The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  He was stunned. "My help?

  "And to try to help you and your friends too."

  Watson's pale blue eyes narrowed. "Folks said you were a criminal, dead even."

  "I know. But I’m very much innocent, and alive. And I intend to stay that way. You need to help me, please. They nearly killed me and my colleague because of us representing a man called Gribbens at his trial for theft. Except that they murdered him so there would be no trial. He was going to come forward, say something in the witness box, wasn’t he?"

  He appeared the picture of innocence as he asked, "How would I know?"

  Alistair gave him a sharp look. "I know whatever is going on, it has to be something big. The Home Office spy John Castle is back on the scene. I saw him today when I was waiting for my friend. Look, if they’ve infiltrated the Spenceans again, we need to know about it. We have to warn them before they act."

  Watson shook his head. "How do I know I can trust you—"

  "You don’t, is the short honest answer. So let me put it this way. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You’re in here nice and safe for the moment. I’ll be happy to pay your debts and get you out of here regardless of whether you tell me anything tonight or not. This government can’t get away with continuous repression forever.

  "But there’s more than principle at stake here. This young lady is wanted for arson, and they tried to murder her brother. Castle nearly sent you to your deaths not that long ago, and now it looks like he's lining more more unsuspecting victims."

  "Why should you care, Grant?"

  "Because to my mind, there’s been too much killing. Too much damage thanks to Sidmouth and Castlereagh and men just like them, or those willing to go along for the power and reward. So no, you have no reason to trust me, it's true, part from our past acquaintance, and my reputation as a man of my word."

  Watson relaxed slowly. "What do you want to know?"

  "What they’re planning, and where I can find the rest of the Spenceans to at least warn them that they’re about to be betrayed again. Please. If they go down, I think others of my friends will as well."

  Watson was evidently torn, but Viola looked at him so encouragingly he decided that the lad couldn’t possibly be a cutthroat. Lass, he amended, looking at her more closely.

  He sighed heavily, then said, "Thistlewood is out of control. He's convinced we're going to have our own storming of the Bastille. A man called Edwards gave him the idea. He’s going to kill all the government ministers and parade through the streets with their heads on spikes. Armed insurrection. Hand grenades for maximum damage."

  "My God. Where? The Houses of Parliament?" he guessed.

  Watson clamped his mouth shut then.

  "Oh God. Who is this Edwards? Does anyone know him, or can vouch for him? Or is he just another agent provocateur Sidmouth sent into the fold to spy?"

  "I don’t know. I swear. But from all you've told me, it’s starting to look more and more likely that he is."

  "When were they supposed to act?"

  "Tonight," Watson admitted.

  "Oh God, we may already be too late?" Alistair gasped.

  Watson listened as the bell struck the quarter hour past eight. "They were all going to assemble at nine to get ready to storm their destination. You might still have time if you hurry."

  "Where are they? And where are they going?"

  He stared long and hard at Alistair, then gave a resigned sigh. "I tried to talk them out of it. They’re in Cato Street, in a small stables."

  "And where are they supposed to be going?"

  "39 Grosvenor Square."

  Alistair frowned. "Grosvenor Square." He shook his head. "What’s at—" Then his jaw dropped open. "Oh my God! Viola, we’re leaving, now!"

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Alistair yanked all the money he had out of his pockets apart from enough for a few taxi fares, pressed it into Watson’s hand, and thanked him.

  "I swear, I’ll do my best to stop them, save them. And see you soon, if I live through this."

  Alistair pumped his hand, shouted for the guard to let them out, and walked rapidly to the exit.

  The turnkey let him out, and then Alistair was running full tilt to the corner and shouted for a cab.

  Viola had never seen Alistair so beside himself.

  "What, what is it?" she panted.

  "I think I can see all of it now. And it’s uglier than I ever imagined."

  He got into the cab first and hauled in her unceremoniously. "Cato Street, at once."

  "Alistair, please tell me, what’s at Grosvenor Square?"

  Alistair sighed. "More like who. That’s Lord Harrowby’s house. Gribbens was going to expose their plot, I’m sure of it."

  "Who, the Spenceans?"

  He shook his head. "No, the government’s. They are fomenting and inciting rebellion again, and I think I know why. To better disguise the casualties about to occur." Alistair began shaking like a leaf. "Oh God, if we’re too late—"

  "I don’t understand. What do you think is going to happen?" she gasped, looking at Alistair’s terror-stricken face.

  "I saw it in the paper. It’s supposed to be a big ministerial dinner to organise the new government now that there’s a new king on the throne. They want to see who they can reach political accommodations with. It’s case of keeping your friends close, and your enemies closer. They planned all along to incite the Spenceans so they could repress them and everyone else they disagree with. So they can have it both ways.

