With This Ring

by Amanda Quick

  Leo reached out to unlatch the door.

  After that, everything happened so swiftly that Beatrice did not have time to think. Leo was through the door before she could blink. She took a deep breath and scrambled madly after him.

  In spite of her preparations, her cloak snagged on the door handle. She lost her balance. Instead of leaping nimbly to the pavement, she tumbled awkwardly out of the moving vehicle. The hard paving stones loomed beneath her. She flung out her hand in an attempt to break her fall.

  Leo, loping alongside the coach, reached out and caught her before she struck the ground.

  He set her on her feet, grabbed her hand before she could regain her balance, and pulled her into a dead run down the dark, fog-shrouded lane.

  She stumbled wildly after him.

  A shout went up from the coachman. “Damn and blast. They’re away.”

  A shot rang out. Beatrice heard it thud into a nearby wall.

  “Don’t kill ’em, ye bloody fool,” the coachman yelled. “They’re no good to us dead.”

  Beatrice struggled for breath as Leo jerked her around a corner and plunged down another densely shadowed passage. “What happened? Footpads?”

  “If I am not mistaken, someone just tried to kidnap us,” Leo said.

  Chapter 10

  … and fled straight into the very heart of an unknown fate.

  FROM CHAPTER TEN OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK

  Leo got his bearings at last when he turned the third corner and found himself in a crooked street overhung with small shops. He allowed Beatrice to slow to a walk. She was breathing quickly but she had not slackened her pace during the mad flight. He supposed he ought not to be surprised. He had known from the outset that she was not the delicate type.

  There was enough moonlight to give the fog an unnatural luminescence. The mist glowed strangely, but it was impossible to see more than a few paces ahead.

  It was yearly midnight. The narrow street was almost too quiet. It was as if the vapors had muffled the normal noises of the evening. Up ahead, a yellow glow spilled from the windows of a tavern.

  “Are you all right?” Leo asked.

  “I think so.” Beatrice shook out her cloak. “Did you mean what you said back there? Was someone actually attempting to kidnap us?”

  “I’m almost certain of it. The entire affair was far too well staged to be the work of ordinary footpads. That was not the same coachman who drove us to the theater.”

  “Why would they want to grab all of us, including Aunt Winifred and Arabella?”

  “I doubt that they wanted your relatives. They must have been watching when we came out of the theater. When they saw us put your aunt and cousin into the Hazelthorpe coach, they no doubt decided to take advantage of the opportunity to grab us.”

  “But why would anyone want to carry us off?”

  Leo glanced at her. There was no hysteria in her voice, he noted. An astonishing female. He pulled her closer against his side. “I cannot be certain, but we have to consider the possibility that this piece of mischief is connected to our investigation.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head. “How unfortunate that I did not think to put my pistol into my reticule before I left home this evening. From now on, I will not leave it behind.”

  His mouth quirked. “Do not be too hard on yourself, Beatrice. A pistol is not a normal accessory for a lady who plans to attend the theater.” He reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew the small weapon he had put there earlier. “I, on the other hand, feel somewhat undressed without one.”

  She glanced at the pistol. “I admire your forethought.”

  “’Twas habit, not forethought.”

  “Too many nights spent pursuing your hobby of hunting highwaymen, I imagine.”

  “I would just as soon not have to use it tonight. I suspect both the coachman and his companion are armed.”

  “Not the best odds.” A small shudder went through Beatrice. “Have you any notion of where we are?”

  “Cunning Lane.”

  She studied the darkened shops. “I have never been in this neighborhood.”

  “I have. Yesterday I came here to speak with a man named Sibson. He owns an antiquities shop in this street. I find it most interesting that our kidnappers were heading toward this part of town.”

  “Does Mr. Sibson live above his shop? Perhaps we could call upon him for assistance.”

  “Not a sound notion under the circumstances.”

  She turned her head quickly. “Do you suspect him of being involved in the kidnapping?”

