The Hummingbird Dagger

by Cindy Anstey

  Then Rebecca caught a stare from the shadows, and she stiffened and tripped. She clutched at James’ arm for support.

  “Is all well?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Rebecca answered mindlessly, her eyes lingering on the shadowed figures of the policemen, watching them from the crowd. “I am just unaccustomed to living in a glass bowl,” she added.

  James placed his other hand atop her arm while glancing into the crowds as well. “Not much longer,” he said quietly. “I’ll let them know that we are leaving early.” But before James could do so, they were accosted by an overly loud and high-pitched voice meant to demand attention.

  “Miss Ellerby, Miss Dobbins. How grand to see you!” Mrs. Thompson shouted as she stepped into their circle. A man of similar build and slight resemblance stood quietly at her side. “Oh my, I knew, I just knew there would be a happy meeting. And look, here we are, all together.”

  “Mrs. Thompson, this is a surprise. I though you were attending the Blakeney Assembly this evening.”

  The gentlemen bowed, the ladies curtsied, and James introduced Rebecca and Caroline to Mr. Gilbert Renfrew. Rebecca noticed that James still referred to her as Miss Dobbins. Discretion and Mrs. Thompson were not likely to sit well together. Any resulting confusion would be resolved at a later date.

  “No, well, yes but … I heard that the Assembly was to be a terrible crush. And being that I am so much more of a musical person, I persuaded Mr. Renfrew here”—she patted his arm as if they would not know to whom she referred—“to forgo the ball and have a quieter alfresco in the Gardens. There is no brother kinder.”

  “Besides,” Mr. Renfrew added with a perfectly straight face, “it is one of the social events of the year.”

  “Oh my, yes.”

  Mrs. Thompson seemed completely unaware of her brother’s sarcasm, as well as the wink he sent in Rebecca’s direction.

  “Why, I just bumped into Lady Charlotte, and who should be with her but Lord Ingham’s daughter? Well, I must say…” And she did just that. Suddenly the bastions of society were laid bare by the probing and tattling of Mrs. Thompson.

  “I beg your pardon,” James interrupted, turning toward Rebecca. “I must leave you for a moment … before we set off.” Without mentioning the necessary, it was implied that James needed to answer the call of nature; Rebecca knew his desertion was, in fact, to inform the peelers that they were heading to the gates.

  Mrs. Thompson sniffed. She snapped her jaw shut and pursed her lips.

  “I will go with you,” Brant said. “See a man about a horse.”

  Rebecca almost laughed at his desperation to get away from Mrs. Thompson’s prattle.

  James turned to Mr. Renfrew. “Would you mind if we left our lovely ladies in your capable hands for a few moments?”

  Mr. Renfrew looked pleased. “Most willing to oblige.” He bowed.

  The moment the gentlemen left their company, Mrs. Thompson resumed her blathering as if there had been no interruption. Mr. Renfrew caught the movement of Rebecca’s shoulders lifting in a sigh. She straightened immediately, but the man just smiled. He scratched at his cheek and then turned his head, squinting at one group of revelers and then another, dismissing each with a headshake. Eventually, Mr. Renfrew’s attention wandered to something behind them.

  He frowned and quickly bowed to the others. “If you will excuse me.”

  Rebecca was quite surprised by the hurried leave-taking, and looked over her shoulder. She watched as Mr. Renfrew rushed to meet James and Dr. Brant. Their conversation appeared animated, but the words did not carry across the path. She wondered at its meaning.

  Caroline tipped her eyebrow in Rebecca’s direction but said nothing. Instead, Caroline turned back to Mrs. Thompson. “You were saying?” Neither Caroline nor Rebecca were particularly interested in the woman’s dissertation about the similarities of various flower beds but it was politic to appear so.

  When Mr. Renfrew returned to the group moments later, neither James nor Dr. Brant accompanied him. Rebecca turned to see where they might be, witnessing their hurried departure around the side of the rotunda. She turned to frown at Mr. Renfrew, asking for an explanation.

