The villain goggled at Maddie. He had a cowlick and freckles and was wearing what must be— or had been — his best suit of clothes. She said, with reluctant sympathy, “What’s your name?”
“Zed. Zedekiah Miller, ma’am.”
“Why, Zedekiah?” Maddie asked.
He blinked at her. “Me mum admits she don’t know what she was thinking. Being as it means ‘righteousness of the Lord’.”
“I didn’t mean that! Why did you take my boys?”
“I didn’t know they was your boys, now did I? It was supposed to be a lark. We didn’t mean no harm.” After patient questioning on Maddie’s part, and less-than-patient demands from Pritchett, a tangled tale tumbled out. Zed and his mate Bill had been enjoying the festivities and making indentures on a bottle of Blue Ruin when a cove drew them aside and offered them a tidy sum to snatch up the sprouts and tuck them away out of sight for a couple hours. “It was,” Zed insisted, “just a joke!”
Maddie derived no humor from the idea of her sons associating with pickpockets and prostitutes and worse. “But why bring them here?”
Zed scowled. “It weren’t my idea!”
“No,” said Pritchett. “It was mine. It not seeming prudent that we should linger in the street. But if you hope you can hoodwink me, cully, you’re dicked in the nob. You wasn’t so ape-drunk you didn’t know mischief was afoot. What did this fellow look like?”
“What’s in it for me if I tell?”
“It’s more a matter of what you’re in for if you don’t. Kidnapping being a hanging offense.”
Zed blanched. “It weren’t! I didn’t! The cove said—”
Pritchett slammed the head of his baton into Zed’s lower back. Zed howled. Maddie inhaled sharply. “That’s it! Give him his bastings!” Benjie cried. “A blow to the kidney is generally painful,” remarked Matthew, and went on to explain where the kidneys were located, and precisely what they did.
Angel raised his voice above the hubbub. “I find myself most curious about what this cove looked like.”
“As am I.” Pritchett glanced at Maddie’s pale face. “But I’m thinking simkin here might want more privacy when we start bandying words about.”
Zed managed to catch his breath. He groaned, “I’m no blab.”
“You may say you’re not,” said Pritchett. “But you’ll open your budget all the same. If you would be so good as to get the door, Miss Frankie?”
She did so, the pistol surprisingly steady in her small hand. The Runner grasped Zed’s collar and propelled him forward. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Angel. “I’ll admit it fairly: I cobbled this night’s work. And in amends, I’ll tell you what I shouldn’t: it’s your friend the baron as put you under watch.” Angel uttered a soft curse.
The door no sooner closed than Benjie burst into speech. Although he’d found being bundled up in burlap the grandest of adventures, he regretted that as a consequence he’d missed the fireworks. Matthew, secretly relieved to see his pupils uncowed by the evening’s events, embarked upon an explanation of the experiments in which Colonel William Congreve attempted to exert rational control over artillery through imitations of Indian war rockets used against the British in Mysore.
This was, after what Maddie had borne the last few hours — days — weeks, was more than she could bear. “How dare you?” she demanded, so angrily that Matthew broke off mid-stutter, and Benjie gaped as if one of Colonel Congreve’s rockets had shot in through the window and exploded in his face. “You stand there, all cock-a-hoop, nattering on about the Naumachia and rockets without the slightest regret that you frightened me half to death.” She went on to mention selfishness, and thoughtlessness, and if she omitted ‘sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ it was because she ran out of breath.
The twins were accustomed to being blustered and bellowed at by Sir Owen, but their mother wasn’t in the habit of being a cross-patch. “You should have known Lappy would rescue us!” Benjie objected, thereby earning a swift kick from his twin. “I’m sorry, mama,” put in Penn. “We didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t think,” agreed Maddie. “And it’s past time you start. Or the next thing you know, Sir Owen will banish me to the country and force you to stay here.”
Cried Benjie, “You can’t let him do that!”
