My Gentleman Spy

by Sasha Cottman

  The tapping on the table ceased.

  “I am not at all pleased with the notion of you wandering the streets of this city alone, especially when your care is my responsibility,” he added.

  His voice was as calm as before, but she caught the hint of anger still simmering just below the surface.

  “What would you have me do? I can't drag either of the Littles from their work about the house,” she replied.

  “I could hire you a maid.”

  Hattie's hands met tightly together beneath the table. She cracked the first knuckle.

  “You know that is bad for your fingers,” said Will.

  A rush of heat filled her cheeks. How many times had her mother instructed her not to crack her knuckles?

  “I don't know, I haven't observed any particular problem which may be caused by it. I have tried not to, but it is as you have already noted, a nervous habit of mine,” she replied.

  What Will didn't know, to Hattie's secret pleasure, was that cracking her knuckles was also something she did when she was happy.

  If she had a maid in tow, there was a good chance she would be recognized. Questions would then be asked. It would not be long before the scandalous truth of the domestic situation at forty-three Newport Street became public knowledge.

  The Bishop of London's widowed nephew living with an unmarried gentle society woman under his roof would be the talk of the ton. Worst of all her brother would find out and then there would be the devil to pay. Will would be able to pressure Edgar into accepting his offer to marry Hattie. She would not stand a chance of saying otherwise.

  “I need to be able to continue my work. It is the reason I came back. A maid will make things difficult for me in the rookery. It will make me target.”

  Her reply was slow and measured. She was not foolish enough to try and tempt the protective beast that lived within Will. She had to address her message to the other man that he was, the man who had a secret past. One she knew in her heart included living with danger.

  That man would understand the need for her to move unseen among the streets of St. Giles. A maid would only bring unwelcome attention from the villains who also lived within the rookery.

  He resumed strumming his fingers on the table. Hattie remained silent.

  “I am not the least bit comfortable with this situation, but until I can convince you that this is not the life you should be living, I am prepared to go along with it. But, I reserve the right to change that decision if I feel that either your body or your reputation is under threat. Are we agreed?” he said.

  Hattie nodded. “Agreed.”

  She had been prepared to threaten to move to the vicarage at St. John’s. Will however, was not a man who took kindly to threats. She had won this round of the battle, and she knew not to push her luck.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Will woke with a start. He had been reading a book in his study after supper and had dozed off.

  His ear was ringing. If a platoon of Scottish pipers had been playing in the room it could not have been louder.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  Some people were gifted with premonitions that warned them of danger, for Will it was his left ear. Whenever someone he cared about was close to danger a sudden high-pitched ringing would begin.

  He had thought as a young man that he was going mad when it first began to happen. Heading home from a late afternoon stroll in the park with his sisters, the noise had filled his head. He stopped, shaking his head in a vain attempt to drive the maddening sound away.

  His sisters Caroline and Eve had continued walking along the street, oblivious to his absence. They had gone no more than five yards ahead of him, when out of a nearby lane, a daring food-pad had emerged and attempted to violently relieve Caroline of her reticule. The would-be thief had received several swift thumps to the head from Will for his trouble and been handed over to the authorities.

  It was only when the ringing happened a second time that Will began to see a possible link. Over the years he had learned not to ignore the obvious message from the gods.

  “But who?” he said.

  He pulled out his pocket watch from his waistcoat. It was after the hour of eleven. Who did he know that could be out on the streets of London at this ungodly hour and finding themselves in mortal danger?

  A cold chill crossed his heart.

  Hattie.

  She was of the habit of leaving the house early and then returning late. He had not seen her since the previous night.

  Opening the top drawer of his desk he withdrew his trusty cudgel and pistol. He checked the pistol. It was loaded.

  In his left hand he held the thick cudgel, his weapon of choice for dealing with the vile scum who preyed on the innocent.

  It had a comforting heaviness about it and fitted his grip perfectly. From the years he had walked the dark streets of Paris, he knew it would allow him to hold off most assailants. Those who offered a fight with a knife or bare fists were no match for such a deftly wielded blunt weapon.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs he found Mr. Little in the foyer.

  “Has Miss Hattie returned home this evening?” he asked.

  “No Mr. Saunders. She did say she would be late tonight. She was going to see her friends, the Mayford family after she finished at St. John’s. Mrs. Mayford is slowly dying from the consumption. Hattie has been very worried about her,” replied Mr. Little.

  “Do you have an address?”

  The butler shook his head. “No, just Plumtree Street.”

  Seeing Mrs. Little approaching up from the lower kitchen stairs, Will stifled the curse he was about to utter. Hattie could be anywhere in the filthy maze of overcrowded houses in Plumtree Street. It would be near impossible to find her if anything had happened.

  He had just put on his greatcoat and was heading for the front door, when Mrs. Little stopped him.

  “Oh, thank god,” she huffed, reaching the top of the stairs.

  Behind her trailed a young man, no more than sixteen. He was dressed in filthy clothes. Will shifted the cudgel in his hand, ready to use it if necessary.

