In the next beat, Stokes leapt from table to table in a wide circle around the floor. He smashed each oil-filled lamp suspended from the wall until only the large candelabrum overhead lent light. The room reeked of lamp oil, the interior dimmed to an otherworldly glow. The broken glass and thick, splattered liquid gained everyone’s attention now and the room fell eerily quiet.
‘Good evening, gentleman.’ Stokes stopped at the far table and leaned towards the wall. With one last punch, he shattered the final ornate oil lamp. Two hidden doors along the perimeter opened and Sinclair and the other proprietors of the hell quickly entered. Other men emerged from shadows on a silent signal. The room stilled, not a rustle or hush could be heard, and it seemed everyone waited to see what Stokes, or anyone else for that matter, planned to do next.
Stokes enjoyed the audience. He turned in every direction and looked over the crowd. As he spoke he went to work emptying the bag he held, tossing rags or what looked like shredded cloth left and right.
‘It’s my pleasure to accommodate you this evening, but I’m not here for entertainment. You wanted to enter hell and I’m happy to oblige.’ He didn’t say more and dropped the empty bag before he raised a tinderbox in his palm.
‘Put it down, Stokes.’ On the other side of the room, Sinclair took a menacing step forward. The continuous sharp bark of a large dog echoed behind him.
‘Nobody move. Tonight the devil has come for his due.’ Stokes rattled the metal tinderbox higher. ‘One strike and we all die here tonight. Aside from the rags soaked with oil and sulphur, the perfect kindling for the felt-covered tables, I’ve a fuse in each pocket of my coat filled with gunpowder and ready to ignite.’ He lifted his chin higher. ‘The lamp oil on the floor will create a sea of fire and I’ve rubbed some into my clothing to guarantee a flick of the wrist and I become the biggest spark hell has ever seen.’
‘You would sacrifice yourself for revenge?’ Crispin stepped away from the wall and drew Stokes’s attention. He kept walking, knowing he could provide the distraction needed if Sinclair or one of the other proprietors risked it all to intercede. ‘There’s a better way. You could leave London. Make a new life.’ The words he spoke mirrored the exact plan he’d once executed. ‘Don’t harm these innocent people, Stokes.’ His speech had taken him directly in front of the table where Stokes stood. In juxtaposition, the crowd had shrunken to the walls in fear of fire or worse, some kind of explosion. Paralysed, no one made a move and it seemed they all remained trapped in the moment.
And then everything became a blur of noise and pandemonium.
‘The door! Open the door!’
‘He’s bloody mad. Run!’
‘Out of the way, man!’
In a surge of panic the door leading into the hell was thrown open, but the mass of people attempting to leave overwhelmed the narrow corridor. Men pushed each other aside in the fight to gain precious freedom. Others stumbled, some fell, all became a liability. There were no windows. Any private access on the perimeter led further into the hell or upstairs to the offices.
Crispin leapt to a chair and atop the table while, just out of reach, Stokes struck the flint, his coat quick to take flame. With no hesitation Crispin lunged and landed atop the bastard’s burning clothing to knock Stokes from his perch as they both fell into the crowd.
Amanda considered the stunning gown hooked on display against the mahogany door of her wardrobe. Enid hummed a cheerful tune as she carefully selected the necessary undergarments and accessories to compliment the evening dress. Amanda had never worn anything so beautiful. Layers of iridescent silk skimmed a daring neckline in delicate ruffles and the tight-fitted sleeves were dotted with seed pearls and tiny glass beads. The gown sparkled and shimmered, much like the effervescent feelings bubbling inside. She hoped the evening didn’t disappoint. So much had happened in the last weeks, it almost felt as if she lived someone else’s life. She’d gone from bumbling lady of society to mysterious stowaway, and now, if her transformation proved successful, promising beauty of the season.
Except a shadow of doubt clung to her tighter than any corset or ruched bodice.
Sleep had come easily to her last night, lost in the sensual haze of her intimate interlude with Crispin. When she’d returned from her aunt’s house, she’d spent time in the garden behind the townhouse sorting her feelings and savouring the bond they’d created. He’d professed his love and she knew she loved him in return. No matter she sought to make a good impression at the soiree this evening, her heart was already claimed. But this realization brought both extremes of emotion.
