The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  The dawn broke with an exceptional display of pink and yellow streaks against the cloudless, blue-gray sky above Arthur’s Seat. Gabrielle watched it from her bedchamber window, fully dressed and draped in a brown mantle she seldom wore because of its somber color. She much preferred her green mantle or her Ali Baba, but this one, kept primarily for the dirty exigencies of travel, would be much more nondescript and, she hoped, help her to blend in better with the populace of Old Town.

  She also wore a brown velvet bonnet, from the band of which she’d plucked the scarlet pheasant feathers serving as decoration. She pulled on her mittens and tucked her reticule under her arm. She left the room, closing the door very quietly behind her, and tiptoed down the hall past Regina’s door and the Murrays’, secure in the knowledge that they’d not be up before ten or eleven, thereby giving her plenty of time to pay her visit to the Tuttles and be back in time for breakfast. She descended the back stairs to the kitchen where Ralph waited for her with the bundles, a troubled frown marring his usual stolid visage.

  Two of the scullery maids were about, stoking the fire and arranging pots for cooking, eyeing the pair of travelers but saying nothing, and Gabrielle knew that other servants were creeping about as well, preparing the house for the eventual appearance of the Murrays. Gabrielle wasn’t so much concerned that she be undetected in leaving the house, however, just that she be undeterred. She hoped to carry it off by acting not at all secretive in the servants’ presence, just as though the Murrays wouldn’t care a fig that she was going on such an early morning mission of mercy, and with her only escort being Ralph.

  She could tell that Ralph was uncomfortable, and had been since the moment she’d solicited his help last night before retiring to her bedchamber. He’d stood there in the hall, stalwart as ever, as she’d handed him the note more or less ordering him to put together two bundles of blankets and food articles, as per her list, and be waiting for her at the back door precisely at dawn. He’d never think to gainsay a genteel young lady’s instructions, however ill-advised he thought they were. And it had been too late last night, and too early this morning, to confide in and seek advice from Phipps, the majordomo, or Flossie, the cook. He had no recourse but to do as the young lady asked and hope all went well, and that, in the end, he wouldn’t be relieved of his job.

  Gabrielle smiled reassuringly at Ralph, hoping to put him at ease. “Thank you, Ralph, for collecting the contents of these bundles for me. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to look for these items myself. I would have asked Lady Grace or the housekeeper where to find them yesterday, but I didn’t decide to go till the last minute and didn’t want to disturb them, late as it was.”

  Ralph, a young man with a black beard and piercing black eyes, still looked unconvinced, though he made a little cursory nod with his head by way of acknowledging his deference to her, however grudging.

  Gabrielle, pitying his predicament, reached out a hand and laid it on his muscular forearm. “Don’t worry, Ralph. I intend to have us back by no later than Sir George’s usual breakfasting hour, and I will explain everything to both him and Lady Grace at that time. I also plan to have the housekeeper replace these items at my expense. I wouldn’t be setting out at such an ungodly hour except that I have a great deal of other things to do today, and this family we’re visiting is in dire need of help. I simply can’t put it off any longer.”

  She had told him the truth. Never mind that Lady Grace would also be flatly opposed to her venturing into Old Town at all, especially with only Ralph to lend her countenance and protection. But that couldn’t be helped. She had to go and see the Tuttles before the household was thrown into confusion later that morning by her confession. Then, if all went as planned, she’d be overseeing the packing of her trunks and arranging for transportation back to Brookmoor. No, the visit to the Tuttles had to be done this moming.

  “Then let’s be off, miss,” said Ralph, the grim set of his jaw softened a little by her assurances. “I walked t’ Princes Street and fetched a hack. ’Tis waitin’ outside.”

  Gabrielle smiled her approval and thanks, Ralph hefted the bundles under both his arms, and they went outside to board the rented coach. Ralph asked her for directions, in order to convey them to the hack driver. His disapproving and worried expression returned when she admitted that she didn’t know the exact address, but was quite sure of the neighborhood. Gabrielle told him to go to Carruber’s Close, and from there she’d backtrack her way to the street that led to the Tuttles’ home.