  “At the moment, I do not know what to think. I prefer to take as few risks as possible.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “We require a carriage and we are highly unlikely to find one in this street at this hour. We must make our own way out of this neighborhood.”

  “Actually, I am not particularly keen on the notion of climbing into another hired carriage,” Beatrice admitted.

  Before he could respond, Leo caught the echo of a man’s voice in the distance. “Bloody hell.”

  “Is someone following us?”

  “Perhaps.” Leo came to a halt and drew her into a heavily shadowed doorway. “Not a sound.”

  Leo tried the door. It was securely bolted from the inside. Forcing the lock would make too much noise. There was nothing to do but wedge Beatrice as deeply as possible into the dark corner. He pushed her up hard against the stone and positioned himself in front of her.

  Facing the street, he gripped the weapon in his right hand and waited. Pistols were notoriously inaccurate, even at close range. If he was obliged to shoot, he had to make certain of his target. There would be no opportunity to reload.

  The oddly glowing fog swirled in Cunning Lane, forming a supernatural river of mist. Boot steps echoed again, closer now. Leo felt Beatrice stiffen against him, but she did not make a sound.

  The fog shifted slightly to reveal the outline of a man in a coachman’s coat and hat. He was no more than three paces away from the doorway where Leo and Beatrice waited.

  “Where the bloody ’ell are they?” the coachman snapped.

  “Yer the one what lost ’em, ye stupid bugger,” the second man hissed. “We won’t get paid if we don’t deliver ’em by dawn.”

  “’Ow was I t’know they’d leap out o’ the coach like a couple of foxes fleeing the pack? The fancy generally don’t move that fast.”

  “This pair did. And now they’ve disappeared.”

  “Can’t figure out what made ’em take off the way they did,” the coachman said. “Thought ’is lordship was too busy gettin’ under the lady’s skirts t’notice that we wasn’t in the right part o’ town.”

  “Well, they’re gone and we’ve got to find ’em soon or we’ll be out the blunt ye promised.”

  “We’ll find ’em. ’Is lordship won’t get far drag-gin’ the lady behind him. She’ll likely be fainting and havin’ hysterical fits by now.”

  “How are we goin’ to find ’em in this damned fog?”

  “I know this part o’ town. Most o’ these little lanes and alleys end in brick walls. Anyone who doesn’t know his way around will soon get trapped.”

  “We can’t watch the entrance to every damned alley by ourselves,” the second man pointed out unhappily.

  “I got some friends ‘ere,” the coachman said. “They’ll be in the Drunken Cat on a night like this. For a cut o’ the purse, they’ll ’elp us find ’is lordship.”

  There was a short silence as the two men moved off in the fog. And then the second man spoke once more.

  “Jack?”

  “Aye?”

  “Ye don’t really think it’s true what they said about that particular gentry cove, d’ye? He can’t really turn ’imself into a wolf, can he?”

  “Of course not. Try not to be any more of a bloody ass than ye already are.”

  A few minutes later a burst of noise do
wn the street told Leo that the men had opened the door of the tavern. When the sound faded again, he tugged Beatrice out of the doorway.

  He felt her questioning glance, but she kept silent as he guided her through the moonlit vapor. When they passed beneath the sign that marked Sibson’s antiquities shop, he stopped.

  “What now?” Beatrice whispered in his ear.

  “Now we hope that we, too, have a friend in this part of town.”

  “I thought you said we could not trust Mr. Sibson.”

  “I have someone else in mind.”

  With Beatrice’s hand clamped firmly in his own, Leo started across the tiny street. A figure shifted in the shadows of a doorway. The dim flare of a small lantern lit the folds of a much-patched cloak.

  “Someone is there,” Beatrice said urgently.

  “I rather hoped there would be.” Leo continued walking toward the doorway. “Clarinda? Is that you?”

  “Well, well, well.” Clarinda, heavily bundled up against the fog, stepped out of the shadows. She held the lantern aloft. “Good evenin’ to ye, yer lordship. Who’s the fancy lady?”