  "I don’t't understand—"

  "If the Radicals they have invited cooperate, fine. If they don’t, well, one of two things will happen. The Spenceans will turn up at the door, and the Radicals will be accused of being in league with them.

  "Or they will turn up at the door, and my friends will be killed. The Spenceans will take the blame, and Sidmouth and Castlereagh will have everything they ever wanted, and two if not more vacant seats in the House of Lords."

  Viola stared at him in horror. "Oh no, surely not—"

  "That’s the only thing that makes sense. We need to get into that stable and stop them. Can you change into your skirt again, please? They probably have the entire place surrounded, and we only have once chance. That they’ll never imagine a woman is mixed up in all this."

  She was already unwrapping the bundled she had been carrying tucked under her arm. "All right, I’ll do it."

  "I hate asking you to—"

  "If it’s their only chance—"

  He sighed heavily. "I think it well might be."

  "Damn, those buggers—"

  "Language, my dear," he remonstrated mildly.

  "Well, it’s barbaric, and I don’t care who knows about it," she said, her indignation rising with every passing minute.

  "Your sentiments do you credit, my love. I feel like ripping Sidmouth’s head off and sticking it on a pole myself. But we need to remain calm. Driver! Stop!!"

  Viola looked at him in surprise as the vehicle lurched to a halt.

  "Have you any money?"

  She nodded and fished a couple of pounds out of her skirt pocket.

  "Go buy that piewoman’s basket."

  Viola did not need to be told twice. She jumped out, made the transaction with little argument from the stunned woman, who had never seen so much money at one time in all her life, and then they sped on.

  "Take your hair down, a bit looser, and if they ask, say Watson sent you. Stay away from the door. Step in, step out briskly. Above all, try to make sure they don’t panic."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "See if I can convince the constables that Sidmouth has called off the scheme for the night. I just have no idea how far they were going to let it all go. Take them at Cato Street, or wait until Grosvenor Square."

  "Let’s hope it’s the first, or your friends could be in real trouble."

  "Damn, I never thought I would ever hear myself say this, but I wish George were here."

 
"If Castlereagh has something hanging over his head, he couldn’t help even if he wanted to," she pointed out as she twitched her skirt into place.

  Alistair fidgetted in his seat, then pulled her to him for a kiss.

  After a time he said, "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so rough, get so carried away. I just hate having to even think about letting you go in—"

  "I love you. It’ll be all right."

  He cupped her cheek, and stroked his fingers down the slim column of her neck. "And I love you. So very much."

  At length he broke off the kiss with a shaky laugh. "I need to keep my wits about me, and we’re nearly there."

  "Thank God."

  "Now you know what to do. In, deliver the message, and out. If you see any weapons, stuff what you can into the basket and come back out."

  "Aye.

  "If we get separated for any reason we need to meet up at Number 39. You have to find Thomas and Randall. Tell them it’s urgent, a message from Lawrence Howard and Antony Herriot. That ought to get you into the house."

  "I’m not leaving you, Alistair," Viola argued, her heart almost too full to speak.

  "I hope you won’t have to." He pulled her to him for one last kiss. "I love you, Viola, please know that, no matter what happens. I know it’s been sudden, but you make my life complete. In fact, you've saved my life, in every sense. I would have been lost without you. Never doubt that or forget it for a moment."

  "I promise, I never will," she promised, returning his kiss with equal fervor.

  They broke off their embrace a moment later and got out at the corner of the Edgeware Road.

  Alistair flung some money up to the driver, and they strode purposefully the rest of the way.

  Once at Cato Street, he immediately recognised a man called George Ruthven, one of Sidmouth’s special constables, and went up to him to bluff his way through as best he could.

  "Well, my good man, who is in charge here? Lord Sidmouth asked me to come down to supervise—"

  "And who might you be?"

  "Why, Mr. Goodwood, of course. Surely you’ve heard of me."

  "I have, sir. So sorry. And who is the lady?"

  "Watson sent her. We’ve persuaded the two of them to tell us all they know, and she is now going to go in and ascertain—"

  Ruthven looked completely shocked. "You can’t send a woman into that murderous gang of cutthroats—"

  "Very chivalrous of you, I’m sure, but she’s an old friend of theirs."

  At that piece of news, he looked dubious. "No one ever mentioned a woman—"

  "Trust me, Watson knew what he was doing."

  Viola now pushed open the door, and asked for Arthur Thistlewood. She declared that Watson had sent her with a message. She saw a thin ferret-face man looking at her coldly, with some alarm.

