Barbara Metzger (33 page)

“Oh Leigh, it’s beautiful. It really is. I was afraid it would look like one of Flora’s investments, from what you said.”

“Will you wear it for me, then? Not just for tonight, or for appearance’s sake?”

“You mean forever? And really get married?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, dewdrop. That’s what an engagement ring is for, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, but we have to talk more about this.”

“Talk, precious, I’m listening.” But he wasn’t, really. He was leading her away from the lantern’s light and nuzzling at her neck.

“This is serious, Leigh. I have to know if you—”

“Boom! Something flared between them, and it wasn’t any spark of desire. It hit the wall and sprayed concrete shards. Leigh yelled “Down!” and pushed her flat to the ground, covering her body with his. There was another explosion, then pandemonium. Priscilla shrieked, and Farthingale shouted for help. People were running outside with candles, others were panicking in the ballroom. Pen was barking. The grooms were pouring out of the stable shouting, “We’re under attack! They’re trying to assassinate the Prince!”

Arthur came running, yelling, “Leigh? Are you all right? Is Jacey with you? Was it another attempt on your life?”

And Squire roared, “Are the pups safe?”

The earl was helping Jacelyn to her feet. Her face was smudged and her skirt was torn, and she was trembling.

“Don’t you dare tell me not to worry, Leigh Merrill!” She stood there, shaking her fist at him.

“Damn, woman, at least get inside where it’s safe to do your fussing!”

“Don’t you talk to me that way! I told you to go to the magistrate’s. I said hire a Bow Street Runner, and you said you’d handle it!
This
is how you handled it?” She swept her arm out, now they were back inside. The guests were frantically taking their leave; even the orchestra was packing. Whistles were blowing up and down the street as the Watch was called. Aunt Amabel was being carried upstairs, and Aunt Simone had streams of tears down her wrinkled cheeks. The chef was running after the departees, crying in French about his dessert
extraordinaire
. Arthur was trying to direct the carriages, getting in Marcus’s way, and Lord Parkhurst and Mr. Sprague were in conversation with two men in uniform, discussing round-the-clock guards.

Squire stopped by Jacelyn and Leigh on his way out, herding his wife and a white-faced Samantha, “I knew it,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t get through a whole night as a lady without at least one ruckus, riot, or rowdydow.”

“What do you mean, you know Percy’s not involved with the attacks?”

It was late afternoon of the next day, Sunday, and the first Jacelyn had seen of Claibourne since the shooting incident. He’d been holding his own investigation, while she’d been to church, then tea at the Ponsonbys’ with Mrs. Bottwick and Samantha. She’d also made a few other calls. Leigh now adjusted the tassel on his Hessians. “I, ah, was not aware you knew my cousin.”

Oops. “I happened to make his acquaintance one day. So when all of this happened”—she waved her hand—“I thought he might have knowledge of the matter. He didn’t. You know, he’s not half as awful as you said; he’s just a trifle peculiar.”

“If Percy’s just a trifle peculiar, Prinny’s just a trifle overweight. Jacelyn, pet, I am not sure I wish to know, but it does occur to me that Percy’s been deuced few places recently. You mightn’t have spoken to him―by chance, of course―at Flora Cobb’s?”

“Now that you mention it, wasn’t that a strange coincidence? There I was, visiting my old nurse in Islington and who should live next door—”

“Jacelyn!”

“It doesn’t matter! Flora’s very nice, and her looking out for Percy is precisely what he needs. He wasn’t the least on the go, I don’t think.”

“It’s hard to tell with Percy, isn’t it?”

“Leigh, be kind. They’re both concerned over you, and want to help. So do I!”

“No. I told you I don’t want you anywhere near me, except here, of course, in my arms.”

She pulled away. “What, for an hour? Then you are going back on the street by yourself? That’s the most chuckle-headed notion of all.”

“I explained, puss, I’m not alone. Arthur will meet me here, and my man Haggerty is right outside. He’ll walk ahead of us, scouting. His friend Jack from Vauxhall will trail after, to see if anyone follows.”

“But that still leaves you exposed to whatever madman is hiding in an alley or doorway. Why can’t you just have Fenton arrested?”

“Because there is no proof that he’s done anything. You cannot charge a man with hating you. This is the only way, baiting the hired killer into a trap, then snabbling him. He’ll name his employer, rather than hang, and there, it’s all over. Otherwise we’ll never be safe.”