  “Her name is Mrs. Poole. A couple of footpads tried to rob us a few minutes ago. They are still looking for us. My friend and I need a place to stay until they abandon the search in this street. I will pay you well for the use of your room upstairs.”

  Clarinda looked Beatrice up and down. “Your friend is accustomed to fancy trade by the looks of her. Ain’t she got a nice room of her own to take ye to, m’lord?”

  “My lodgings are in another part of town,” Beatrice said before Leo could come up with a suitable response.

  “See ‘ere, this is my street. I’ve been working it for nearly three years.” Clarinda said. “If yer thinkin’ of movin’ into this neighborhood, ye can think again. The tavern trade is mine.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Beatrice said blankly.

  Leo decided it was time to correct Clarinda’s impression that Beatrice was a prostitute. “I told you, Mrs. Poole and I are friends. She is not in your line of work and I am not her client.”

  “Oh, well, in that case.” Clarinda’s voice lightened with relief. “Ye can help yerselves to my room if ye like. I don’t have much use for it tonight. Business has been off this evening. I was about to take meself down the street to the tavern for a meat pie and a mug of ale and a chat with Tom before goin’ to bed.”

  “The footpads who are looking for us are in the tavern now.” Leo dug a number of banknotes out of his pocket and put them in Clarinda’s hand. “They are seeking friends to assist them in their search. In addition to our other arrangement, I shall pay you extra for anything useful you happen to learn while you are eating your pie.”

  “Done.” Clarinda’s fingers closed fiercely around the banknotes. “I’ll come back and tell ye when it’s safe to leave me room.”

  Leo took the lantern from her. “Knock three times so that we will know it is you.”

  “I understand, m’lord. Three times.” Clarinda made the banknotes disappear into the bodice of her old dress. “Off ye go, then. Second door on the right at the top of the stairs. Stay as long as ye like.”

  “Thank you, Clarinda.” Leo tightened his grip on Beatrice’s arm and started up the stairs. He paused at the first step. “By the bye, concerning our earlier agreement. Have you noticed any new patrons going into Sibson’s shop?”

  “No, m’lord.” Clarinda shrugged. “Just some of his old ones and his friend Dr. Cox, of course.”

  Leo felt Beatrice start at the name. He squeezed her hand to silence her.

  “Dr. Cox is a friend of Sibson’s?” he asked carefully.

  “Been treating Sibson for years now with his Elixir of Manly Vigor.” Clarinda snorted in disgust. “Between you and me, sir, the stuff ain’t doin’ Sibson much good. He still doesn’t pay me any visits. But then, he never did. Always thought it was because he was too clutch-fisted.”

  “I see.” Leo tugged Beatrice after him. “We will be waiting for you.”

  Clarinda hitched up the hood of her tattered cloak and hurried off toward the welcoming lights of the tavern.

  Beatrice said nothing until they reached the first landing. Then she glanced at Leo, her gaze shadowed by the cloak. “Cox is an acquaintance of Mr. Sibson’s?”

  “I suppose it’s not such an odd coincidence.” Leo told himself not to leap to conclusions. “Moss Lane is only a short distance from Cunning Lane after all. They are both in the same neighborhood. Cox and Sibson have very likely known each other for years. It’s entirely possible that Dr. Cox actually does treat Sibson with his elixir.”

  “Hmm.”

  Leo turned at the next landing and drew Beatrice down the hall. “We shall consider the matter tomorrow. We have problems enough tonight.”

  He assessed the hall before he opened the door. Another staircase at the rear promised the possibility of a second exit in the event one was needed. It appeared to go up to the roof as well as down to the alley. He would have to be content with that. There was no time to make other plans.

  He twisted the knob and pushed open the door. Warily he held the lantern aloft to view the interior.

  Clarinda’s room was surprisingly neat and orderly. A small bed, a chipped washstand, and a battered crate that apparently served as a table were the sole furnishings. The fireplace in the corner was cold and dark.

