The Scandalously Bad Mr. Milroy

by Alexandra Hawkins

  * * *

  “Miss Bedegrayne, I know ye have a mind toward a schedule,” Inch said, yelling over the din of the crowd. At six feet and two, the raw-faced young man had to bow down to be heard. “Reckless Milroy is giving Weaver a fine thrashing. Weaver is bleeding claret all over himself. His defeat will craze these drunken coves.”

  Gar came up from behind and joined them. Somewhere in his thirties, he had been a part of the Bedegrayne household for almost twenty years. Catching the footman’s last words, he bleakly nodded. “The lad is right. Our distraction could prove dangerous. I suggest we get to it, miss, before a winner is declared.”

  Wynne and Amara had moved as close to the spectators as they dared. Over the cheering mob, she critically observed the fight. The pugilists did not seem evenly matched. The tall one with shaggy brown hair was about six inches taller, and several stone heavier than his opponent. The other appeared younger. What he lacked in weight, he made up for in build. She winced as the artistry of fine sculpted muscle proved lethal when he planted a blow into the giant’s stomach. The injured man wheezed and grabbed his middle. Exuded by a gruesome pressure, blood sprayed from his nostrils.

  “I shall be sick,” Amara whispered, cupping her gloved hand over her mouth. Her face appeared as white as the lace at her throat.

  Any other time, Wynne would have agreed. She could not decide which she found more appalling, the men subjecting themselves to such brutal abuse, or the men cheering them on. She thought they were all animals.

  “Do not dare faint on me, Amara Claeg,” she warned in a crisp tone, “or I shall have Gar lay you out on the ground where you drop. It would be a pity to ruin such a lovely frock.”

  Her friend had turned away from the fighters. Her breathing sounded ragged while she struggled to maintain her composure. Wynne placed a comforting arm around her.

  Skirting the circumference of the mob, she said, “Easy and calm, Amara. We are simply two ladies enjoying our outing.” Wynne turned, addressing Gar. “Watch after our Mr. Egger,” she said, referring to the man who planned on selling his own daughter. “I pray we shall never meet.”

  “Look to our lady,” Gar ordered the other footman. Tugging on his cap, he slipped into the crowd.

  Amara stepped out of Wynne’s embrace. “I am better, thank you.”

  “What lady would not have a case of nerves at the sight of blood spilled?” she asked, pleased the starch was back in her friend’s back.

  “Your eyes did not even flutter when that awful man punched the other one,” Amara accused.

  Keeping her attention on her surroundings, Wynne kept her voice light and pleasant. “Well, it is a matter of timing. I am planning a wondrous swoon once this is over. It will most likely top any fit you can muster.”

  The vision of Wynne swooning drew a reluctant smile from Amara. “You are just saying that to make me feel better. I vow I have never seen you upset, nor a hair out of place.”

  “Just living up to my reputation,” she said simply. Noticing her maid, her grip tightened on her parasol. “There’s Milly, and bless her, she has managed to keep hold of Jenny Egger.”

  “The girl looks terrified.”

  Small for her age, Jenny Egger was doubling her stride to match the pace of the harried maid. Her wide brown eyes searched each passing face while she fiercely clutched Milly’s hand. The fear and desperation in the girl’s expression broke both women’s hearts.

  Summoning a welcoming smile, Wynne resisted the urge to hug the girl, sensing the comforting gesture would not be accepted. “Come closer, Jenny, and meet my good friend Miss Claeg.” The girl offered Amara a shy greeting. Wynne switched the conversation to a more favorable topic, smoothing over any awkwardness. “Did you and Milly find a treat?”

  “Ginger biscuits, miss. A brimming ’andful!” she declared, reacting as though a fist filled with sweets were as rare as a purse of gold.

  “Lemon is my favorite,” Wynne mused. “What do you say we share a plate once we have reached our destination?”

  Delight flared in the girl’s gaunt face at the notion of an unexpected treat. Then, wariness immediately doused her excitement. Despite her youth, she was shrewd and knew that nothing worthwhile could be had without cost. “I’m fond of biscuits, miss.”

  “Then you shall have them, Jenny.” Her attention returned to her maid. “Do you think you were followed?”

