by Nina Rowan
Peter’s heart plummeted into a sea of rage. He tightened his hands into fists, then froze as his sister spoke from behind Lawford.
“I won’t tell anyone, Mr. Lawford.” Her voice sounded tense, oddly high.
“I saw the way he looked at you. You’re a beautiful woman, Miss Colston. I’ve known from the moment I saw you how neglected you’ve been, and I don’t intend to let Fletcher stand in my way.”
“Mr. Fletcher has treated me with nothing but respect.” Her voice tightened. “Unlike you.”
Peter’s stomach clenched.
“I’ve helped you, haven’t I?” Lawford asked. He reached up a hand, as if he were touching her hair. “You asked for my help.”
“I never agreed to…to this.”
Peter’s fists tightened. He fought the urge to turn and leave. If Alice had gone to Lawford for help…
“I think you owe me, Miss Colston.”
“Mr. Lawford, get away from me.” A note of desperation threaded Alice’s voice.
Do something! The voice shouting inside Peter’s head was drowned out by a surge of fear. He hated Lawford. He was afraid of Lawford. He’d never been able to stand up to the man, and he couldn’t think of what to do now.
“Stop!” His sister pushed Lawford’s hand away.
Peter coughed. Lawford’s shoulders stiffened. He turned, his eyes icy as he saw Peter hovering in the doorway. He stepped away from Alice.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he snapped.
Peter saw Alice’s face. She looked scared. Her hand was at her throat, and her skin was white. Peter knew all too well the kind of fear Lawford could inspire, and he hated that his sister felt it now.
“You’re supposed to be in gaol.” Lawford took two steps forward.
Peter swallowed past the tightness in his throat.
“I was…not anymore. The magistrate granted Lady Talia guardianship over me instead of a prison sentence.”
Lawford stared at him for a second, then laughed. “That foolish woman doesn’t know when to mind her business, does she? Apparently, neither do you, Peter.”
Peter looked at Alice. “What’s he done to you?”
“N-nothing. I was…he followed me here, but he hasn’t hurt me.”
“I would never hurt you,” Lawford said.
“Peter…” Alice sounded desperate.
Peter couldn’t move. The urge to escape surged inside him.
“Go away, Peter,” Lawford ordered.
Peter stepped back. Even now, he couldn’t imagine not following Lawford’s orders.
Lawford’s eyes narrowed. “I told you to go.”
Sweat broke out on Peter’s forehead. All thought drained from him. His skin crawled. He took a breath, locked eyes with his sister, and ran.
He crossed the room in four strides and crashed into Lawford with a grunt. His sister screamed. He and Lawford crashed to the floor. Lawford’s fist hit the side of his jaw. Peter’s vision blurred.
He gritted his teeth and grabbed Lawford’s collar, knowing he’d have to fight dirty. He slammed Lawford’s head against the floor.
“Peter!” Alice grabbed the back of his shirt. “Peter, stop!”
Why the hell did she want him to stop? He was protecting her, dammit. He punched Lawford. Blood spurted from the man’s nose. Alice gasped and yanked at his shirt.
“Bastard.” Lawford seemed to gather his wits. He shoved Peter off him and got to his feet. Peter cursed, his muscles still weak from all those months at Newhall. He tried to wrestle Lawford to the floor again, but the man drew a booted foot back and kicked Peter between the legs.
Pain shot through Peter’s body, all the air whooshing from his lungs. He cried out in pain, stars bursting behind his eyes as he clutched himself and tried to breathe. Alice sank to her knees beside him.
“You think you’ll get away with this?” Lawford snapped. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his bloody nose. “You’re a lying, thieving little bastard, Peter Colston, and you’ll never come to any good.”
It was the same thing Peter had been telling himself for years, but he hated hearing it from Lawford again. He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain dissipated, feeling his sister’s hand on his forehead.
“Neither will you,” he gasped. He forced himself to open his eyes and look at Lawford. “You’ll come to a worse end than I will, Lawford.”