The entire situation was complicated and overshadowed by impending disaster. What of Father and his blatant dislike of Crispin? How would she negotiate the two? She loved her father dearly. Both men owned her heart in different ways.
‘Would you like to carry your mother’s beaded reticule?’
Enid interrupted Amanda’s conflicted thoughts and she was grateful for the reprieve.
‘Yes.’ She transferred the contents of her purse and lingered a moment on the playing card. It had brought her luck so far. She wouldn’t exclude it from the evening. Though what were her expectations? Did she believe for one moment her father would change his mind and suddenly admire Crispin? Allow him to court her? The idea was ridiculous. Doubt pestered her brain with too many worries. One thing remained true: they’d certainly not followed the rules of a proper courtship.
‘I’m going down to breakfast now, Enid.’ She placed the reticule beside her silk slippers on the stool near her vanity. ‘Thank you for helping.’
‘I’m excited.’ Enid smiled widely. ‘I know how much this evening means to you.’
Amanda went downstairs and rounded the newel post at the same time a servant received a caller in the hall. She bit her bottom lip. Could she hope?
No.
Aunt Matilda’s voice carried to her ears and Amanda waited so they could walk to the breakfast room together.
‘There you are.’
Matilda’s exasperation prompted Amanda to smile. As if her aunt had searched London for her and just now discovered she was at home.
‘I’m anxious to speak to the three of you.’ Matilda clasped her hand and took the lead towards the breakfast room, something instigating a sense of impatience. ‘So much happened last night, I don’t know where to begin.’
They entered the breakfast room and Raelyn flared her eyes to catch attention. Father was hidden behind The London Times, and when he lowered the paper and turned in their direction, his expression looked thunderous, his face darkened with fury.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amanda rushed to the table, her aunt just as swift to follow.
A footman stepped forward and began to pour tea. An awkward moment passed where everyone in the room held their tongue until her father dismissed the servant with a curt word.
‘I suspected Daventry presented danger and his most recent exploits prove my theory.’ Huntingdon thrust the paper to the table and eyed the three of them where they remained seated at the opposite end.
‘What is it, Father?’ Amanda’s heart pounded with an instant rush of concern. ‘What’s happened?’
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘I’m at a loss where to begin although my decision to keep you from the clutches of Lord Hastings proved sound judgement.’ Her father took some tea and the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as his temper mollified.
‘I’ve come about the same incident although we see this from opposite viewpoints, Huntingdon,’ said Matilda. ‘Lord Hastings is a hero. You should know he saved me from impending danger and perilous injury last night.’
‘Last night?’ Huntingdon scoffed. ‘Don’t invent stories to buffer the facts. Last night Hastings was at the Underground, up to no good and square in the thick of things.’
‘What things?’ Amanda’s attention volleyed back and forth between her aunt and father. ‘Will someone please share what has oc
curred?’
She waited, an exhale caught in her chest so tight she wondered if she’d ever breathe again. Beneath the damask tablecloth, she strangled her napkin. Thank heavens Raelyn insisted with the question burning on her tongue.
‘Yes. Please. Will someone tell us what had everyone on edge?’
‘I was at the Underworld last night, Huntingdon.’ Aunt Matilda reached for the plate of toast as if her startling announcement was no more than a request for the jam pot. ‘And it’s true: Crispin Daventry was there and he saved my life.’
‘What?’ Raelyn couldn’t stay quiet either. ‘He saved your life? Are you hurt?’
Amanda shot from her seat and threw her napkin on the table. ‘Someone please tell us what has happened.’
‘Sit down.’ Huntingdon rose with the command and walked to his sister, his eyes piercing into her as easily as a fork stabs a sausage. ‘What were you doing at a disreputable gaming hell? Have you no sense of your safety, never mind propriety? Am I surrounded by willy-nilly females who care not a whit for their future? First Amanda falls prey to the scoundrel aboard a ship. When I discover this fact afterwards, you proclaim the man’s chivalry. Now this? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking or how well you scheme, Matilda. We’ve shared a childhood full of your escapades and I doubt you’ve tempered your curiosity for the unthinkable since then.’