  “I did my best, Miss Bedegrayne. I kept us moving through the crowds like you told me. If her da’ was set on watching us, he would have missed the fight.” A man stumbled into Milly, causing her to shriek. “Drunken bounder,” she mumbled, grabbing Jenny.

  “Gracious me!” the man exclaimed, his watery gaze disturbingly keen. “Four pretty birds roosting among a scratch pack.” He tried to put an arm around Amara, but she stepped aside. He chuckled at her nervous movements. “Even a clever cur dog can pick out a ticklish scent.” He lunged wildly, forcing the women to scatter in opposing directions. Laughing at his devilry, the man continued making his way through the crowd, more interested in seeking out his next drink than terrorizing well-bred ladies.

  “Scoundrel!” Milly shouted after him.

  Amara wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Did anyone understand a word he said? Tangle-footed ramblings.”

  Wynne place her hand on her abdomen. The fluttering she felt in her stomach had started to work its way up her spine. “Forget the man. Something is wrong. Different.” Observing the area around them, she tugged Jenny closer. “Come along, ladies. I fear we must hasten our departure.”

  Milly followed after them, lagging behind several steps. “Wot o’ the menfolk, miss? Why are we rushing ’bout?”

  “Fighting’s over,” Jenny solemnly replied. The announcement silenced further arguments.

  Wynne moved them along a path that kept them parallel with the canal basin. The chaos of the fight was behind them. Still, many of the men present worked in the area. Wharves surrounded the four-hundred-by-thirty-yards basin. There were also a hay-and-straw market, pens for livestock, and sheds for warehousing the goods that traveled down the canal. These same men, high on spirits or the satisfaction of viewing a good, bloody fight, were making their way back to their posts.

  The bustling activity was one of the reasons the location had been a perfect choice for Wynne. Her father, Sir Thomas, owned numerous warehouses north of the basin. Over the years, she had attended her father when he had come to oversee his investment, so she was familiar with the area.

  Mr. Egger, fearing young Jenny might run away before he sold her off, had been keeping her close. Since the man’s drinking habits prevented him from holding a post, it was a simple matter to have a representative offer him honest work at the wharf unloading cargo. The position secured Jenny’s whereabouts and provided an escape route via the canal, using a packet boat.

  Everything had gone along according to her plans, except for the fight. Organizers of illegal activities such as prizefighting could hardly advertise their intentions. The magistrates, unless they had been bribed, tended to act most severely when they discovered these events in their jurisdiction.

  The unforeseen fight had lured Mr. Eggers from his post. Upset that her plans were ruined, Wynne had considered summoning the magistrate herself. Those two bruisers had most undeniably deserved it. However, once she had calmed down, she realized the fight added a useful ingredient to her plan. It provided a splendid distraction. Mr. Egger had become too involved in watching the fight to bother with his daughter. He had counted on her fear of him to keep her obedient, but the man had never reckoned with Wynne Bedegrayne.

  “Miss, how much farther? My heart is pounding me ears!” Milly complained.

  They were moving too fast to portray themselves as ladies partaking in a leisurely stroll. It could not be helped. Before long, Mr. Egger would discover his daughter was missing. Calculating the money he would lose, it would be enough to rouse him into searching for her.

  “Almost there.
Once we cross the bridge.” Wynne gestured toward the bridge they were approaching. “Only a bit more to the boat.”

  “You, there!” an enraged male voice bellowed.

  Two

  “Me da’!” Jenny screamed. Her grip on Wynne’s hand was fierce as any clamp. “If ’e takes me back, I’ll be dead in the morn. I willna’ survive his fists.”

  Wynne believed her. She quickened her pace. Mr. Egger was not alone. Two men followed in his wake. She could only pray Gar noticed their trouble and was close. Even so, one man, three women, and a child were no match for three strong laborers.

  Hampered by their long skirts, the race for the bridge ended before it began. The three men surrounded the women, effectively cutting off their escape. The drunk’s earlier crude comment about a pack of dogs chasing down and caging their prey flashed in Wynne’s mind. Her heart hammering in her breast, she cursed herself for underestimating the man’s greed.

  “O, Jenny, me heart. Flying off without a kiss?” The man’s smile lacked warmth, and the vulgar intent in his expression shocked Wynne into action.