  Mr. Renfrew opened his mouth and then closed it again. There was a hesitance to his manner. “I am afraid—” Mr. Renfrew glanced first at his sister and then directly to Rebecca. “I am afraid that Dr. Brant and Lord Ellerby are going to be unable to join us for the remainder of the evening.”

  Rebecca’s pulse began to quicken, her stomach churned and her mouth went dry. There was no reason to think that this odd situation had anything to do with Elizabeth, but Rebecca had thought of little else all evening.

  “Well, really. How singular!” Mrs. Thompson huffed.

  “In fact, my dear.” Again he turned to Mrs. Thompson. “We have been requested to escort Miss Ellerby and Miss Dobbins home.”

  “Oh my, before the end of the concert? You cannot be serious.”

  Mr. Renfrew straightened his shoulders and his waistcoat. “Yes, Margaret, I am serious. It seems to be an urgent matter and I was asked to undertake it.” He offered his arm to Rebecca.

  “Perhaps it would be best to look for a hackney carriage. Your carriage, Miss Ellerby, will be near impossible to extract.”

  Mrs. Thompson was not impressed or compliant. “Oh, Mr. Renfrew,” she whined to her brother, “there will not be room for everyone. We will be terribly overcrowded.”

  Rebecca felt the stiffening muscles of Mr. Renfrew’s arm beneath her own but he did not, as she feared, create a scene. “You are right, my dear. I cannot ask you to miss the concert while at the same time threatening your health in an overstuffed hackney. Three is possible; four would be horrendous. I could not do that to you.”

  Mrs. Thompson simpered.

  “It would not suit,” he continued in his calm tone. “The answer is obvious: I will find another party whom you can join. No need for you to forgo the pleasures of such a night.”

  “But—but—” Mrs. Thompson sputtered.

  Mr. Renfrew ignored her protest. “That way, you will have the enjoyment of the music and plenty of room in the carriage home.” He took his sister’s arm and placed it on his own. Then he pulled her across the walk to a group of revelers that she had, only some moments ago, been criticizing. Mrs. Thompson greeted the party with great enthusiasm.

  Rebecca and Caroline waited patiently … with the appearance of patience. They had not waited long when Mr. Renfrew returned and offered them each an arm. The three strolled companionably toward the garden gates.

  Rebecca had restrained herself thus far, knowing the proximity of the other attendees was too close for intimate conversation. However, as they approached the gates, the crowds were sparse, and she felt it now possible to inquire. “Please, Mr. Renfrew, what exactly did Lord Ellerby say?”

  The stocky man looked down at her as if just realizing the tension that he had caused. “My dear, nothing untoward.” He squeezed her arm. “Though he did request that I not leave you alone and take you back to Harley Street right away.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Well, he did say a few other things.” He patted her hand. “Perhaps they will mean more to you than they did to me.” He paused for a moment as they entered the gates one at a time. “Lord Ellerby said something about encountering an inspector.”

  “Inspector Davis?”

  “Yes, I believe you to be right. He apparently gave Lord Ellerby some sort of information. It required him to leave right away. I assume it must be serious, but nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

  Rebecca could only wish that were true.

  Beyond the gate, they wound their way through the numerous barouches, cabriolets, and broughams. Mr. Renfrew guided them to the outer circle, toward a serviceable, if not stellar, hackney carriage.

  Rather than wait for the coachman to jump from his seat, Mr. Renfrew opened the door himself and handed them in. He then jumped
aboard, shouting, “Harley Street, and be quick about it!”

  Rebecca and Caroline, squeezed almost on top of each other, turned to stare at Mr. Renfrew. “Did my brother say where he was going?” Caroline asked.

  Mr. Renfrew was looking out the window, watching the maneuvering of the coachman. He turned back to Caroline. “Yes, my dear.”

  “Could you take us there instead, please?”

  Mr. Renfrew frowned and started to shake his head.

  “Yes,” Rebecca pleaded. “Yes, could you take us to where the gentlemen are going? As you intimated, we are aware of the cause of Lord Ellerby and Dr. Brant’s abandonment. It is serious and involves us directly.”

  Mr. Renfrew sighed. “It is against my better judgment but—” He nodded a sharp jerk. “Fine. If, however, we encounter any problem or any unsavory conditions when we get there, we will immediately turn about.” His jaw was set and his voice firm.

