by Laura London
Katie seized the opening. “Papa, I must tell you I’ve gotten myself into the most awkward situation…”
“Sprained your ankle, have you?” guessed the baron. “Well, I suppose it had to come to that someday. I comprehend Linden here is your fellow? Well, I wouldn’t worry about the thing too much, puss, he ain’t the man to leave his bastards starving in a garret. Rich as a rent lord, they say.”
“Bastards, Papa?” asked Katie, confused.
“Your father,” explained Linden kindly, “has arrived at the conclusion that you are about to make him a grandfather.”
Katie gasped. “Papa! I am not going to have a child!”
Whit studied Katie’s trim form with polite lust. “Course yer not, sweet’eart. Lead, Scarlet Tiger.”
“Papa,” said Katie, with an urgency brought about by fear of a long series of card-game interruptions. “This may surprise you, but I’m being pursued by a man who means to kill me if he can.”
“Oh, that’s the tale, is it?” said the baron, capturing the first trick. “Sounds like the devil of the thing! Best tell me about it. Come to think, your shoulder has a bandage on it. You haven’t hurt yourself, have you?”
“I have,” said Katie, “but that doesn’t matter. Papa, do you know Ivo Guy?”
“What? A rum-phyzed, pig-eyed cove that was your mother’s cousin? I remember him. We used to call him Garbage Guts. What’s the fellow to do with you?”
“He’s the one that wants to kill me,” explained Katie patiently. “He took me to a house in the country and tried to make me marry him.”
“Were you kidnapped too? Damme if it doesn’t run in the family. But what’s this you say? Marry you or kill you? The fellow will have to make up his mind for one tack or the other, can’t have the thing both ways.”
“No, Papa, I know,” said Katie, tolerantly inured to the difficulties of explaining anything to her father. “That’s why it was so important that I find you because Ivo Guy is claiming to be my guardian.”
The baron flipped another card to the table. “Looniest thing that’s ever come to my hearing! Now you’re telling me the fellow wants to be your guardian. Damned confusing. Tell you what, though. Settle the thing easy—stick with your Lord Linden here, that’s the ticket. He’s the fellow to set you up in style. Tell you what, let’s take a glass of cognac on it. What do you say, Linden, can I fetch you a snort o’ this eyewater?”
Linden left his position by the door and came to rest the heels of his hands on the table near the baron. “Kendricks,” he said softly, “if you think I’ve compromised your daughter, you ought to be calling me out instead of offering me your damned cognac.”
The baron looked hurt. “Not damned cognac, rather good cognac,” he corrected. “And I’d have to be crazy to call you out—everyone knows you for a dead shot and I’m no more than average myself. ‘Sides, you don’t find me worrying about my little Kate.” The Baron gave his daughter a hug with his encircling arm. “She can take care of herself. Lands on her feet like a cat.”
“I know that you’ve successfully instilled in Katie the false notion that she can take care of herself,” said Linden, in unloving accents. “But a more apt comparison would be to a kitten stranded on the highest limb of an oak tree. Never have I met a girl more in need of a father’s protection and getting it less!” And then Lord Linden treated himself to the blistering denunciation of the quality of the baron’s parenthood that he had been longing to deliver ever since he had learned Katie’s identity. When finally he finished, Kendricks, who had been surveying him blandly through the whole, bunked like a badger, played his queen of hearts, stared straight at Linden and said, “If you don’t like the way I’ve done with the chit, then you’d better protect her yourself.”
“I intend to,” snapped Linden.
“Good. You’ve got my permission, not that I think you give a damn.” The baron pulled a jack from his hand and tossed it on the table. “My trick, Patrick. And give me thirty points for the pic.”
Katie had listened to the last exchange with her alarm rippling like water in the rain. She wriggled to her feet and laid an unsteady hand on her father’s shoulder. “Papa,” she whispered in a stricken voice, “is that… how do you mean that? Don’t you want me anymore?”