“I don’t want to.” Maddie’s brief flare of temper had fizzled out. “But it is becoming clear to me that what I want matters not at all.”
Lappy had behaved very well tonight, or so the dog believed, save for the bum-biting, and since the bum in question belonged to a dastard, it should in all fairness be overlooked. True, there had been that incident with the mulberry lady’s flounce, but enough time had elapsed that should have been forgot. Surely Mrs. Tate must realize what a brave fellow he had been? Yet she had not praised him, in spite of being given ample opportunity.
He’d not hold her ingratitude against her. Lappy leapt to lick her face. In no mood to tolerate demonstrations of canine affection, Maddie took a step backward, tripped over the hem of her cloak, and fell painfully on her damaged arm.
“Lappy, no!” cried Benjie. Matthew grasped the dog’s collar, and pulled him away. Angel helped Maddie to her feet. Penn asked anxiously, “Are you hurt, Mama?”
Maddie sat down on the bed, clasping her sore wrist. “You need not concern yourself. Matthew, pray take the boys home. Mr. Jarrow will loan you his carriage.” She turned to Angel. “Will you not?”
Silently, Angel inclined his head. Over the boy’s protests, Maddie added, “The fat will be in the fire if Sir Owen learns of this night’s work. I daresay you know how to enter the house without alerting the staff?”
The boys exchanged glances. Maddie said, “Of course you do. Now go away.”
Matthew hesitated. “Aren’t you c-coming with us?”
He was concerned for her, which was kind in him, if no little bit annoying. As gently as she could manage, Maddie said, “No. I will follow later. Leave me, please.” Lappy whined, as if he too found her judgment lacking. “And take that wretched dog with you.”
Angel accompanied them from the room. Maddie leaned back and closed her eyes. Her arm hurt and her head throbbed and she couldn’t help but speculate upon the history of the bed on which she sat. And wonder if Angel would return, or leave her there alone.
Exhausted by the events of the evening, she had fallen into a doze when Angel entered the room, bearing a cup. Maddie took it from him and sipped. “Eggs, brandy, sugar and ale,” he informed her. “You will find it preferable to a dog’s nose. I’ll track down a hackney, when you are ready to leave.” He frowned to see her moving so gingerly. “Do you need a doctor?”
“What I need is a few moments to myself. And no, that doesn’t mean that you should leave.” Maddie set the cup aside.
Angel watched her with an unreadable expression. “I walked out to the carriage and then ducked back inside the tavern. No one knows I’m here. You must realize this isn’t wise.”
“I am sick to death of being wise.” Maddie tried to push the cloak off her shoulders, and gasped in pain.
He was beside her in a moment. Carefully, he removed her cloak. “You make it damned difficult for a man to do what is right.”
Maddie gazed up into his beautiful gold-flecked hazel eyes. He was a rogue, a rascal, a man not accustomed to withstanding temptation. And for once in her life, even if it was for one time only, she longed to have something for herself. “You once told me that life is short, and we poor players are entitled to some pleasure before we shuffle off this mortal coil.”
His mouth twisted wryly. “We are both very mortal. What does my lady wish?”
Chalk and cheese, thought Maddie. She would happily endure a lifetime’s indigestion for the pleasure of this one decadent dessert.
But for once in his life, Angel was trying to follow the dictates of his conscience. No matter how great her craving, Maddie could not deny him that.
“Just hold me,�
� she whispered.
“With the greatest pleasure on earth,” he said, and did.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Fair I was also, and that was my ruin. —Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Unlike the majority of his fellow Londoners, Horus was not exploring the myriad festivities in the city’s parks. He had chosen instead to visit a discreet establishment that catered to gentlewomen with a taste for the forbidden, located on a side street not far from Drury Lane, and now stood surveying a private chamber through a peephole in the wall. The lady in the room beyond inspected her surroundings, determined that the mattress was firm, found the window barred.