Lawford laughed, that cold, hard laugh that had echoed against the stone walls of Peter’s prison cell. He fought the fear and tried to focus on the sensation of Alice’s cool hand. He had a sudden memory of their mother touching his forehead like that when he was a child, if he’d gotten sick or hurt.
“You don’t want anyone knowing what goes on at Newhall, do you, Lawford?” Peter asked. He managed to get to his knees. “That’s why you wouldn’t let Lady Talia visit. Why you don’t want anyone speaking about it.”
The second the words escaped his mouth, a strange sense of confidence filled him. He hadn’t realized until this moment that he did have a way to stop Lawford. He’d been too blinded by fear to see it. He’d run away once too often.
He met Lawford’s gaze, seeing comprehension dawn in the other man’s expression. Peter grabbed Alice’s hand and squeezed in warning. He knew Lawford carried a gun.
He got slowly to his feet, pulling Alice up with him. Aside from three small, dirty windows, the door was the only way out of the classroom.
Peter edged toward it, his hand tight on Alice’s. Lawford stepped between him and the door, his expression implacable. Peter stopped. He could feel Alice trembling, her palm cold and sweaty against his. Lawford reached into his coat.
The corridor door slammed shut. Peter’s heart thudded. Then the classroom door opened, and Lady Talia stepped in.
Chapter Seventeen
Talia felt the tension and fear before she even realized who was in the room. Her grip tightened on the books as she stared at Peter and Alice—both looking pale and shaken. Mr. Lawford stood between them and the doorway, his hand tucked into the lapel of his coat.
What…?
She retreated a step, seized by the sense that something was very wrong. She swerved her gaze to Peter, whose eyes burned with anger.
“Run!” he shouted.
Talia stumbled backward, her books falling to the floor with a thud. She turned to run, intent on the goal of getting help.
“Stop.” Lawford’s voice sliced the air like a blade.
Talia froze. Alice let out a cry. A shaft of sunlight came through the window and glinted off the gun in Lawford’s hand.
“I’ve a cab outside,” he said. He approached Talia and took her arm, pulling her closer. He tucked the gun back beneath his lapel. Between the stays of Talia’s corset, she felt the barrel of the gun pressing against her side. Pinpricks of sweat erupted all over her body.
“I want all three of you to walk outside and get into the cab,” Lawford said. “Do nothing that will put Lady Talia in further peril.”
He nodded at Peter and Alice. Together, they edged past Lawford to the door. Talia’s heart hammered. She forced her legs to move when Lawford prodded her forward into the corridor. Surely he couldn’t force them into a cab in the midst of the busy street. Even if he did, where did he intend to take them?
The noise of the blacksmith’s workshop filled the air along with the acrid scent of coal. Lawford gestured to the cabdriver, who descended to open the door. The gun barrel pushed harder into Talia’s side. Peter grabbed hold of the pull bar and started to haul himself up into the cab.
Then, in a blur, he turned, jumped from the steps, and crashed into Lawford. Lawford stumbled at the impact, but he was bigger than Peter. He shoved the boy away with a grunt. Workers from the workshop came toward the windows, lured by the sudden commotion.
Talia felt Lawford’s sudden panic. He couldn’t maintain control of all three of them. He pushed her forward, the gun still digging into her side. She clambered up
the steps, twisting to find Alice. The other woman was running toward the blacksmith shop.
“Go,” Talia shouted to Peter.
He turned and ran as Lawford shoved Talia into the cab and snapped at the driver to go. Breathing hard, he fell onto the bench opposite her and pulled the gun from his coat.
“You’re not the one I want,” he snapped, his features shiny with sweat. “But it’s your own fault for interfering where you shouldn’t. Did you really think I’d let you have guardianship over Peter Colston? Much less use him to further your own cause?” He shook his head. “It should have been easy to get him sent back to Newhall, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
Talia gripped her hands together and tried to focus on the passing streets, to determine where they were going. Beneath her fear was the stark, growing realization that Lawford could never let her go now. He never would.