“I don’t like it.” She stamped her foot.

“I’m not thrilled myself, dear heart, but it’s the only way. Let me tell you something else that wouldn’t thrill me: finding your perfect little nose in the business. You didn’t listen to me about Percy, and you didn’t listen to me about Flo. You
shall
listen to me now. If I find you out there in your britches, or tagging along with your uncle’s pistols, or putting yourself in any kind of danger, you’ll wish that bullet last night hadn’t missed. Understand?”

“Yes, Leigh, but how am I to know you are all right? You cannot expect me to sit with my knitting while you’re providing target practice for a paid assassin!”

“Can you knit?” He kissed her and stepped back quickly, before he was tempted to stay. “Don’t worry, I’ll send messages.”

The messages came regularly, a boy with a rose at six, a book of poetry at seven. Leigh, looking like he was actually enjoying himself, and Arthur, just looking weary, arrived in person at nine, to share tea and reassure the family. They were going back to Half Moon Street, in case anyone was waiting for Leigh at his lodgings, and then onto the clubs. Squire was going along with them, and Lord Parkhurst and Mr. Sprague thought they too might pop into White’s, Watier’s, or Crockford’s. Claibourne smiled but told them he was trying to look vulnerable, which was hard to do amid a phalanx of armed defenders.

“I’ll wait up till I know you are home safe,” Jacelyn warned as she walked him to the door. Marcus pretended he was another piece of furniture as they shared a hurried embrace.

“It won’t be much past one or two. We cannot stay inside; that would be a waste of time. I think the attack, if there’s to be one today at all, will be waiting outside Half Moon Street when we get home. I’ll send a messenger over, when we’re all tucked in bed. Just think,” he teased, “if we were married you could be waiting there for me, in something soft and lacy. I’d come home at eleven.”

“If we were married, my lord, you wouldn’t be going out without me!”

“Oh-ho, is that the way it’s to be, under the cat’s paw? We’ll have to see about that.”

“We haven’t even seen if there’s to be a wedding!”

“We never did finish that conversation, did we?” Arthur coughed, over by the door. “Right. It will all be academic anyway, if there’s no bridegroom. Rest easy, rosebud, everything will work for the best.”

*

The message didn’t come at eleven, or twelve, or one. Jacelyn was in bed, reading, when it finally came at two. Home safe, it read. Sweet dreams, sweetheart. She tucked the note in the book and blew out the candle. Now she could unclench her muscles and relax. If that message hadn’t come soon she was all prepared to climb down the tree and go to the earl’s lodgings herself, no matter what he’d threatened.

The tree. Were there trees at Half Moon Street? Leigh and Arthur rented the second floor. What was to stop someone from climbing up and shooting Claibourne through the window while he slept? He thought he’d be safe in his bed, and most likely had no guards outside the house. Someone could even break in and strangle him, without waking Arthur. Or they could put poison mushrooms in the pantry. Anything could happen!

This time she took Lem. She knew he was awake; he’d brought the message up from the stable. She needed him to help watch the back entrance while she took the front. Besides, if his lordship found her, he’d be less likely to beat her in front of witnesses. Leigh’s warnings didn’t give her pause, beyond that. If she was willing to risk her life for his, it was her own decision to make, not Leigh’s. Of course, he still didn’t know how little her life meant to her, without him….

Jacey and Lem separated at the house, each taking one of the pistols and tiptoeing to a sheltered hiding place, to watch. There was a tree, and no one keeping lookout. Good thing she came! She pulled herself into the shrubs to the right of the doorway and crouched down, trying to make herself comfortable, but not enough to fall asleep. The Watch went by, then nothing. No bird sounds, no carriage wheels, nothing. And then a sneeze.

The noise came from the opposite row of hedges. A cat? No cat sneezed so loudly. It had to be the attacker, or a guard Leigh had set out after all. There was only one way to find out. Jacey stood, pointed her pistol, and called, “Halt. Who goes there?”

Instead of calling back that he was a lookout, the lurker panicked and bolted for the street, so Jacey shot him. She heard the man cry out—then yell for Flo! Oh God, she’d shot Percy!

Jacey ran over. “Percy, it’s me, Jacelyn! Did I hurt you? What were you doing here? I thought you were the gunman!”

Percy was holding his arm. Jacelyn undid her loose neckcloth to wrap around it. “I knew they’d hang me if anything happened to Claibourne,” he said, “so I came to protect him.” Jacey threw her arms around him.

