He released her, and she slid back onto the seat. Outside the window, moonlight basted a single-story shack that sat just off the roadway, its rotted, weatherworn boards badly in need of repair. A barely legible placard proclaimed the name, Boyd’s Tavern. More like Boyd’s sewer pit.
Stephen’s hand closed over hers. “Sweetheart.”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“Remember your promise. Stay inside the carriage. And take this.” He pressed cold steel into her palm. “I know Howard taught you how to shoot. Use it if anyone tries to attack you.”
Oh no, no, no. She pushed the weapon back at him. “I can’t take your pistol. You might need it.”
He grasped the door handle instead. “I want you to have it. I won’t be distracted if I know you’re protected.”
“What about your protection?”
“I’ll be fine.” He rose and ducked out of the carriage before she could utter another protest. Once on the curb, he turned and gave her an encouraging smile. “Be vigilant, my darling. I’ll be back before you can draw your next breath.”
Her grip on the pistol wavered. The last time he said those words, their sunny world had turned dark.
****
The pocked, weather-worn stairs leading up to the stoop looked as if they wouldn’t hold the weight of a mongrel pup, much less that of a man. Stephen stepped onto the nailed end where he hoped it was stronger. Though the tread squalled in protest, he made it to the landing without crashing through the rotted wood. A miracle in a day full of shit gone wrong.
He gave a quick check over his shoulder. Moonlight torched the barren yard and the street beyond in a pale streak. The only movement came from the carriage horse tossing its head and chomping impatiently on the steel bit. The animal was just as eager as he was to be away from such a foul place. The odor of rotted fish, garbage, and rot-gut whiskey congealed to make a putrid soup. The cesspit of Washington. And he’d brought his love into the thick of it. Bile made a charge up his throat. If anything happened to her...
He grabbed for the door. He’d make sure nothing happened to her. He’d conduct a quick search for Hammond, haul the dolt out if he was in there, and then they’d leave. Simple. Just like Victoria had said.
Before he could turn the handle, the door swung open, and a gruff-looking brute filled the entrance. The porter tugged on a scraggly beard that most likely held as much vermin as it did grime. Beady eyes raked over him. “You here for drink or pleasure?”
“Neither.” Stephen craned his neck, trying to see around the troll. “I’m looking for someone. An Englishman. I was told he came here.”
“I been on duty since sundown. Ain’t seen no Englishman.”
“You sure?” He fished in his pocket and extracted a coin. This was turning into an expensive evening—in more ways than one. “He’s a well-dressed gentleman. Slender build. My age. He was already in his cups. You’d be sure to notice.”
The coin disappeared into a paw the size of an ammo pouch. “I’m sure. But you can come in and see for yourself.” Troll stepped to the side and motioned for him to enter. “Have a drink. Or a woman if you have a hankering.”
Not in this lifetime, bub. Stephen drew in one last relatively clean slug of air and moved inside. He’d rather be stomped by charging horses than enter a rat’s den like this. But it had to be done. Troll wasn’t a tenth as trustworthy as The Maynard House butler. A search had to be conducted.
Barely dressed whores and half-drunk men lounged in chairs pushed up to tables or stood at the filthy plank that served as a bar. Several bar-hounds turned to give him the once over. None were Hammond. Not that he really expected to find the Englishman out in the open. That would be too easy.
On the far side of the taproom, a darkened corridor lay just beyond a small archway. Probably led to the whoring area. Rooms where a thin, straw mattress had been tossed onto the floor to be soiled by dirt, stale sweat, and men’s juices. He’d visited a few such places in his undisciplined youth, his senses dulled by the overpowering need to have a woman, any woman, no matter her appearance or smell. Now the thought of such depravity turned his stomach.
Though his feet itched to retreat, he pushed forward, weaving around the tables and ignoring the whiskey-slurred calls of the whores. There were only two rooms leading off the hallway in the back. One was empty. In the other, a pot-bellied hog of a man grunted and pumped against the barely detectable female lying beneath him. Fleshy rolls jounced with each thrust. War veterans often spoke of visions from battle that haunted them. He hoped this wasn’t going to be one of his ghosts.