“Do not try to escape,” Lawford said, his gaze on her face. “I’ve had more than enough experience with defiant boys, and I know how to subdue them. I would not like to see you as badly hurt.”
Talia’s heart pounded inside her head. After what seemed an interminably long period of time, the cab came to a halt outside the gates of St. Katharine’s Docks. The stink of fish and smoke filled the air as Talia preceded Lawford out of the cab, his gun again concealed but pressing against her back.
He prodded her through the gates and onto the bustling quay. Talia tried to calculate the risk of screaming for help, of breaking away and running. The risk, of course, was that Lawford might shoot…and if the bullet didn’t hit her, it could very well hit someone else and possibly kill him.
Her stomach churned with nausea. She tried to draw a breath into her tight lungs as Lawford steered her around a pallet filled with barrels of brandy. The warehouse doors were all open, like huge, gaping mouths. Wagons, carts, and horses shuffled in and out, transporting crates, bags, and casks.
Dark, narrow alleys lay between the warehouses, littered with rubbish and rotten food. It was her only chance. Before she could think or let the fear paralyze her, she yanked her arm from Lawford’s grip and darted into an alley. Her feet sank into squishy piles of waste, the stench overpowering.
Half-expecting the ring of a bullet, Talia ran. She skidded on something slippery, righted herself, and kept going. If she could reach the back of the warehouse, she might be able to get in through the back door and—
Lawford grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back so fast she almost lost her balance. Talia shrieked. Panic clawed at her throat. She tried to wrest herself away again, but Lawford held fast. Then the hard butt of the gun slammed against her temple, and everything went dark.
Talia woke to the stench of rotting hay and fetid air. Her head throbbed. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She tried not to move, fear warning her that she should remain still until she figured out where she was.
Where he was.
She worked her jaw carefully and flexed her fingers. Her whole body ached, but nothing seemed to be broken. A sick feeling roiled in her belly. She cracked open her eyes. A thin stream of light shone from a lantern, illuminating a bare wall opposite her and a wooden floor covered with a brown, tattered mat.
A lock rattled. Talia closed her eyes again and didn’t move. Boots shuffled across the floor. She sensed him crouch beside her. Her heart hammered.
“I do wish you hadn’t gone to Brick Street, my lady.”
So did Talia. Except if she hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Peter and Alice?
Peter and Alice! They had escaped. They knew Lawford had her, and they would find a way to rescue her.
She hoped…except that they likely had no idea where she was. Deciding she had nothing to gain by feigning unconsciousness, she braced herself for Lawford’s contempt and opened her eyes.
He was studying her, but his expression lacked anger. Instead he seemed concerned and a bit distressed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to leave you here while I go find Peter.”
“Where is here?” Her voice came out cracked and rusty.
“The Warrior.”
Talia’s heart seized. “The prison hulk?”
Lawford nodded and got to his feet. “One of the few remaining. I served as a guard here several years ago before my appointment at Newhall. Horrible, filthy place. Must say the reform acts have done some good, at least.”
Talia pushed to a sitting position, fighting off a wave of dizziness. A row of straight shadows fell onto the opposite wall.
Bars. She was in one of the ship’s holding cells. She blinked to clear her vision. A wall of iron bars trapped her in the narrow space. On the opposite side of a narrow corridor, there was another empty cell.
“I don’t yet know what I’m going to do with you,” Lawford continued. He went to take a bucket and a bundle of white cloth from beside the door. “I can’t have you telling anyone I’ve gone and abducted you or threatened Peter and Alice…but on the other hand, I never intended to hurt you.”
“What about Peter?”
“Peter should have done what he does best, which is keep his mouth shut.” Lawford unwrapped the bundle to reveal a loaf of bread, which he set in front of her along with the bucket of water. “I thought he’d learned at Newhall. More’s the pity that he didn’t.”