  Ralph looked skeptical, as well he might, since Gabrielle wasn’t positive she could find her way back to the correct neighborhood, either. She only hoped she’d not run into Mother Henn or one of her lackeys, though Ralph looked strong enough to hold his own if such a necessity arose.

  At such an early hour, the streets of Old Town were not as crowded, and their journey was unimpeded and timely. Spying an open bakery, Gabrielle had the driver stop and wait while she went inside and bought a basket of warm scones. Their raisin-sweet odor filled the carriage and made Gabrielle’s mouth water. At Carruber’s Close they alighted, and Gabrielle paid the driver.

  With just a glance at the tall building where Zach’s mystery woman resided, and the attendant pang of jealousy she felt at the thought of the two of them together, Gabrielle led Ralph down High Street, watching for the corner with the building that had scrawled on it with coal, “Jem loves Ethel.” It was fortunate that she’d noticed this seemingly unimportant detail during her adventures of the previous day, because otherwise she didn’t think she’d have had a ghost of a chance finding the right street.

  Douglas McKeen leaned against the building opposite the shelter, his hat pulled low over his brow, watching the princess and her burly servant alight from the rented coach. He had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Besotted little fool that she apparently was, he’d expected the lass to return to Carruber’s Close eventually, and, after her run-in with Mother Henn, he reckoned she’d not come alone. He hadn’t expected her to bring such a monstrous large fellow as this one, however.

  Douglas sighed. Never mind. He’d deal with the fellow simply by taking him by surprise and delivering him a stunner to the back of his skull with any handy, weighty object that might be lying about. He certainly wasn’t fool enough to take the black-haired bloke on face to face. He’d other things to worry about, like tricking the princess into a hack with him and down the hill to the McSwains’ holiday cottage.

  Rich folk from the border, the McSwains used their cottage just outside the village of Dirleton for summer holidays with the family and frequent hunting parties. Douglas used to shoe McSwain’s horses and, now and again, did odd jobs about the place when the family was in residence. Douglas knew Mr. McSwain had been up just last week with a few cronies, fishing for trout in the stream and shooting wild geese. The place was deserted now till the next hunting party, and Douglas planned to take Wickham’s lass there and lock her up in the small servants’ loft above the stable. Then he’d send word to Wickham that he’d exchange her for Kate.

  The whole ordeal was a strain on Douglas, both to his conscience and his purse. In fact, he’d finally sold his father’s pocket watch to pay the ready for such an out-of-the-ordinary expense as the hack. Lord knew, he never enjoyed such a luxury as being tooled about town in a coach instead of pounding the ground on foot, as was his usual mode of transportation. But it was the best and most secretive way to snare the princess and get her safely out of town without a visible struggle. He’d hired a horse, too, to heave his poor, wee pregnant Kate atop and trot her ceremoniously home after Wickham relinquished her into Douglas’s rightful, husbandly care.

  Douglas thought it ironic that, given his love of liquor, he’d never sold his da’s watch to quench his ungodly thirst, but, instead, had pawned the cherished timepiece to finance a plan to get Kate back. Lord, that possibly meant he loved Kate more than his da’s watch—more than liquor, too. It was a sobering realization.


  Douglas had chosen the McSwain cottage as the spot for exchange of the women because in Auld Reekie there were too many nooks and crannies where Wickham’s possible cohorts might hide. At the cottage, it would be just him and Wickham. He’d be able to see him and Kate coming from a mile off, and if Wickham were so unwise as to disregard his instructive note, warning him against bringing anyone along besides Kate, he’d just have to use threats against the princess to make Wickham see sense.

  Douglas stuck his hand inside the large pocket of his ragged redingote. His fingers slid over the smooth, cold barrel of his newly acquired pistol. He wasn’t a killer, and he prayed to God he wouldn’t have to use the gun for anything more than a threat, a means of exercising power. But he’d do whatever was necessary to get his Kate back.