He did an about-face and made a hasty withdrawal. Once on the stoop, he sucked in several deep gulps of air, much preferring the smell of rotting fish to that of debauched flesh. In the street beyond, the carriage and the now quieted horse waited. Waited to take him where? Washington had more bars and whorehouses than a cur had fleas.
As he picked his way down the steps, a gowned figure emerged from a thicket running along the edge of the yard. She wagged a finger at him. “You lookin’ fer a Englishman, soldier?”
He slowed and eyed the woman with caution. Most things that crawled out from under a rock weren’t healthy. “I am.”
“I might know where you kin find him.”
He pulled to a stop. “Where?”
She backed into the shadows surrounding the hedgerow. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”
Alarm bells clanged in his head. It’d be the perfect spot for an ambush. And he wasn’t about to offer himself up on a platter.
He dropped a hand to his sword hilt. Any hidden ambusher would have to weigh the odds of attacking an armed opponent. Unless that ambusher had a firearm. Then the odds were against him.
“If it’s coin you want for your information,” he said, adopting a tone that usually had his soldiers quaking in their boots. “You’ll have to come to me first.”
She darted a furtive glance to her left. At an accomplice? Nothing moved in the shadows. But that didn’t mean anything. Evil made its home in the darkness.
He cocked a foot as if preparing to leave. “You’re wasting my time.”
“Wait.” The creature grabbed a handful of skirt. “I’m coming.”
Her hips swayed as she sashayed toward him. It might’ve been a provocative sight if her hair didn’t look like a pack of rats had nested in it and then used her dress as a privy. She reeled to a stop in front of him and smiled, revealing yellowed uneven teeth. The sickening sweet scent of cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey washed over him.
Though his stomach reeled, he held his ground. Breathing through his mouth helped. “Well? What do you have for me?”
She ran a filth-caked finger along his sleeve. “What’s your hurry? Surely a fine, hard-working soldier-man like yerself needs some fun once’t in a while.”
Not her brand of fun. He jerked away. “Tell me what you know or I’m gone.”
Her smile retreated. “Yer no fun.”
“Fine.” He took a step back.
She sucked in a breath, her bloodshot eyes going wide. “He went to the church.”
“Which church?”
“The stone one.”
He fisted his hands to keep from wrapping them around the creature’s scrawny neck. “There are dozens of stone churches in Washington,” he growled. “Which one?”
“It’s just ’round the bend up ahead. On the corner.”
He leaned closer, using height and forcefulness to press home his authority. “How do you know this? Did you follow him there?”
She slunk back, shoulders hunching. “Maybe.”
“Did he make it into the church?”
“He went inside, if that’s what yer askin’. Don’t know what he did once’t he was in there. I didn’t follow him.”
Stephen gave a grunt of contempt. “What? You and your accomplice averse to ambushing a man inside God’s house?”
She licked her lips and flicked another glance to the left. The sl
ight lifting of her dirt-smudged chin told him all he needed to know. He spun around, sword drawn, to intercept her cohort. Twenty yards away, a wiry, lizard-like man slowed his slither. Moonlight glinted on a thick-bladed knife he held in a practiced grip.
Stephen steeled himself for an attack.
A gunshot rang out instead. Dust plumed near the toes of lizard-man’s boots, and the vermin jumped back with a startled yelp.
“Move, and the next one will find your heart.”
Stephen yanked his head around at the harsh, yet feminine command. Victoria leaned through the open doorway of the hack, the gun clutched firmly in her hands and pointed at lizard-man. He drew in a breath, and then another, working to slow his racing heart back to normal. When this mess with Hammond was finally straightened out, they would have a long discussion about following orders.
He sheathed his sword and hurried across the yard, keeping a watchful eye on the two would-be muggers. Both scowled at him but remained silent and still. Neither appeared eager to test Victoria’s marksmanship.