She had not only risen to the bait, but bit down so hard on the lure that the hook was implanted in her jaw. Now she waited restlessly to learn the identity of the mysterious admirer who sent admiring notes and expensive presents, most recently a chickenskin fan with ivory sticks, painted with poses from the Kama Sutra, specifically Gardabha, Veshta, and Kshudgaga.
He wondered which posture she would prefer.
Candlelight outlined her lush body, gleamed in her hair.
He had let her simmer long enough. Horus closed the panel and moved to the door, stepped into the room. He saw himself as she must see him: a sternly handsome man with hair dark as a blackbird’s wing, greying at the temples, wearing well-cut clothing and a half-mask.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?” she asked.
Horus remained just beyond her reach. “I shan’t tell you that just yet.”
“I dislike your attitude. Don’t forget, I can still leave.”
Horus reached behind him, locked the door. “You came here of your own free will. You won’t leave except at mine.” Her eyes widened at the threat but she did not retreat.
Horus advanced in a straightforward manner, unlike the Egyptian horned viper, which traveled by sliding sideways, appearing to be heading in one direction while it went in another. The viper buried itself beneath the desert sand, with satanic horns and eyes exposed, waiting to burst from cover and strike.
The bite of the viper caused massive local swelling, acute pain, excessive bleeding, nausea, sweating, kidney failure and heart irregularities, paralysis, and ultimately, death.
He was within striking distance of the woman. Horus reached out, placed one hand on her neck and squeezed. She shuddered, exhaled, groaned as his grip tightened on her throat.
He lowered his hand to the bodice of her gown, slid his fingers over the gentle curve of her breast.
“You’re impatient,” she breathed.
He pushed the bodice off her shoulders, ran his thumb over her smooth flesh. “But not impatient enough,” she added, and reached for him. He pulled her hands behind her, held fast in one of his. With the right amount of pressure, he could snap the fragile bones.
There had been too many failures. The missing documents remained unclaimed. The Tate boys had escaped.
Horus had left Gully closed in the sarcophagus with the snake.
Viper mummies had been found in Thebes.
He lowered his mouth to her throat. Felt her heart kick in anticipation. Hitched up her skirt, his fingers rough against her thigh.
She moaned and writhed against him. He caught her hip, held her still. “No. We do this my way.”
“And what way is that?”
He pulled a silken cord from his pocket.
She wet her lips.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It doesn’t much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else. —Samuel Rogers
Angel wakened the next morning with a foul-tasting mouth and a throbbing head. Parts of the evening he recalled — various places of public intoxication had been involved, each lower than the last — but a great deal he did not, for which he was grateful, the part he did recall being cause for further self-disgust. He opened one eye, wincing at the light, and was relieved to view the familiar furnishings of his own study. Shards of broken glass littered the floor. Vaguely, he recalled hurling a bottle at the fireplace.
He possessed, Angel conceded, the moral fiber of a mousse. Fortunately, Mrs. Tate was made of sterner stuff. When he was prepared to set aside his newly developed scruples, she had not let him, which left him feeling like the lowest worm. And then, despite his mousse-like wormishness, she had nestled against him and let out a great sigh, while he clenched his teeth and stroked her back and dwelt with stern determination upon such unpleasant things as pharaohs and missing documents and his own disobliging wife; and pondered the paradox of how doing what he knew was right felt so damnably wrong when he suspected that what he knew was wrong would feel right indeed. And so, when Mrs. Tate had her fill of comforting, which fortunately was before he abandoned all attempts at self-restraint, he returned her to her father’s house and set out on a debauch.
Angel touched his aching temples, wondering what purpose he had thought drinking himself into a stupor might serve.
Came a tap on the door. “Enter!” Angel raised his voice to be heard above the orchestra of elves drumming on his brain. Expecting his butler or valet to appear, both or either dripping disapproval, he added, “And you needn’t regard me in that supercilious manner, as if you’d never drunk too much.”
Lord Saxe strolled into the room. “Of course I have drunk too much. I may even have drunk as much as this.” He surveyed the disorder. “In my misspent youth.”