  Rebecca glanced out the window. The carriage had pulled free and was passing the stationary tangle of waiting vehicles. Sam, halfway down the line, was sitting on the box of the Ellerby carriage, feet up, relaxed, and chatting with his neighbor.

  She wished that there were some way to inform him that James had gone with the inspector, but she knew that her voice would not carry. However, Sam looked up just at the right moment and Rebecca lifted her hand in recognition. She was considering the indelicacy of shouting when Mr. Renfrew leaned out of the window, blocking her view.

  “Driver, Driver!” he shouted. “Change that to St. Katherine’s Dock. Hurry!”

  The carriage jerked slightly as the driver urged the horses to a faster pace.

  Rebecca let out her breath. Finally, she had time to consider what it was that might have happened. There was the unspeakable, which might explain why she and Caroline had been directed home. But there was also the possibility that while Elizabeth’s location had been pried from Mr. Grey, it had not yet been verified. She felt a touch and looked down to see Caroline’s hand on hers. Rebecca squeezed it in reassurance and then leaned back. It might be a long night.

  * * *

  “THIS IS THE night for visitors, huh, Roy! I mighta guessed how it would be.” While the pockmarked coachman was smiling at his guests, he was also slowly drawing a knife from its sheath at his waist. The blade was wide, honed, and lethal in appearance.

  It also bore no resemblance whatsoever to a hummingbird, causing the mixed sensation of relief and disappointment in Walter.

  The room was not overly large, and despite its lack of age, already had a dank smell as well as the pungent odor of filth. The torches, while providing some light, cast enough shadows and smoke to confuse Walter at first.

  When accustomed to the gloom, Walter saw that the dungeon was strewn with straw, bedding, and foodstuffs. Crates and boxes served as tables and chairs, and extra torches were piled against the stone wall.

  The ceiling was high above them and there was a small, ineffective window well beyond their reach. The only other exit from the room, besides that from which they had entered, was opposite the boys, but it was both grated and bolted. The bolt was accessible from this side of the room, suggesting that it was an enclosure beyond, not a hall.

  Walter and Henry were poorly placed in the center of the room. To the right of them, Mr. Smythe knelt beside Jack. He patted the dog calmly while staring at the boys. His left hand, around Jack’s collar, was holding the dog fast.

  The coachman was only a few yards ahead of Walter. His sneer grew larger and more malevolent with each passing moment. That put the man the coachman had referred to as Roy by the door. It was not surprising when Roy used his advantage to kick it shut, closing off their only retreat.

  The bang echoed ominously.

  Walter swallowed hard and tried to think of their options.

  Henry was closest to the door but also uncomfortably near to the fairly tall, ill-shaven Roy. There was something familiar about his toothless grin and fringed hair.

  Henry must have been of the same mind. “Mr. Norton, is that you?” Henry almost looked relieved. “I didn’t recognize you at first, in this half-light. I thought you had left town when the ruins were finished.”

  Henry’s tone became less fearful and more conversational with each passing consonant. “It’s me, Henry, Henry Thompson.” He smiled at the man and his posture began to relax. “You’ve done quite the job down here. Amazing! Indeed, quite the thing.”

  “Oh, I know who you is, Mr. Thompson.” Roy Norton’s tone fell far short of a welcome. “You an yer mate over there has been plaguing us since the day this here venture started. It were planned for months an’ months. Then along comes you two dolts, getting in the way. Causing h’accidents, an’ stopping us from getting that which belongs to us. If it weren’t for you twos, I wouldna been living down here, like a rat, for the better part of a month.” Roy’s gravelly voice was eerily calm.

  Henry swallowed and, even in the dim light, Walter could see him turn pale.

  Roy leaned forward and the torchlight shone off his partially bald head. Walter realized where he had seen Mr. Norton before and it wasn’t as a newly hired builder at Risely. No, this was the man that he had horsewhipped away from Beth. This was one of the men that had attacked them on Mill Road.

  Now Walter knew they were in trouble. Three against two. Three with more weight, years, and experience, not to mention the knife.