The baron drew Katie back onto his lap. “Poor old Katie,” he said, laying her head against his chest and lacing his fingers gently through her satin curls. “God knows how a sweet little sprout like you pulled such a damme boy as m’self for a father. I’m sorry about a lot of things but sorry won’t get the horse back in the stall, will it? It’s too late, honey, there’s nothing I can do for you. No money, no house, the law on my scent…” He rested his cheek on her head. “Take Linden, won’t you, princess? You could do a whole world of worse. Katie, Katie, I’d be doing you more harm than good if I didn’t tell you that there’s no chance anyone but a no-noodle like Guy’ll want to marry you, not with me posed as your pa. You’re the pick of the litter, but ain’t no decent man’s ever going to like the look of your kennels.”
Katie’s shoulders drooped in despair, causing her small puffed sleeve to slide down her arm. There was a gasp of startled pleasure from Whit who was moved to exclaim, “I’ll marry her!”
Patrick roused himself from the scoring sheet. “Aye, half-Whit, and yer wife’d love that!”
Katie heard Linden say something under his breath about “idiocy.” He plucked her from the baron’s arms and handed her to his brother, saying sharply, “Get her out of here, Drew. I’ll meet you at home.”
Winnie accompanied Drew and Katie to the lift shaft and worked the ropes that lowered them back to street level, letting them out into what was now the warm dusty evening light and closed the door behind them. Katie heard the scrape of the lock and then the subdued rumble of the lift returning to the second floor. She felt Drew’s hand on her elbow and turned to look at him questioningly.
“Do you need to cry?” he asked.
Katie shook her head. “No. But I almost feel like I could. Do I look weepy?”
“Devil a bit, Peaches. Come on, let’s get you home.”
They walked together around the corner of the building. The air was oppressive and clammy, and there was no sound but the soft whisper of the Thames slapping against the wharf. The carriage was already losing distinction in the dusk, and the grooms had neglected to light the flambeaus. The unattended horses were somberly cropping on a few forlorn tufts of scrub grass which had worked their way defiantly out of the hard-packed earth.
The unlit flambeaus. The deserted horses. The absence of Lady Brixton’s reliable coachman and two grooms. It took Drew no more than a few seconds to assimilate and interpret these facts. Suddenly he cursed under his breath and propelled Katie back toward the lift.
But it was too late. Two shadowed forms coalesced from behind a stack of kegs. The wider figure was carrying a brace of pistols; the barrels protruded from the rolled-up sleeves of an old frock coat. The taller figure hefted a truncheon.
“Ivo Guy,” breathed Katie.
“Yes, my little chicken. But don’t move or you will say good-bye to life a little sooner than you might,” said Guy, grinning evilly. “And don’t bother to look around for your servants, we have them bound where they will stay safely until we need them.” He walked closer, followed by Chilworthy. A suggestive leer was on the obese lips as, keeping one barrel steadily at Drew, he ran the tip of the other barrel over the bare white flesh above the bodice of Katie’s gown, and said, “But why are you strolling with this young milord here, cousin? Perhaps you’re not as tasty as you look? Has your noble stallion, Linden, grown tired of your little freckled body?”
Drew’s white linen shirt glowed pale blue in the fading light and Katie clutched it with both hands. “What are you going to do with us?” she asked, her musical voice unsteady.
His hot round eyes stared up and down her body. “Oh, are you trembling, now, my pretty slut? With fear? You could have
trembled for me in another way. I offered you marriage!” He laughed harshly. “More fool I. You went back to take your love on an illicit bed. That’s how you prefer it, isn’t it? Too often carnal beauty is the mask for a lewd spirit. You’re a wicked little creature and you’re better off dead.” He nudged the hard pistol barrel gently against her lips.
Drew pulled Katie’s face into his chest, away from Guy. “Do you know who I am, Guy? Yes? You must have taken into consideration that if you kill Katie to claim your money in court, you’ll have to also kill me.” Drew’s tone was remarkably cool. “And if you kill me, my family will hunt you down even if you crawl into the deepest rathole in England.”
Guy shifted his weight irritably. “Fine talk, my young bravo, but the man who holds the weapons is the man who gives the insults. There will be no hunting down because Chilworthy and I are going to arrange a carriage accident. A turn taken too sharp across the narrow bridge, a broken axle, a plunge into the Thames, a mass drowning and the thing is done.”