  Douglas’s now ever-present, niggling voice of conscience suggested that the thing most conducive to getting Kate back and keeping her was to stop his drinking, which would also stop his fits of physical rage. He hated the rages. He hated himself for hurting Kate, and he was determined never again to lay a hand on her. He knew to help insure this he ought to quit drinking, but he didn’t know if it was possible to stop something that had become more necessary to him than food. Which, he wondered, did he love the most? Kate or the bottle?

  Never mind. First he’d get her back, then he’d work through and around all this other aggravation. As the princess and her servant left Carruber’s Close, Douglas followed at a discreet distance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gabrielle found the “Jem and Ethel” corner and, turning down it, led Ralph away from the bustle of High Street. There were the familiar moldering, disagreeable smells, and the sound of melting snow dripping from the eaves. Ralph’s eyes shifted back and forth, peering into the shadows as they walked down the narrow wynd. “How far is th’ place, miss?” he asked.

  “Not much farther, I think.” Gabrielle remembered that when she’d chased Will, though the wynds had curved endlessly, she’d not taken any sharp corners till the very last. Once she and Ralph rounded that corner, they’d be in Mother Henn’s territory. But as soon as they’d gone that far, she’d see if there was a way to get through to the parallel street where Will lived without having to actually pass by the brothel. Then they could stop people on the Tuttles’ street and inquire about them, or, if necessary, they could knock on doors.

  For all her brave front, Gabrielle was very uneasy. Beneath her skirts, her knees shook. The alleys were understandably dark because of the high buildings close in on both sides, but, with the sun climbing higher in the sky as the morning progressed, it wasn’t nearly as dark as on that stormy dusk of two days before. Nevertheless, because of her horrid experiences then, the atmosphere felt sinister to Gabrielle. Whenever someone passed, she ducked her head, in constant dread that Jasper or Bob or even Mother Henn might be on some unlikely, unlucky early morning errand. So if any of the passers-by happened to smile at her or look friendly, she wasn’t aware and was therefore unable to eke even a little comfort from the possibility that decent people traveled these alleys as well as scoundrels and thieves.

  Ralph did not speak. She suspected he was too disgruntled, and feeling too alarmed and guarded, to do anything but walk and watch. Finally they reached the corner, and Gabrielle stopped abruptly.

  “Is this it?” Ralph inquired with a definite note of hope in his voice.

  Gabrielle looked around her. Mother Henn had told her that finding the direct way to Will’s apartment required some backtracking. “We want the little square on the other side of these buildings, Ralph. I think we’ll need to go back some.”

  Ralph jerked his head in the direction of the corner, round which Gabrielle knew was Mother Henn’s brothel. “Canna we go this way, miss? It might be closer.”

  Gabrielle tried not to sound nervous. “No, Ralph. Now that I have my bearings, I know just how to get there.”

  Ralph frowned, obviously unconvinced. “Ye’ve been there afore, then, miss?”

  “Once, with Mr. Wickham.”

  Ralph nodded, marginally relieved to hear a man’s name juxtaposed with Miss Tavistock’s line of reasoning. She turned and walked to an alley she’d seen a few yards back, desperately hoping that it did not meander away in the opposite direction from where they needed to go. Hefting his bundles, Ralph trudged behind.

  For once, Gabrielle was in luck. The alley opened up onto a small square that she suspected was the very same one she and Zach had escaped into from the building next to Mother Henn’s. This also meant that Mother Henn could be close at hand. That possible danger couldn’t be helped, though, and now that they’d come so far, Gabrielle wasn’t about to cry craven and turn back.

  “This is it,” she told Ralph. “The family lives in this square. All we have to do now is find someone who knows them and ask for the correct building and apartment.”

  Again Ralph nodded, immediately looking for a likely person to approach to ask about the Tuttles. There was an old man practically smothered in a thick woolen scarf up to his nose, with a small, shaggy dog on the end of a short rope, shuffling—or so it appeared—in a circle round the perimeter of the little square. Their morning exercise, Gabrielle suspected. The man looked harmless enough, and so did the dog. She and Ralph exchanged glances, communicated without saying a word, and walked toward the pair.