‘Indeed, Huntingdon, your bluster is for no reason.’
‘No reason. That man attracts danger. You have no idea.’
Amanda took her seat and grasped her sister’s hand beneath the tablecloth. It would seem they should remain quiet while brother and sister sorted things out. Meanwhile, the one question of Crispin’s safety and involvement in whatever occurred at the Underworld was left unanswered. Still, she needed to keep a tight hold on her tongue if she hoped to gather information.
Aunt Matilda put down her teacup and huffed in resignation. ‘Please sit down and I’ll tell you everything.’ She waved in the direction of the earl’s plate. ‘Go. We’ll accomplish little with all this conjecture.’
Remarkably, her father did as he was told. Perhaps, this once, he knew better than to challenge his sister’s indomitable spirit.
‘With the Frankley soiree this evening and my desire to visit the Underworld and trump Lady Pembler’s vapid preoccupation with reporting the choicest bit of gossip first, I donned a long coat and low-brimmed cap, took a hackney, and visited the gaming hell last evening. I only wished to gain entry and observe, nothing more. So when the lad at the door was busy otherwise, I slipped inside, followed the narrow hall and, upon entry, clung to a corner. I’d only stood there a few minutes when Lord Hastings spotted me. He’s astute and observant. One can’t fault a man for such esteemed qualities.’
‘Get on with it, Matilda.’
‘I will.’ She stirred more sugar into her tea. ‘Hastings approached and asked me to leave. His expression was grave, as if he expected trouble and had my safety foremost in mind. Indeed, he escorted me straight to the door and promised to make reparation for insisting I take a rushed exit.’ Her expression pinched with the latter statement.
‘And?’ Huntingdon’s patience thinned.
‘No sooner had he moved me towards the door than a great melee broke out. Piecing together the information I’ve gleaned, the story in The London Times, and my own witness to the noisy uproar and disruptive clamour, Lord Hastings knew of the impending disaster and meant to protect me from harm’s path. He’s a hero, Huntingdon. The man saved me from danger, injury, or heaven forbid, worse.’
Huntingdon laughed and all three women stared. From the sound of it, the laughter had nothing to do with amusement.
‘Have you considered for the briefest moment, Matilda, that Hastings knew of the impending disaster because he was poised to perpetrate it?’ The earl stood and placed his hands on the back of his chair. ‘His sudden return to London has peaked the curiosity of many, and while one would like to believe he’s merely come home to his family… family he ignored and left at the depths of worry I might add… it’s easy to see he had vengeance on his mind. What better act of revenge than to burn the Underground to ashes?’
‘Burn it down?’ Amanda rose, her hands trembling. Was Crispin safe? She elbowed her sister and jerked her chin to the newspaper where it remained beside her father’s plate, but the earl noticed her action and snatched the paper before anyone could retrieve it.
‘Proper ladies don’t read disparaging news.’ His nostrils flared. ‘It’s a miracle no one died in that fire. And to think you were there, Matilda.’ This statement brought about a definite shift in mood and Huntingdon’s expression softened as he reclaimed his seat.
Caught in a muddle of poor understanding, Amanda also resettled. Her father stated no one died. There was that. But what had become of Crispin and how exactly was he connected to the incident? She looked at her empty plate as tears burned her eyes, the sudden onslaught casting the cobalt-blue squares painted around the rim into a blur of colour.
A solemn silence ensued until, at last, Aunt Matilda interrupted and drew everyone’s undivided attention.
‘Well, I didn’t perish and that alone paints Crispin Daventry as a hero. I don’t know of his involvement within the gaming hell, only that he moved me to safety as soon as he noticed me. I reject your immediate inclination to paint him as a villain. You wish to tarnish Daventry’s reputation, but in the short time I’ve known him, I can catalogue a list of redeeming deeds.’
‘Suspicious.’ Father appeared sceptical.
‘Ridiculous,’ Aunt Matilda replied emphatically. ‘Assuredly he made a few mistakes in his past, but haven’t we all?’