  “Unfortunately, we shall have to make do without the lamp or a fire.” Leo turned down the lantern as he spoke. “A glow from that window over there might arouse some curiosity in our pursuers. Especially if they notice that Clarinda is in the tavern.”

  “Yes, of course.” Beatrice cleared her throat. “I suppose it is none of my affair, Leo, but may I ask how it is that you come to have an acquaintance with Clarinda?”

  Leo set down the darkened lantern. “I met her after I talked to Sibson yesterday. She agreed to keep an eye on his shop and to give me a description of any unusual customers.”

  “Why are you so concerned with that particular shop?”

  “Sibson has excellent contacts in the stolen antiquities markets. If there are fresh rumors of the Rings circulating, he will hear of them. And so will others, who will likely come to his shop for information.”

  “I see.” Beatrice was a graceful silhouette against the window. “Then your association with her is not of a, ah, personal nature?”

  “My association with whom?”

  “Clarinda.”

  Leo went to the window to stand beside her. He looked down into the street. From this vantage point he could see the amber light that lit the tavern windows. Occasional bursts of muffled laughter and the drunken cries of gamesters reached him.

  “Personal?” he said absently. “What the devil do you mean by that?” Then it struck him. “Oh, I see. Personal.”

  Beatrice concentrated very hard on the street scene. “As I said, it’s really none of my affair.”

  Leo turned his head to study her proud profile. In the luminous glow of the fog he could see that her hair had tumbled free of its pins. The soft tresses cascaded around her shoulders. The scent of her body, warmed by the recent wild dash through the streets, clouded his mind.

  He fought the fierce ache of desire that swept through him. This was most assuredly not the right time or place.

  “It’s quite all right,” he said brusquely. “The answer to your question is, no, my association with Clarinda is not of a personal nature.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then she said simply, “I’m glad.”

  Memories of the way she had responded to him earlier in the carriage made Leo grip the windowsill so tightly, he wondered the wood did not splinter. He forced himself to turn back to the view of the fogbound street.

  Silence descended on Clarinda’s room.

  After a few moments the door of the tavern slammed open. Shouts went up. Lanterns danced in the fog. Leo counted swiftly. Two, three, four, altogether. They separated and set off in oppos
ite directions down Cunning Lane.

  None of them moved toward Clarinda’s doorway. He exhaled slowly. “The search has begun. I believe we are safe for the moment.”

  “Do you think we can trust Clarinda?”

  “Yes. I made certain to give her more than our would-be kidnappers would dream of paying her.”

  He was reasonably sure that Clarinda would prove trustworthy, but one could never be completely positive about that sort of thing.

  “They are like a pack of hounds after a fox,” Beatrice whispered.

  “Elf would take offense if he knew that you had compared him to those bastards.”

  “Yes. I suppose he would.”

  He felt her shiver in the darkness. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “All will be well, Beatrice. It will never occur to them that we might have gone to ground. They will assume that we are on the run.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence fell once more. Down in the street, the last of the lanterns disappeared into the mist.

  “I fear that we are going to be here for a while,” Leo said.

  “When will it be safe to leave?”

  “When they have abandoned the search. We cannot leave now. We would likely run straight into some of those bustards.”

  “We may be here for hours,” Beatrice said.

  “I suspect the coachman’s new assistants will soon lose interest in their quarry. When they return to their gin and cards, we will depart.”

  “What about the kidnappers?”

  “They will come to the conclusion that we escaped their net after all.”

  Beatrice glanced at him. “You sound very sure of your conclusions.”

  “I have had some experience with elements of the criminal class, if you will recall.”

  “Yes.” She brushed her gloved hands. “Well, I suppose we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible. It is going to be a long night.”

  “Rest if you like. I shall keep watch.”

  She glanced into the shadows that concealed Clarinda’s narrow bed. “I think not, thank you.”

  Leo shrugged. “Likely no worse than the bedding in most inns, and no doubt cleaner than some.”