“And no one will ever suspect,” said Drew sarcastically, thinking rapidly. “You’ve outgeneralled us all, haven’t you? Have you had Brixton House watched?”
“Yes,” said Guy, with relish, almost laughing. “And I’ve been bidding for this moment. But now, get into that carriage.”
“All right,” said Drew, making his voice very soft, “but Guy, think. I have an idea that would make this moment even… sweeter for you. If you’ll listen only for a second. You want Katie, don’t you?” Katie jerked in his arms but he ignored her.
“Want her?” said Guy. “What do you mean?”
“Desire her,” said Drew ruthlessly, calmly. “So do I. She’s always been Linden’s and I’ve always wanted her but I’ve never had the chance. We could share her, Guy, first me and then you. In that warehouse across the yard.” Drew heard Katie gasp his name. He slid his hand to cover her mouth. “Why not, Guy? As a last request, you might say.”
Guy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but his breath came faster. “It’s a trick.”
“How could it be a trick? You keep the pistols.”
Guy laughed nervously. “Damned if I know what to make of you, boy. You’re a mighty cool hand. Seems like you must be having something up your sleeve.”
Drew felt Katie struggle in good earnest. “Do you expect me to whimper at your feet like a peasant?” asked Drew contemptuously. “I know how to die. But if I’m dying on her account, it would be justice for me to enjoy her first.”
“All right, all right, I’ll do it!” said Guy, his voice strained with excitement. He gestured with his pistols toward the far warehouse. “Bring her along then. But quickly now! No, no, you walk ahead, that’s right. And I don’t mind telling you, boy, that you’re the most depraved young whelp I’ve ever chanced upon.”
“And you wouldn’t do the same, in my situation, I suppose?” asked Drew simply. He had scooped the pitiful trembling Katie into his arms, keeping one hand clamped tightly across her mouth. They were nearing the far warehouse. It was a dilapidated barn-like building whose high boarded windows proclaimed its abandoned status. One side door hung open on rusted hinges, exposing an old but serviceable bolt on its inside. They reached the door and Drew turned back toward Guy, and said, “It’s dark inside. There might be glass. You have a lamp? You’d better light it.”
Chilworthy had an oil lamp hanging from his belt and Guy watched as his partner made to light it. It was a small distraction but it was enough for Drew. He threw Katie into the warehouse, ran in after her and smacked the door shut, ramming the bolt home. Within seconds there was the sound of pounding from the other side and Guy’s unintelligible screaming.
“Keep it up, you bastard,” said Drew quietly. “I only hope that you make enough noise for Lesley to hear.” There was a shallow light from the rotted window boarding and Drew looked down at Katie who had sank into a shivering heap at his feet. He offered her his hand. “Come on. Up. These hinges won’t take much battering from that ghoulish henchman of your cousin’s.”
Katie didn’t move. “I thought… I thought…”
“I know what you thought and I can’t say that I’m too damned flattered. Your cousin is stupid and crazy. But you,” he said grimly, “are just stupid.”
Katie covered her face with her hands, and Drew felt the anger flood from him. He bent down to take her hands, to clasp them inside his. “There. And everyone says I’m the even-tempered one of the family. That was just what you needed today, wasn’t it? More unkindness. Listen, you were smart not to trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either if I’d had your experience with men.” He laughed.
“And if you can decipher that sentence, you’re in better shape than me.” Drew put his hands under her arms and pulled Katie to her feet. “C’mon Peaches, help me save your life. Or how will I ever face Lesley?”
There was only one door out of the wide dirt-floor room and Drew headed toward it, tugging Katie’s stumbling form behind him. The door led to a small airless shaft with a steep flight of steps leading up into darkness.
“Stairs. Good. These ought to slow down our fat friend some. I hope to God they don’t lead to a locked door. Let me go first, Katie. Some of these boards are probably rotten. Smells like it.”