Talia eyed him warily as he straightened, dusting the grit from his hands. Her head throbbed. “Where is Peter?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to find him and Alice now. You’ll be all right here until I get back and figure out what to do with you.”
He turned on his heel and left, shutting the cell door behind him. Talia managed to get to her feet. Though she knew the futility of her efforts, she scoured the cell as if she could somehow find a way out. She strained her ears to try to hear something, but there was only a faint banging sound. She must be very far belowdecks indeed.
She yanked on the iron bars in despair. Only Lawford knew she was here. She had no idea if the Warrior would actually sail—transportation had been banned last year, though the few remaining hulks were still scheduled to depart over the next couple of years.
But why would Lawford lock her in a prison hulk if it wasn’t going to set sail?
The answer came on a wave of dread. He wouldn’t.
“She’s not here.” James stalked down the front steps to where Nicholas waited beside the carriage. Anger and worry churned through him. By the time he and Nicholas had managed to pursue Talia, her carriage had rounded the corner and gone. “I’ll try the Ragged School Union offices.”
He hauled himself into the carriage, snapping at the driver to go to Exeter Hall. Nicholas sat across from him, his expression set. Any other time, James would have tried to make amends, to provide some sort of explanation…except the only explanation he possessed was that he could not, for the life of him, withstand Talia Hall.
He suspected Nicholas did not want to hear such a blunt fact.
They rode in tense silence before arriving at the union building. James bounded up the stairs to Sir Henry’s office, but the director was out for the afternoon and Talia was nowhere to be seen. James thought the only other place she might have gone was to Alice Colston’s house or Brick Street. And he had no idea how much Talia had told Nicholas about either one of those places.
“Take the carriage and see if she’s gone to Mudie’s Library,” he said, striding back down the stairs. “I’ll go to the ragged schools. I’ve been there with her before.”
To his relief, Nicholas didn’t argue. James hurried to the cabstand and instructed the driver to head to Wapping. He hated the idea that Talia might have gone to Brick Street, especially since dusk had begun to descend. He tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee as the cab navigated the crowded streets. Smoke billowed from the blacksmith’s workshop along with the smell of coal and noise of hammers striking iron.
He went into the classroom, but found it dark and empty. The dormitories? Without bothering to
return to the cab, he ran down the street and around the corner to Gorham Street, where the lodging house dormitory was situated. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong…something beyond Talia’s embarrassment over their intimacy.
He shoved the thought aside and grabbed a boy who was just going into the dormitory.
“Martin, have you seen Miss Hall?”
Martin peered at him from beneath a threadbare cap and shook his head. “She don’t usually show up on Saturdays.”
James passed him and entered the lodging house. Before he could ring for the housekeeper, the door to the kitchen banged open.
“Mr. Forester!” Peter Colston bolted into the foyer. “I saw you comin’ up the street. We tried to send word to you. He’s got her, sir. He’s got Miss Hall.”
“Who?”
“Lawford.” Peter gripped his sleeves.
Three other boys emerged from the kitchen, their eyes wide. “Peter said he had a gun.”
James went cold all over. “How do you know?”
“He was after my sister,” Peter said. “She’s gone to try to find our father, see if he can help. But I think I know where Lawford went.”
“We need to rescue her!” Daniel shouted, and the other boys whooped in excited agreement.
“Come on, then.” James spun on his heel and hurried back outside. He and the boys returned to Brick Street and climbed into the cab. James didn’t have time to think about the wisdom of bringing along four boys on his quest to rescue Talia. He’d have to trust that they might be able to help.
They descended at the gates of St. Katharine’s Docks. James stood alongside the boys as they stared at the massive ship at the end of the basin. Moored by rusted chains, the hulk sprouted three tall masts, the gun decks pierced by cannon ports. The gangway was up, the ship shrouded in evening fog like a great, mythical beast.
“How…” James cleared his throat. “Why do you think he took her there?”
“Because he threatened to take me there when I was arrested,” Peter said.