“Bugger off,” snarled Angel. “Jessop! I know you’re hovering. Bring coffee, lots of it, and make sure it’s hot.” He regarded his visitor without enthusiasm. “Has anyone told you that you’re developing unpleasant habits, my lad? Such as barging into people’s bedchambers before noon?”
“This isn’t your bedchamber,” Kane pointed out.
“It’s where I slept. And in this blasted chair, from the feel of it.” Angel straightened, wincing.
“If where you lay your arse is home,” retorted the baron, “you can claim title to bedchambers all over town.”
But not the bedchamber Angel wished to claim. The room whirled around him, and he struggled against the impulse to cast up his accounts. “If you’re here in response to my note, you might have saved yourself the effort. That which was lost has been found.” In as few words as possible, for he disliked the sound of his own voice, Angel related the previous evening’s developments.
“What time was this?” Kane asked.
“I can’t say. Where in Hades is that coffee? And why in Hades should you care?”
“Humor me.”
Angel might be suffering the after-effects of indulgence in various alcohol-laden substances, but he wasn’t so fuddled that he failed to notice his friend’s unusually grim tone. “Wallock can tell you when Mrs. Tate arrived. He disapproved. In any event, we reached Hyde Park in time to see the beginning of the fireworks display.”
“Approximately ten o’clock, then. And after that?”
“We adjourned to the Three Pigeons, collected the truant sprigs, and conveyed them home.” Before Kane could press for further details Angel added, “Your man Pritchett — and we shall speak of him when I feel more the thing! — seemed certain he could persuade the prisoner to unburden himself. By now he should have a description of the person behind the kidnapping.”
“Pritchett induced young Zed to sing like the proverbial caged bird,” admitted Kane. “Unfortunately, Zed is not the observant sort. The man who approached him in Hyde Park was an ordinary fellow: not carbuncle-faced, or snaggle-toothed, or moon-eyed; not short or tall, fat or thin. He was clean-shaven, or wore a small moustache. His hair may have been black, or brown, or purple. Zed was more interested in the color of his coin.”
Angel groaned.
Jessop returned, followed by a housemaid bearing a coffee pot and cups. The valet expressed dismay to see his master in such sartorial distress. His master, in response, expressed a profound reluctance to be bathed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes. “I didn’t read your note until this mo
rning,” continued Kane, after coffee had been poured, the glass on the floor swept up, and the servants dispatched. “I wasn’t at home when it arrived, having spent the evening trying to persuade Princess Caroline to tell me what she knows, if anything, of missing documents, which was an exercise in futility. She plans to leave Britain on the 8th and travel first to Brunswick, then head for Italy through Switzerland.”
Princess Caroline could travel to the nether regions, with Angel’s blessing. What’s more, she could take the rest of the Royal Family along; and, since he was consigning people to perdition, both Houses of Parliament to boot. “You’re giving me a headache,” he complained. “Or to be precise, you’re making my headache worse. If you’re not going to tell me why you’re here, I wish you’d go away.”
Kane made no move toward the door. “You arrived at the Three Pigeons at approximately half-past the hour. Who saw you there?”
“Pritchett, of course. As you must already know. Beyond that, I have no idea. More to the point, who tried to kidnap those boys, and why?”
“How long did you stay?”
Too long, and not long enough. “I dislike repeating myself,” said Angel, “but I have no idea. Since you were having me followed, you must have been told where I went. I understand why you put Maddie under watch, but why set your hound on me? And why didn’t you tell me what you’d done?”
“This, from the person who is always saying he doesn’t want to be told?” Kane lifted the coffeepot, poured a cup for his companion, and one for himself. “I would know your whereabouts, had you not gone to such lengths to shed your shadow. Consequently, I have no idea of where you were between the time your carriage left the Three Pigeons and when you arrived home yourself.”
The Purloined Heart (The Tyburn Trilogy) Page 19