Claibourne, meanwhile, came flying down the stairs while lights went on all over. He was barefooted and bare-chested, but had a pistol in his hand. He saw Jacelyn struggling with a man, so he hit the assailant over the head with the gun barrel. The man folded like a house of cards. Jacey screamed.

“Whatsit? Whatsit?” Arthur was yelling, in his long white nightshirt and tasselled bedcap. He was waving a sabre around.

“It’s Percy! He came to save Claibourne, and I shot him, then Leigh bashed in his head. Poor Percy!”

“Haggerty,” Claibourne shouted. “Come help get this cawker inside, and send someone for the surgeon. I suppose I’d better send for Flora too.”

“Lem can go. Where is he? He should be right here, with all the yelling and shooting. Lem?”

Then they all heard what they’d missed over the other confusion, the sounds of a scuffle at the rear of the house.

They all ran back, Arthur flapping like a ghost, Leigh, Haggerty, Jack, and Jacelyn with her one remaining shot—leaving poor Percy flat on the sidewalk.

Lem was struggling with a man who was a lot larger than himself, but the second man, Shorty, had already emptied two cans of alcohol and was setting the house on fire!

Haggerty tackled the torchbearer, and the earl came to Lem’s aid, shouting, “Don’t kill him, Haggerty. Someone run for the fire brigade!” He pounded his fist into Frieze-coat’s face, then again for good measure. He pushed the now-limp figure toward Arthur. “Find some rope and keep them safe. I’m going to make sure Mrs. Dawe from upstairs is out. She’s hard of hearing.” He went into the house, through the flames.

Jacey was in the way of Lem and Jack with the well buckets, so she raced around to the front of the house to make sure Percy didn’t get stepped on by all the people running around. An old woman with a shawl over her nightgown grabbed her arm. “My kitty’s in there, lad. My poor, poor kitty.”

“Where?” Jacey asked, but the woman just kept crying about her poor kitty.

Leigh wouldn’t even know to look for a cat! The front of the house wasn’t touched by flames so, without hesitating, Jacelyn tore up the stairs, and up to the third floor. It was smokey here. She couldn’t see well, and was coughing, but she got down on her hands and knees to look under the sofa. No cat. She scrambled along till she found the bedroom―and Leigh’s boots.

“What the hell?” He tugged her upright. “By all that’s holy, girl, don’t you have any sense?”

“Mrs. Dawe’s cat!” she gasped, from the smoke and her arm being yanked nearly from its socket.

“Damn!” He let go of her and looked around. “We’ll never find a blasted cat!”

“Stop yelling and help me. He’s under your side of the bed.” Jacey couldn’t quite reach. Claibourne got down on the floor and grabbed the animal—and got bitten for thanks.

“Is Mrs. Dawe outside?” he asked, shoving the cat at Jacey who at least had on a jacket. There were claw marks across Leigh’s bare chest. “Then you and the deuced cat get the hell out of here. I’ll see about the fire downstairs.” He gave her a not so gentle swat. “And listen to me for once!”

Jacelyn waited till the fire was out, and Flora’d come in a hackney to take Percy home, and Leigh was talking to the magistrates. When it appeared that the earl, dressed now, might have time to remember her presence, she called to Lem.

“We’re not needed any longer, Lem. We better go home.”

“That is the only clever thing you’ve done all night,” Leigh called out, his arms crossed over his open jacket. “I’ll be finished with these men in five minutes. If I see hide or hair of you when I’m done…”

“Good night, my lord!”

*

“You mean you’re just going to let him go free?” Jacelyn wanted to know the next morning, walking in the courtyard.

“What would you have me do? Plant him a facer or have him sent to Botany Bay? He’s a sick old man in a wheelchair.”

“But all those terrible things he did! It doesn’t seem right he shouldn’t be punished.”

“Whatever happened to that sweet little girl who wanted to save every fallen sparrow? You’ve shot at least two men this week, that I know of.”

“At least I didn’t brain my own cousin twice.”

“Only because you don’t have a cousin. Fenton will be punished enough, knowing he failed. He’s lost Percy, besides, for what that’s worth. Percy and Flo are emigrating to the colonies.”

“I know. Percy wants to go into government.”

“Good grief! And how do you know that, miss?”

“Flora sent ’round a note, telling me that Percy was doing fine, and wasn’t mad at us for what happened to him.”