  The man saw them coming, eyeing them thoroughly as they drew up beside him, but he did not stop. The dog paid no attention to them whatsoever, keeping his nose to the ground as he investigated the various smells and squirming insect life that flourished in the muddy cracks between the cobbles.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Gabrielle began, “but I believe you may be able to help us.”

  The old man turned to Gabrielle and raised his brows, saying wryly, “Do ye think so, miss?” He didn’t miss a step in his walk, but it was easy to keep up with him and hold conversation simultaneously. His slow, shuffling gait reminded Gabrielle of how an extremely ancient Chinese man might take his exercise.

  “We’re looking for a family called Tuttle. I believe they live in this square, but I don’t know which building. Do you know them?”

  The man’s keen eyes narrowed. “And what would ye be wantin’ with the Tuttles?”

  Gabrielle hurriedly explained. She’d rather spend as little time as possible in the open square, perhaps in full view of one of Mother Henn’s windows. “I met the children on Christmas Eve. They were caroling in New Town. I’ve learned since then that Will is sick, and the mother, too. Recently Will did me a great service, and I want to thank him and help them all with a few creature comforts and a little money to pay a physician—”

  “Say no more, lass,” the man interrupted her, smiling on her this time with genuine warmth. With a gnarled, arthritic finger, he pointed to a building. “It’s there. Ground floor, first door on the left as ye go in.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you very much!” Gabrielle was thrilled and immensely relieved. At last she was going to see Will and Bella and the other children! She hoped they wouldn’t be embarrassed by her visit, or refuse to allow her to help them. She knew Will, especially, might feel uncomfortable after the incident with her reticule. But if any objections happened to surface, she was ready and determined to override them.

  Ralph dutifully followed her as she walked quickly to the building and through the drab brown outer door, all splintery and weather-beaten. Like the other buildings, this one had probably once been the home of a well-to-do merchant, or a solicitor, or even a magistrate. The main structure of the building had been added onto, the top three floors obviously not part of the original house plan. It made for an interesting facade.

  The building’s ground floor vestibule was very dirty. The stairs going to the upper floors looked much mended. Gabrielle found herself thankful that Bella and the other children didn’t have to use the stairs to reach their apartment. They walked to the door purported to belong to the Tuttles, and Gabrielle knocked. Her
heart was beating hard and fast. She was excited to see them, but nervous and unsure of her reception. She was also worried about what she might find behind the well-scrubbed panels of the door. Yes, both the door and the threshold looked very clean. This was encouraging. Apparently someone was healthy enough, and full of enough pride of ownership, to have vigorously wielded a scrub brush.

  The door opened. It was Will. Gabrielle smiled, but he only stood there, apparently dumbfounded at first, then shamefaced.

  “Won’t you invite me in, Will? I assure you, I’m not angry. I’ve brought you some things, and then we must talk.”

  Will had been watching her lips intently while she was speaking, and her heart twisted with pity. Even at such close proximity, he couldn’t hear her well enough without also having to read her lips. He hesitated, still unsmiling, but finally pulled the door open and stepped aside. “Come in, miss.”

  Gabrielle walked into the small, windowless chamber, and Ralph followed. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark interior, she noticed that the room was long and narrow, with a fireplace at one end and a threadbare blanket strung across the other end on a rope, probably to section off the sleeping area. Though a few meager twigs for kindling and a lump of coal were laid ready to spark, there was no fire on the grate, and the room was quite cold. The bare floors were rough-planked wood, clean but devoid of an oil polishing for some time. The furnishings were sparse and shabby. A line of wash hung across a section of wall, and the clothes were stiff with cold.

  No one was about, and Gabrielle thought perhaps they’d stayed in bed late to keep warm. This theory seemed even more likely when she heard murmurings from behind the blanket, and then one of the other boys appeared, peeking round the makeshift privacy curtain, his eyes enormous.