  “Well, we certainly didn’t mean to disturb you. Just our boyish curiosity, is all. Most rude of us, really. We had better be going and get out of your way. We can see that you are busy.” Walter glanced over with supposed interest to the cribbage game laid out on the nearby crate. “Red is in the lead.” He took a half step back.

  “Ah, ah, Mr. Ellerby. We has only just gots ya here.” The coachman waved his knife in Walter’s direction. “You can’t be leaving just yet. Not when it’s taken us so long to gets you here. Thought you’d never figure it out.”

  Walter swallowed and leaned back.

  “Get us here?” Henry’s voice was more of a squeak.

  “Lawks, yes! You bacon-brained puppies! It were hard getting your attention. Thicker than the bible, you two!”

  “Why—?” Henry croaked and then cleared his throat. “Why would you want to get our attention?”

  Roy Norton laughed none too kindly. “We just wanted to thank ya proper is all, for yer meddling. But we had our orders an—”

  “Nothing were said,” the pockmarked man interrupted with enthusiasm, “about if you were to find yer way down ’ere.”

  The maniacal glint of excitement in the coachman’s eye was not lost on Walter.

  “Buts I gots a question afore we gets down to thankin’ yer.”

  Mr. Norton opened and closed his fists several times as if in preparation.

  Henry looked around, likely for a weapon. The only thing within easy reach of him was the broken lid of a crate.

  Walter’s options were about as useful: the torches against the wall or the straw at his feet. He shifted in his boots, wondering if agility would help. “Certainly. What question would that be?”

  “Who’s yer buddy here?” The salt-and-pepper head jerked toward Mr. Smythe.

  Walter frowned. “He’s with you.”

  Mr. Smythe was still kneeling at Jack’s side. He continued to pat the dog slowly and methodically. He stared back at the inquiring eyes with a nonchalant manner.

  “All right’s then, who are ya?” the coachman barked. “And make it snappy, or yer gonna feel this steel.”

  “Really, my good man,” Mr. Smythe said casually. “Were you to stab me, you would lose what little advantage you have.”

  Walter was impressed with Mr. Smythe’s bravado, but the coachman was obviously not.

  “Stupid gaffer, I gots all the advantage.”

  Joe Smythe dropped his hold on Jack and slowly rose. “I do not think you do.”

  The retriever bound over to wiggle and waggle around Walter’s legs. But he
was not paying attention to the dog.

  All Walter’s focus was centered across the room. He stared at the gentleman with the flintlock pistol in his hand.

  * * *

  AS THE CARRIAGE left Vauxhall Gardens farther and farther behind, the traffic dispersed and the delays became fewer. When at last the rocking motion became rhythmic and constant, Caroline sat back against the cushioned wall. They were moving along now at a good clip, cutting across the south shore of the river toward the London Bridge.

  Caroline was pleased to note that, though subdued, Rebecca showed little sign of being distressed. She simply remained silent while Mr. Renfrew chatted about the West Indies.

  “So, do you plan to stay in England for the summer, Mr. Renfrew?” Caroline asked. She glanced out the window, willing the bridge to come into sight.

  “Yes, I believe so. My business might require me to remain until Michaelmas, but I cannot stay much longer. Cannot leave Saunders alone on the island for too long.”

  Caroline frowned, not understanding. “Saunders?” she asked.

  Mr. Renfrew laughed. “Nathan Saunders. He is my partner in Jamaica. We go back to the days when we were not much older than you are now. We were wild and impetuous.”

  It was hard to see this smiling, middle-aged gentleman as a wild, impetuous youth but then perhaps, Caroline thought, her future children might not believe her own story of murder and intrigue. Time would tell.

  “Yes, we left England to make our fortune in foreign parts.” Mr. Renfrew patted his generous belly with satisfaction. “And while it didn’t happen right away, it did happen eventually.”

  Caroline found it hard to focus, even though his continuing stories of island life were humorous and urbane. Finally the sound of the horses’ hooves upon the road changed, and she looked out to see that they were approaching London Bridge. She glanced over to see Rebecca pulling her gaze from the window as well, and they lifted their cheeks at each other for reassurance.