  She placed herself in front of Jenny, trusting that Amara would protect the girl from behind. Milly marked the third point of their misshapen triangle. Frightened by the men, the maid was already weeping.

  “Stand aside, sir, or I shall summon the patrol,” Wynne imperially informed them. She collapsed her parasol, prepared to use it as a weapon if necessary.

  The men cast knowing looks to each other and snickered. Mr. Egger opened his arms wide, palms forward, the disturbing gesture an invitation for the women to share in their jest. “Well, miss, this lonely stretch of soil seems law-barren. ’Ere we look to each other. Right, Jen?”

  Jenny, frozen in place, clasped then unclasped her fingers. “Da’, leave them be. They meant no ’arm.” She whispered to Wynne, “More than ’is eye has touched gin. Leave. Now, afore ’e turns.”

  A part of her desired nothing more than to walk away from Mr. Egger and his odorous acquaintances. Guilt and regret weighed unevenly on her shoulders for placing everyone in danger. Silently she cried out for her footmen. Their presence might be enough to deter these men from the intent she could read on their frank visages.

  She had to stall them. This was not the first time she had confronted unwanted advances. Lord Middlefell and his odious cronies rose unbidden in her mind. Absurdly, those men were considered gentlemen. However, when it came to undignified groping, there was no class distinction.

  Slipping into the attitude of a lady speaking down to an inferior was a role to which she had been born. “Mr. Egger, you will be pleased to know I have offered your daughter a position in my household.”

  His stunned expression would have been laughable if their situation were not so dire. “Fer wot? Jen has no skills worthy o’ a lady.” His bloodshot eyes narrowed; suspicion was already seeping into his gin-soaked brain.

  “To assist the kitchen staff,” she snapped, showing her displeasure at being questioned. “We have detained you long enough, sir.” The inaccuracy of her words tested her hold over her own alarm. It twisted and expanded within her like a feral creature demanding to be released. “My man is getting our carriage. Be assured we shall take good care of your Jenny.” She tried to brush him aside. The dismissal had worked countless times with unwanted suitors. She gasped when the man dared put his hands on her.

  “Remove your vile hands, sir.” She tossed her head back, her haughty demeanor in place despite her rising panic.

  Jenny rushed forward and tugged on her father’s arm. “Da’, she ’as a legion of menfolk that will kill ye for touching ’er. I’m begging ye. Don’t hurt ’er ’cause she’s willing to ’elp.”

  His putrid breath steamed through his nostrils. Seizing Wynne, her feet dangled uselessly several inches off the ground, he shook her, although his wrath was focused on his pleading daughter.

  “Ye told her, ye mouthy whelp. Whatcha do, go crying your plight on every fine-pressed skirt tha’ passed?”

  Seeing her chance of escape hopelessly crushed, the girl was crying in earnest. “No, Da’!”

  Wynne struggled, but the man’s grip was unrelenting. “Milly, find Gar. Anyone,” she ordered, when she saw the maid hesitate. It heartened her, knowing the frightened servant was reluctant to abandon her. “Run!”

  Milly took two steps backward. Her slender form trembled.

  “Damn me, Rand, don’t let ’er get away!” Egger bellowed.

  The man swung his arm around to grab Milly by the waist. She ducked low, missing his arm, then spun out of his reach. Half crawling the first few yards, she managed to get to her feet and run. Rand sprinted after her.

  Amara took advantage of Egger’s distraction. A swirl of outrage and stirred dust, she pounced on the man’s other arm, breaking his hold on Wynne. Jenny, Amara, and Wynne all tumbled to the ground.

  “Take her to the boat,” Wynne said, pushing Jenny into Amara’s arms. “Stay with her.”

  “But—” Amara began to argue, the words dying with her exertion. It took all her strength to pull Jenny away from Wynne. She screamed the moment Egger’s accomplice hooked his arm around her neck and caught Jenny by her braid.

  Wynne ran in the opposite direction, hoping to draw one of the men away from Jenny. Egger was too quick. His large hand grabbed at her bonnet. The secured ribbons caught her by the throat, hurling her backward into his embrace.