The stairs went up and up. Twice they came out of the dark stairway onto a landing with faint light stealing in through cracked air venting, but there was no door out. Katie heard Drew mutter that they were on Jacob’s Ladder. His quiet laughter floated back to her as he added, “Complete with an angel.”
They climbed another flight of stairs and reached another landing but this time with a difference. The stairs stopped before a narrow wooden ladder leading to a trapdoor in a dusty ceiling. Drew scampered up the ladder with monkey-like ease while Katie stood with her head bowed and her hands on her knees trying to choke some air back into her aching lungs. Drew shoved on the trapdoor and it landed open with a thud, causing the late evening sky to be framed in the gathered dark of the landing. Drew turned and pulled Katie up after him and then they stood together on the roof, gasping in the warm evening air after their exertion. Drew looked around them. It seemed as though they could see all of London. The slate gray rooftops were ablaze in an orange light and the sun was shooting giant tentacles of fire into the darkening sky, fingering the altitudinous clouds in a blood-red gesture of farewell. Far in the distance, the Tower of London stood like a dire sentinel of the night that was soon to follow. Swallows and bats were darting spirits above the city, squealing and whistling.
“Beautiful. If we were of a mind to admire the landscape. A romantic setting, a girl pretty enough to make your heart turn over, and Guy the Gorgon on your heels. My luck. Will your shoulder make it, Peaches?”
“The shoulder…” said Katie, between panting breaths, “is the least… of my… problems.”
Drew knelt by the trapdoor and tugged at the ladder. “Running up three flights of stairs when you’re barely off the sicklist isn’t nothing, is it? Damn. This thing won’t… no, here it comes.” Drew hauled the ladder onto the roof. “Got your wind again? Let’s go.”
Drew started off across the roof toward the next building, the ladder held under one arm. Broad rain pools that had somehow escaped drying in the day’s heat were scattered over the roof, teeming with vermin and dead leaves, reflecting pale orange and white from the evening sky. Katie saw a nightjar swoop low over the roof giving a triumphant churring thrill as it captured an insect.
“I wish we could fly from these rooftops like the swallows,” she said.
“If we did, I wouldn’t put it beyond Guy to turn into a buzzard and flap after us,” said Drew. “That fellow talks like the archvillain in a shilling shocker. I’m not stating the case too strongly when I tell you that you’re sadly unfortunate in your relatives.” They reached the roofs edge. About three feet above them and four feet away lay the roof of the next building. Drew settled the ladder, bridge-like across the void.
“You can’t be
serious,” said Katie, her heart bumping up to her throat.
“No? All right then, don’t be serious. Pretend we’re ten-year-olds playing pirates. Time to walk the plank.” Drew hopped on the roofs foot-high edge-wall, paused a moment, and ran lightly across the horizontal rungs, his arms gracefully outstretched for balance.
“See, nothing to it,” he said. “You’re a bird, remember? A swallow. You can’t fall.”
There was a series of confused scrambling thumps from below and behind them. “Damn!” said Drew, “Katie, they’re on the stairs. If you can’t walk across then get down on your hands and knees and crawl. Look, I’m holding the ladder steady. That’s right. Good girl.”
Katie was over and in his arms for a brief second before he let her go. He swung the ladder away from the lower building and then sent it on a reeling journey to the ground where it landed with a splintering crash.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Katie.
“Burning our bridges. Guy can’t get any use out of it now, and anyway, the thing was so rickety that it wouldn’t have been safe for us to use for another crossing.”
Katie gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I crawled across on it?”
“Stupid question. Because you would never have crawled across on it if I had. Come on, you can sort the logic of that out later.”
They were on the roof of what once must have been an office house, judging from the forest of smokestacks that rose from its tiled surface. The clay shingles were dry with age, and most had worked their way loose. They clattered and clanked under Drew’s Hessians and poked uncomfortably into Katie’s feet through her thin slippers. She could hear Ivo Guy shouting something to Chilworthy far behind.
“Drew,” said Katie, her breath coming quickly in her throat, “do you think. Lord Linden will hear them? Or that he’ll come out and find the grooms tied up and look for us?”
“ ‘The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.’”
