innocent light.”
Distracted by the word half-naked, it took a moment for George to concentrate on her other, more important words. “Easton has spies within Scotland Yard?”
“And assassins. Why tonight he told me that one of our own men, held by the Yard, had been murdered on his orders. I don’t know how many eyes and hands he might have at the Yard, but I won’t risk it.”
“It seems then that I’m not out of danger either,” George pointed out.
“He’d never risk such a public assassination of you.” It did not escape him that her voice lacked conviction.
“Even though I know the location of the house and his name?”
“He’ll have had the entire operation moved somewhere else by now.” She waved her hand, dismissing his concern. George snorted in disbelief, and she shook her head at him. “We were all prepared to abandon that house at a moment’s notice. And as for his name.” She shrugged. “Names are fungible in our line of work, as you’ve already guessed.”
“I can’t stand out ’ere all night,” interjected the cabby.
“I can’t go anywhere near your house. You must believe me; it isn’t safe.” Jane bit her lip. “And you may be right. I’m not sure that it’s safe for you, either.”