Her father and aunt’s argument tipped the balance and Amanda broke into tears, the truth of that statement almost too much to bear. ‘All I do is make mistakes. Small and large.’ Overcome, she sniffled into her napkin, pressed against her mouth to prevent a babbling confession of the most horrid mistake, that she’d granted intimacies to a man who claimed to love her but led a second life. The truth of the matter, that she loved him, hurt more than all the doubt she harboured. The realization caused her heart to squeeze.
Raelyn clasped her hand beneath the table. ‘Don’t cry. We’ll figure all this out before the soiree. Please stop crying. Your eyes will be red and puffy, and you’ll regret your tears come this evening.’
Regret. That emotion taunted on the periphery of her consciousness.
Amanda strove to compose herself, the look Father gave Aunt Matilda not lost in her upset.
‘The Frankley event – I’d nearly forgotten.’ Huntingdon picked up his fork and knife. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll escort both of you.’ Her father’s fierce dedication to social standing won out. And, too, protectiveness, the core of her father’s personality, asserted his abrupt change of decision.
‘You know, Huntingdon, you’re the father of two beautiful, intelligent ladies who adore you. But…’ Aunt Matilda paused to underscore whatever she meant to say next. ‘The natural course of things is for my nieces to make splendid matches and marry. To have families of their own. You needn’t cling so tightly. They won’t leave you.’
‘Is that what you believe, Father?’ Raelyn spoke first.
‘Your family will grow larger by our marriages, not diminish. You’ll always have us,’ Amanda added in a softer tone.
‘I know.’ Their father shook his head, his expression more at ease, and the table fell silent.
Amanda still yearned to understand more of what had happened at the Underworld. Her father had the newspaper tucked under the edge of his plate, her aunt was enjoying her meal, and aside from the scant knowledge that no one had perished, a bevy of unanswered questions plagued her.
‘Just think, Huntingdon, when Amanda and Raelyn marry, we’ll have more time to spend together.’
Aunt Matilda’s comment revived the convivial mood.
‘That’s what I’m afraid o
f.’ Her father’s retort offered the chance to laugh away some of the tension. He stood and picked up the newspaper. ‘I trust we’ve had enough excitement for the morning. Until later, ladies.’ He left the room straightaway.
‘Tell us everything.’ Raelyn and Amanda leaned forward, anxious for every bit of information Aunt Matilda could share.
‘At last we can speak openly.’ Matilda eyed Amanda with compassion. ‘I haven’t heard a word in regard to Lord Hastings’ condition, but for that there hasn’t been a word to imply anything untoward occurred either. The scene I described to your father was accurate.’
‘But how did he know? Do you believe what Father said about—’
‘Absolutely not. There’s likely a logical reason that remains unknown.’ Aunt Matilda reached across the tablecloth and patted Amanda’s hand. ‘Your gentleman saved me from imminent disaster and placed himself in harm’s way. Then he risked his very life again to thwart the despicable man who threatened everyone within the gaming hell’s walls. He gave not a thought for his own safety.’
‘Yes,’ Amanda whispered. ‘I’ve learned he has a generous nature.’ The corner of her mouth twitched to bring about a lift in her mood.
‘Will he attend tonight’s soiree?’ Raelyn asked.
‘His family has accepted the invitation.’
Amanda’s eyes flared, impressed at her aunt’s ability to produce the most current on-dit. Truly, Lady Pembler had nothing on Matilda.
‘So, the Underworld, is it gone? Burned to the ground?’
‘No, although I heard the interior is damaged beyond repair. Details are sketchy but I’ve learned the owners wished to leave the business anyway and this occurrence may force them to make a decision they’d put off until now.’
‘I wonder what will become of it,’ Raelyn chimed in.
‘I admit, having been inside, I’m puzzled at its allure. It was dim and confining, not a window to allow in the light. All this time, women were disallowed entrance as if the interior was the ultimate entertainment for men and a sight too scandalous for the eyes of the fairer gender. Ha! After I breeched the threshold, I discovered the secret kept was mostly stale cigar smoke and old money. I may as well have entered into Lady Pembler’s drawing room during one of her stuffy socials. Although an intriguing idea presented itself this morning. I have it in mind to purchase the building and convert it into something special.’ Aunt Matilda grinned as she continued.
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