  Laughing, his arm slithered under her breasts, clamping her to his solid frame. He cruelly tugged her bonnet again until he could untangle it from her hair. The bonnet discarded, he murmured his approval. “Take a look, mate.” He easily shifted his weight to counter her struggles. “Mane like gold. I feel like a rich man, just touching it.” He buried his face into her hair.

  She growled and squirmed away from his touch. Wynne had wanted Egger’s attention to shift away from Jenny. Now that it had, she understood the girl’s frantic need for escape.

  “Wot do ye think, luv?” He pressed a kiss to Wynne’s cheek. “Jen’s scrawny hide might buy me a night of gin and doxies. Selling ye will keep me living like a king!”

  “By God, you are a dead man if you do not release my lady at once!” Gar said, gripping his side as if it pained him.

  “This fancy trussed prig wants to fight for ye.” His tongue licked her cheek. She choked; the threat of becoming ill was strong. “I’ll ’ave her skirts waist-high, an’ be poking her in the dust afore yer courage brings ye close. Off now, this is no’ yer concern.”

  She did not know what had happened to her footman, but it was obvious he was in no condition to fight these two men. She flicked her tongue over her dry lips. “Gar,” she rasped; a single tear rolled down her cheek. She knew he would willingly die for her. Reaching up, she raked her nails down Egger’s face.

  Muddled by the pain, he released her. Swearing, he checked the damage to his face. “Damn cat. I’ll teach ye!”

  Wynne was not waiting around for any lesson. On all fours, she scrambled out of the way of his blind lunge. Gar went into action. He charged Mr. Egger, knocking him flat on the ground. The men, locked in a vicious battle, rolled toward Wynne. Egger wildly flung his fist out. It clipped her across the cheek. She cried out, the momentum knocking her onto her right side.

  Desperation erupted into a fight for their lives. Amara sunk her teeth into her captor’s thick forearm. Hollering and twisting, the man tried to get free from his captive, but Amara was mad enough to draw blood. Her teeth buried deep, she refused to release him.

  Her cheek throbbing, Wynne ran toward the trio. Jenny was kicking the screaming man in the calf. Untangling the girl’s hair from his fingers was relatively simple. He was too concerned about freeing himself.

  “Run, Jenny!” Wynne urged. The girl appeared confused. “The boat!” she yelped, narrowly missing the fighting men rolling on the ground. “Amara!”

  Gazes clashed, and understanding flashed between them. Separating would make catching them more diffi
cult. Unclenching her jaw, she broke her hold on the man’s arm. Staggering back, she paused only a few seconds, and then started running in the opposite direction of the bridge. The man raced after her.

  Egger brought his fist down, digging it into Gar’s wounded side. Sweat and blood carved little channels down his grimy face. His gaze shot up and focused on his friend. “Not ’er! The other one.”

  Gar lay unmoving under Mr. Egger. Wynne did not know which one the man wanted to get his hands on, nor did she care. Whoever he caught would suffer greatly. She pivoted and ran after Jenny. That child would be free of her horrid father, even if it took her last breath to achieve it.

  Jenny slowed once she reached the bridge. Not sparing a glimpse backward, Wynne yelled, “Run!” Perspiration stung her bruised face. She cursed the skirts she wore, wishing she had a pair of her brother’s breeches.

  “I won’t go back,” Jenny shrieked, climbing up on the low stone wall of the bridge. “I’d rather die!” She jumped off the bridge.

  “No!” Pressing her hand against the stabbing pain in her chest, she quickened her pace. The water in the canal was not particularly deep. However, she had seen the loss of hope and desperation on Jenny’s face. She would drown if Wynne did not reach her.

  She reached the spot where Jenny had gone over, and peered down. Jenny was facedown in the water. Her arms were extended, her braid a limp rope coiled on her back. It was impossible to surmise whether she had been struck unconscious from the fall or was just willing herself to drown. The girl’s skirts, bloated with water, were sinking her frail form. Wynne lifted her leg, preparing to follow Jenny into the water.

  Something heavy collided into her, imprinting her tender flesh into the sharp stone. Winded from the impact, she watched helplessly as Jenny slipped deeper into the depths. Rough hands heaved her from her perch. Through pain and tears, she fought Egger.