  “This is Joshua Mayford. He is a friend of Miss Hattie. She is in the garden.”

  Will raced for the stairs. The others followed close behind.

  “Over there,” said Joshua, as they stepped out into the garden.

  As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, Will was able to see a shape leaning doubled over against the high brick wall at the back of the garden. When Mr. Little arrived holding up a lit lantern Will caught his first look at Hattie.

  Her face was a bloodied mess.

  He stood for an instant, rooted to the spot. Memories and images of that fateful night in Paris with Yvette crashed through his mind. He reached out a hand, desperate to touch the ghost which consumed his vision.

  “Hattie?” he stammered, as the spell broke.

  “Yes, it's me. Or at least what is left of me,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  Will raced to her side and after slipping two strong hands under her arms tried to help her to stand upright.

  “Ow, ow. Let go you are hurting me!” she cried.

  “Where does it hurt?” he asked.

  Hattie gasped for air.

  “Everywhere. I think he may have broken some of my ribs.”

  She took hold of Will’s hand and with great effort managed to finally pull herself away from the wall. They walked toward the house, stopping every few feet while Hattie got her breath back.

  Joshua followed behind.

  Once inside Will gently sat Hattie down on the steps which led up to the ground floor of the house. Mrs. Little went into the kitchen and came back with fresh rags and a bowl of warm water. Mr. Little was sent out to locate and bring back the Saunders’ family doctor.

  Will took one of the clean cloths and wiped the blood from Hattie’s face. She winced when he got to the source of the blood, a nasty cut high on her forehead. From the l
ook of it, a blade had cut cleanly across her head. The wound would require stitches.

  “Hold this firmly to the cut on her head,” he ordered Mrs. Little.

  He turned to the lad who had brought Hattie home and summoned him over.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Joshua looked at Hattie, but she was too busy trying to breath to give him any answers.

  “The Belton Street Gang. They don’t like people who try to help in the rookery. Miss Hattie stood up to Tom, my boss, tonight and he beat her. It was supposed to teach her a lesson about coming onto his patch without his permission,” replied Joshua.

  Will fixed his gaze hard on Joshua.

  “Your boss?”

  Joshua took a step back. His shoulders slumped. Will thought the boy close to tears as he watched Mrs. Little change the blood- soaked cloth on Hattie’s forehead.

  “I have a sick ma, and a family to look after sir. When Miss Hattie left for Africa the gang were the only people who offered to help us. I had no choice.”

  “It’s not Joshua’s fault,” said Hattie.

  Will held his temper and his tongue. Now was not the time to reprimand Hattie for having been so stupid as to have gotten into a fight with a criminal gang. He would wait until after her face had been stitched and the doctor had seen to her other injuries before taking her to task.

  “The situation is untenable.”

  Hattie opened her eyes and turned her head in the direction of the voice. As her eyes gained focus, her gaze settled on the figure seated in a chair by the door.

  “Will?” she said, in a voice still full of sleep.

  He rose from the chair, but as he did another figure in the room stirred and caught her attention.

  Seated by the fireside Mrs. Little yawned and stretched. Seeing that Hattie was now awake, she hurried to her bedside.

  “How are you my sweet girl? We were so worried when Joshua brought you in last night. I must confess when I first saw him, I feared the worst.”

  Hattie attempted to sit upright in bed, but a stab of sharp pain in her left side, quickly made her think otherwise. Placing a hand to her chest, she felt the bulk of bandages which were wrapped around her ribs. She lay back on the pile of pillows.

  “The doctor says you have bruised at least two, possibly three ribs. It will take a few days for the swelling to go down before we know if any of them are broken. To be honest, I have never found the broken ones to be that big of a problem, it's the severely bruised ones which always take the wind out of me,” said Will.

  “Oh,” Hattie replied, remembering the events of the previous evening.

  Things at the Mayford home had escalated quickly. One minute she was helping to give Mrs. Mayford a bed bath, the next she was facing the angry boss of the Belton Street gang.

  Members of the gang had accompanied Joshua and Baylee home; and decided that watching the invalid Mrs. Mayford while she was semi naked was good sport. When Hattie asked them to respect Mrs. Mayford’s privacy she quickly found her entire field of vision taken up with the sight of a ruddy face and a mouth filled with broken teeth. The Belton Street gang boss screamed a tirade of abuse at her before setting upon Hattie with his fists and heavy boots.

  “I was annoyed that he felt he and his thugs could treat Mrs. Mayford with such little regard for her dignity. What I didn’t realize until it was too late was that I had openly challenged his authority.”

  Fists had rained down on her until she was finally knocked unconscious and left on the floor. With the sport of beating a defenseless woman over, the gang soon tired of the Mayford’s house and left.

  When Hattie regained consciousness she was genuinely surprised to discover she had survived the attack.

  “Joshua then helped me to make it back here. It took us quite some time because I kept passing out.”