  Thistlewood came forward, and she said in a low tone, as if showing him everything in the basket, "Some pies and milk, and the man called Edwards has betrayed you. You need to get out of here. The whole front of the stables is surrounded, and they’re waiting for you at Grosvenor Square as well. He’s an agent provocateur sent by Sidmouth. Just like John Castle at Spa Fields. You need to get—"

  "Who really sent you?" he demanded angrily.

  "I’ve just come from the Marshalsea with Watson. Please, you need to hurry. There isn’t much time."

  He stared at her for a moment longer before turning his back so that Edwards couldn’t see the expression on his face. "All right, but I need you to help me buy some more time. Start distributing the food, and see if you can chat up Edwards. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you."

  Viola gave her best flirtatious smile and giggle. "It’s because he probably suspects I’m warning you," she said through clenched teeth. "They’re about to storm the building. Get out as quickly as you can."

  She stroked his cheek and winked at him in order to convince Edwards that they were just doing a bit of billing and cooing.

  Edwards relaxed a bit, though he still kept looking at the door every so often. Viola felt sure the raid would begin as soon as the clock struck nine.

  She began to distribute food to the men still below who were working with the weapons, cleaning and loading them. One by one she saw Thistlewood give them the nod while she tried to distract Edwards with pies and a goodly display of her other wares.

  The men were displaying their own. The guns and even some hand grenades were all spread out on the table. She took note of the pistols they were loading.

  Now she stroked his forearm. "Oh, look, you have ever such a big gun."

  Edwards grinned lewdly.

  "However does it shoot?"

  "If I weren’t so busy, minx, I’d show you."

  She had palmed a smaller pistol in her left hand, and now pointed it at him. "Never mind. I think I already know. Get in the corner, now."

  "Who the hell are you?" he barked.

  "Wouldn’t you like to know."

  "When I get my hands on you—"

  "Just keep them up where I can see them."

  "My friends are going to be down in a minute and—"

  Viola was already filling her basket with loaded pistols. "Your friends, as you call them, are all leaving without you. As am I."

  She kept the weapon trained on him as she stepped backwards, heading out the way she had come.

  Edwards heard some noise and scuffling from above, and realised in an instant what had happened. "Damn you! You’re letting them get away!"

  "One more word, and so help me—"

  She flung the door open and hurried out. She heard Edwards screaming impotently in fury.

  Alistair, still seemingly discussing the situation with Ruthven outside, now looked around as the whole street sprang to life.

  "I say, Ruthven, you’re supposed to be following my orders."

  "Sorry sir, but our agent has called for help. He says they’re getting away. Men, follow me!"

  Alistair grabbed Viola and pulled her to one side as the men began to storm the stables.

  "All right?" he asked, hugging her to him in relief.

  "Fine. They’re on the run. Let’s go to Grosvenor Square."

  Alistair held her tightly as they made their way down the street and around the corner, keeping close to the walls as more and more special constables flooded the street.

  No one tried to halt them, too intent upon capturing some supposed traitors to pay attention to what appeared to be a courting couple.

  Alistair heaved a sigh of relief as they got to the end of the street. But relief turned to dismay as they turned the corner into Grosvenor Square and heard shots ring out.

  "Stay here!" He pressed her up against a small alcove in the wall of one building.

  Alistair grabbed two pistols from Viola’s basket before she could stop him, ran forward, and dashed up the front steps. He sent the man at the top of them flying as he shoved his way into the entrance to Number 39.

  Another man took a swing at him, and he shot him point blank and then rammed the weapon into a second assailant’s face. He could hear the sound of scuffling in the chamber ahead of him, and with a growl reminiscent of a tiger’s, he stalked his prey.

  He saw one tall dark-haired man on the ground being throttled, and pounced. Alistair wrestled with the man furiously. With one mighty punch, he sent him sailing into the corner, where he landed unconscious.

  Alistair looked down at his friend, who was struggling to sit up. He saw Thomas clutching his left shoulder, the blood running through his fingers in rivulets.

  Alistair sprang forward, as much to try to help the Duke of Ellesmere as to shield him from the bullets which were pocking the floor and plaster all around him now.

  Alistair dived and grappled him around the shoulders, wrestled him flat to the floor, and dragged him behind the ornate side table.

  "Thomas! Oh God, Thomas!"

  Crimson soaked his evening coat and crisp white shirt and waistcoat. Alistair snatched his handkerchief o
ut of his pocket, wadded it up, and rammed it on top of the hole.

  "God, Alistair, what the hell is going on?" Thomas asked, clearly dazed by everything that had just happened.

  "They’re trying to get rid of the more Radical elements they fear."

  "I don’t understand. Who the hell are they? We got a personal invitation from Sidmouth to come here tonight and—"