Her gaze swept over him as he drew up to the carriage. “Are you all right, Stephen?”
“I’m just fine,” he managed through clenched teeth.
“Don’t give me that look, Lieutenant Byrne.” She wiggled in the doorway. “I stayed inside the carriage, just as I promised.”
Saucy wench. Was it any wonder he loved her? He reached up and gently pried the pistol free. “I have the situation in hand now, sweetheart.”
She lobbed a glance at the twosome and frowned. “Watch out for the taller credent. I saw him tuck a second knife in his waistband.”
Her keen observation would put many a soldier to shame. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him.” He gave her arm a loving pat. “Move back inside. This won’t take long.”
As she eased out of the doorway, he turned his full attention on the pair of thieves. He leveled a pointed glare at them. “I should shoot you both for what you tried to do.”
Lizard-man stiffened slightly but remained silent. Smart and cunning. Most likely the brains of the operation. The man deserved to be locked in a jail cell and the key tossed. But sending for the authorities would take time. Time he didn’t have.
“Please, mister,” the woman whined. “I got kids to feed.”
Stephen shook his head. “You should’ve thought of them before you conspired with this buzzard to rob people.”
“We won’t do it agin.” She held up her hand, palm outward. “I swear.”
Yeah, right. These two didn’t know the meaning of honoring an oath. He wagged the pistol at them. “Go, then. Before I change my mind.”
The two took off like cockroaches fleeing the light. Good riddance.
“You should’ve shot them,” the cabbie said from his perch.
Stephen holstered his pistol. “Probably. But there’s doubtless twenty more like them to take their place.”
The cabbie grunted. “Ain’t that the truth. Where to now, mate?”
He nodded at the darkened street. “Do you know of a stone church just around the bend?”
“I do. Christ Church. Been there for as long as I can remember.”
“Take us there.” For whatever good it would do. Finding Hammond inside a church was as likely as coming across a nun in a whorehouse. Not a bet he’d make even if he was rich as Commodore Vanderbilt.
Chapter Three
Victoria hurried to keep pace with Stephen as they raced along the stone walkway leading up to the church. He’d insisted she accompany him inside to look for Hammond. Probably because he didn’t trust her to remain in the carriage. And he would be right. If trouble reared its ugly head, nothing would keep her from saving the man she loved.
The faint glimmer of candlelight winked on the window panes of the small church. Ivy crept up the outer walls, so thick in places it covered the stone like wallpaper. A huge, weather-scarred wood cross stood guard atop the entrance. It was an old church, doubtless constructed before the War for Independence. Fitting that an Englishman would use it for refuge.
Stephen pushed open the thick oak door, the rusted hinges squealing in protest. Simple wood pews lined either side of an aisle leading to an altar. Candles planted in tall candlesticks flanked either side of the raised platform. The only movement came from the dancing shadows created by the flickering flames.
Her heart sank. “There doesn’t appear to be any—”
“Shhh,” Stephen interrupted, his head canted to one side. “I heard something.”
She cocked an ear. A faint sound wafted from the front of the church. Muffled and deep-throated. Definitely male. “It’s coming from the altar,” she said.
They rushed down the aisle. Off to one side, a man lay sprawled face-down on the altar steps, head tucked in folded arms. Dirt soiled his finely tailored suit and dusted his tousled, short-cropped hair. Slender shoulders shook as he sobbed into his shirt sleeves.
“It’s him.” Stephen released her hand and bent over the man. “Mr. Hammond, are you all right?”
The Englishman didn’t answer. Just sobbed all the harder.
Stephen jostled the man’s arm. “Mr. Hammond, are you all right? Have you been hurt?”
The disheveled head bobbed, then lifted. Blood-shot eyes fixed on Stephen. “I cannot do it.”
“Can’t do what?”
“I cannot marry her.”
“You can’t...” Stephen shoved upright, his face flushing a mottled red. “Is that what all this carousing has been about? Because you’re getting cold feet. Of all the—”
Victoria grabbed his upraised hand. “Hold onto your temper, Stephen. Hitting the man won’t help matters.”