  Mrs. Little busied herself about the room, adding more wood to the fire and smoothing down the bed covers. After looking around for any other minor task of which she could occupy her time, she came and stood near to Will.

  “I think Mr. Saunders is right Miss Hattie. You cannot go on like this, something even more terrible than last night is likely to befall you without the protection of your family. There are others in this world who do not appreciate your fine efforts,” she said.

  Will nodded, in obvious agreement.

  Hattie closed her eyes and wished them both gone from the room. The pain of her injuries now seeped into her bones. She ached all over.

  When a rustle of skirts signaled Mrs. Little's departure Hattie slyly opened one eye.

  “No such luck. I'm still here,” said Will.

  He pulled up a chair and took a seat next to the bed.

  “I want you to listen to me. To put your stubborn pride to one side for a moment and think upon your current situation.”

  Considering the pain, she was in, coupled with the heavy bandages, Hattie had little choice other than to lie back and listen to him. She lifted her fingers from the bed clothes in silent acceptance.

  “Good,” he said.

  Will rummaged around in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a piece of folded paper.

  “I made a list while you were sleeping.”

  Hattie groaned in a mixture of pain and undisguised disgust. Will waved her protests away.

  “First thing. I will contact your brother. That is non-negotiable. By living under the same roof unchaperoned we have done enough to cause a major scandal.”

  Hattie frowned. She cared little for society, and doubted they gave a tinker’s cuss about her and what she did. Will snorted.

  “You may not care about your own reputation, but I have one to maintain. Lord knows the damage it would do to my chances of securing a seat in parliament if news of this scandalous domestic arrangement ever became public.”

  “And the rest of your list?” she replied.

  Whatever else he had planned, she doubted it could be worse than having to deal with Edgar.

  Will screwed the piece of paper up into a tight ball and tossed it into the fireplace.

  “Actually, that was my list. I reason that once your brother is made aware of your presence in London, whatever other plans I may have had for you will be overruled by him. From that point on I shall have to negotiate with Edgar,” he said.

  Hot tears formed in her eyes. An encounter with her brother was eventually bound to happen, but until now she had been the one to dictate the time and place. Ever controlling Will, had decided to take that decision out of her hands.

  “Do we have to involve my brother? Couldn't I just go away somewhere and send you a note letting you know of my safe arrival?” she offered.

  Will cleared his throat.

  “I shall need more than a less than subtle suggestion of leave well enough alone to dissuade me from talking to Edgar. A solid and truthful reason would perhaps assist in your cause.”

  Hope flared.

  If she did tell Will the truth of her family schism, he may be convinced of her need to find another solution to their problem. To her mind at least, the current arrangements were more than satisfactory.

  Will was the perfect tenant. He kept a well-run house. The larder was always full of food. And apart from his ongoing disagreement with her cat, Brutus, domestic harmony reigned. She was all for the status quo.

  “Alright, I will tell you what happened between Edgar and myself. Once you have heard me out, you may be more inclined to consider helping me find another solution.”

  She made a few adjustments of the pillows and then took her time to get as comfortable as her injuries would allow. Will meanwhile sat silent. Waiting.

  Hattie looked into his eyes. They were warm, welcoming pools which beckoned her to let go and fall into them. He gave her an encouraging smile.

  For ever after she would mark this moment as the exact time in her life when she knew with her whole being that she was in love with Will. Small flickers of emotion had been stirring from that first day at t
he market in Gibraltar. On the boat she had fought tirelessly not to fall in love with him. But as she looked at Will everything she felt for him coalesced into something powerful. Love was no longer a concept, but an undeniable reality.

  She yearned for him to take her in his arms like he did that day and kiss her once more.

  Will sat forward in the chair, hands gently clasped together. Outside, the first light of day was breaking. Will was traditionally not an early riser, so she knew he would not have any appointments until later that day. He acted like he had all the time in the world to listen to her, and she was grateful.

  He was allowing her to take the reins. She could set the pace of their journey to the truth. She welcomed his trust, knowing it was hard won after all she had said and done to him.

  “It's a long story,” she offered.

  “I'm not going anywhere and neither are you,” he replied.

  She started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, but her badly bruised ribs swiftly put an end to her mirth. She wondered if she would ever feel whole again.

  There was nothing else to do but tell him the truth and hope that he would understand.

  “When my parents first became followers of Reverend Retribution Brown, Edgar and I were shocked. We both thought it a temporary fad. Another one of Papa's long list of fleeting fancies,” she said.

  Will had seen enough of the many collections of objects, papers and furniture dotted throughout the house to understand what Hattie meant. Aldred Wright it was clear, was possessed of the very English trait of eccentricity. Why else would anyone want a collection of ceramic eyes.

  “It was odd that Mama went to the church meetings with him. She had never been one for more than a dusting of religion on a Sunday morning,” she said.

  Will nodded. For many, including his own mother, Sunday mass was an opportunity to meet with friends and share glad tidings. Worship was simply a part of the tapestry of their lives.