The muscles covering his jaw twitched. No doubt from holding back a scathing retort. He speared Hammond with a hard glare instead. The Englishman didn’t back down. Merely lifted his chin higher as if daring his opponent to strike first.
She gave Stephen a gentle shove. Best to separate the two before the battle of wills turned physical. “Go to the back of the church, love. I’ll handle this.”
His steely gaze moved to her and softened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Victoria. He’s clearly not in his right mind. No telling what the fool might do.”
“I’ll be fine.” She pinned the Englishman with a pointed look. “Won’t I, Mr. Hammond?”
He lifted a dirt-streaked hand and covered his chest. “On my word of honor.”
Stephen snorted and opened his mouth as if to refute that claim. Victoria poked a finger into his ribs, cutting him off. “None of that. Go. I’ll call out if I need you.”
“Vic—”
“Go, Stephen.”
He muttered something under his breath, and then turned in a squelch of boot leather. She smiled. A few kisses and his ruffled feathers would soon be soothed.
“He’s rather hot-headed, wouldn’t you say?”
She faced the Englishman who had rolled to a sitting position on the altar steps. “He has every reason to be hot-headed. Your sneaking out of the hotel could land him in serious trouble and possibly cost him his commission in the Army.”
“I regret any trouble I may have caused.” Tears swam in his blood-shot eyes. “But I had to go…I just couldn’t bear it anymore.” He clutched his head in his hands. “The demons… they were too loud.”
Much as she wanted to dislike the reprobate, her heart went out to the clearly distraught man. She sank to the steps beside him. “Would you like to talk about whatever is troubling you? I’m a good listener.”
He dropped his hands and shook his head. “I fear it would be a dreary tale.”
“My father often said things left bottled inside will soon fester.”
“Then my insides are already rancid.”
“All the more reason for you to purge the poison. Get it off your chest, so to speak.”
He sighed and hung his head. “You shall not like what you hear.”
“Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
&nbs
p; “Your father?”
“No. Preacher Dean. Laurel Park United Methodist.” She gave his hand a consoling pat. “Go ahead, Mr. Hammond. I’m all ears.”
“You are too kind...miss...” He glanced toward the back of the church. “Or is it missus?”
“Miss Manning.” She smiled and followed his gaze to the figure pacing the floor like a caged lion she’d once seen at a traveling carnival. “Soon to be Mrs. Byrne.”
“He’s a lucky chap.”
“And so are you. From what I hear, Miss Grover is a wonderful lady. Beautiful inside as she is outside. What has you questioning your decision to marry her?”
He worried at a smudge on his trousers. “She is a beautiful young lady. Simple and unassuming. It’s what drew me to her in the first place. She was all that an unencumbered second son needed.”
“What changed?”
“My brother died, leaving me heir to the family estate.”
“I read about that in the newspapers. I’m sorry for your loss.”
His scrubbing increased as if to scour away his troubles. “My life is different now, and Nellie, sweet as she is, will not fit in.”
“Do you love her?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Then let that love help her to fit in.”
“I’m not certain that would be possible, no matter how much I desired it.” A grimace tugged at the corners of his mouth. “English society will eat her alive.”
“You never know until you try. Miss Grover might very well surprise you.”
He left off the rubbing and looked up, his frown receding. “Don’t give up on a good thing, as you Americans would say, eh?”
She smiled, relieved by the spirited flash lighting his eyes. A long, low growl emanated from the back of the church, followed by the stamping of a boot.
Hammond’s gaze shifted that way. “Perhaps we should go.” One bushy eyebrow quirked upward. “I fear your lieutenant will explode if we stay much longer.”
“It is getting late. Do you need Stephen’s help to stand?”
“No, no. I can manage.” He grunted to his feet, wavered a second, then steadied himself. “All better. Thank you, Miss Manning, for your sage and inspiring advice.”
Loving Byrne Page 3
