Twice Tempted (16 page)

Alex couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it ’til you know you have reason. Besides, first thing Mrs. Soames is going to do is scrub you until your skin’s raw.”

Lennie flashed amazingly white teeth. “Might wanna tell ’er I bite.”

Alex shoved him through the door. “You tell her. I’m going to be looking for Weams.”

“Try ’alf Moon Street,” Lennie suggested, stuffing his hat back down over his jutting ears. “’as rooms there.”

Alex grinned. “I knew you’d be a good investment.”

“’ey, Lennie Wednesday!” somebody yelled as they walked through the late-night crowd. “Weams was lookin’ f’r ya!”

Lennie nodded. “On my way there now, Sully. Thanks.”

Weams
, Alex thought as he followed Lennie out the door and into the damp chill of the autumn night. He couldn’t say he was surprised at anything Weams might be involved in. The man was a parasite.

Well
, he thought, turning to where he could make out Thrasher standing alongside an old hackney,
at least I have a name. I wonder if Weams has the letters, or he’s just another intermediary.

It would be something to discover after a few hours of sleep. Right now Alex could barely put one foot in front of the other.

“Thrasher,” he said, reaching the carriage. “Lennie’s comin’ with us.”

Alex thought for sure that his night was over. He gave brief thought to asking Mrs. Soames for some hot water of his own until he pulled out his pocket watch to see the time. Two a.m. Ah well, he’d slept in his dirt before.

He had just reached for the door to pull himself up when a shadow separated itself from the darkness and ran their way. He and Thrasher and Lennie all reacted identically, crouching into readiness for attack. Alex pulled out his pepper pot. Thrasher and Lennie both had blades in their hands.

“Thrasher,” a low voice called, sounding urgent. “It’s me. Frank! That you, m’lord, what hired us?”

The hulking shadow stepped into the faint glow cast by the gaslight on the walk to reveal the doughy, misshapen features of one of Finney’s ex-boxer friends who had been helping to watch Fiona.

“What is it?” Alex demanded, stepping up.

“You gotta come,” the man said. “You gotta come now. It’s the ladies.”

*  *  *

Alex heard it before the hackney even stopped, an otherworldly keening that lifted the hair straight up off his neck.

“What the blinkin’ ’ell,” Thrasher breathed next to him.

Alex felt that awful sound in his gut. He could smell stale smoke now, wet ash, and destruction. He saw the remnants of a neighborhood crowd clumped on the lawn next door. And there, in Fiona’s house, a window that blazed in candlelight. So the school hadn’t been a total loss.

If only that was the worst of it.

“I ain’ goin’ in there,” Lennie protested, hand caught in the strap. “It’s ’aunted.”

“Don’t be daft,” Thrasher retorted. “That’s just Miss Mareed. She’s upset.”

“Wait here,” Alex told the jarvey as he jumped out, the two children behind him.

A couple of people turned to see him run up the stairs. He ignored them. The smell of smoke was growing thick and heavy, and the sound of Mairead’s ululating wail unnerved him. It rose and fell in regular waves, unstopping, as if she didn’t even draw breath. Alex didn’t bother to knock before pushing open the door and running in across a fire-blackened floor.

“Fiona?”

“In here.” Her voice was quiet, calm, as if he had caught her reading
La Belle Assemblee
.

He hadn’t. She sat on her ugly brown sofa in a drab brown cotton wrapper and slippers, her arms around her sister, rocking, rocking, that ubiquitous little pillow caught between them. Humming and stroking her sister’s hair as Mairead, eyes closed, mouth open, hands clenched in the air, kept up that unnerving noise.

“Are you all right?” Alex asked, pulling over a chair of his own and sitting.

Fiona looked up at him, and he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair straggled down the side of her neck. There was soot streaking her stark white features, and the faint freckles that sprinkled across her nose stood out in sharp relief. Her eyes, those large blue pools of calm water, seemed flat as mirrors, shock robbing them of emotion.

“Fiona?”

She looked over as Thrasher and Lennie slammed into the room behind him.

“Y’r not leavin’ us out there with that bunch,” Lennie said in a raspy voice.

“This is Thrasher,” Alex said. “And…uh, Lennie. He’s helping me as well.”

Fiona nodded, as if strange urchins tumbled into her salon every day. “Thank you for coming,” she said, leaning her cheek against her sister’s head. “Who told you?”

Alex couldn’t think past that noise. He couldn’t imagine it happening enough that Fiona was used to it. “Isn’t there something we should do for her?” he asked. “Um, a bit of laudanum, perhaps?”

She shook her head. “No. This will work itself out in a bit. She had a shock.”

Alex looked around. “Well, of course she did. Your house caught fire. Do you know how?”

The salon seemed untouched, but Alex had seen the scorched walls in the entryway and passage.

“It isn’t the fire that has distressed her,” Fiona said, her voice still soft, calm. “The neighbors and Sun Fire actually put it out quite quickly. It’s…the other.”

Alex looked around again. “Other? What other? I was only told about the fire.”

“Out back. He’s out back.”

Alex looked more closely to see that Fiona wasn’t quite making eye contact. Her fingers, stroking her sister’s hair, were trembling.

“Should I go out and help him?”

She sucked in an unsteady breath. “You might want to.” Alex was halfway across the floor before she said more. “Someone doused my schoolroom in lamp oil.”

He froze, his heart lurching. “Lamp oil? Has someone threatened you?”

Say yes
, he silently pleaded.
Let this be someone angry at the idea of girls being educated.
He looked back, but she wasn’t facing him. Her eyes were closed. She kept rocking, and suddenly he wondered if Mairead was the only one who needed the rhythmic comfort.

Alex unerringly found his way down to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was sweeping up shattered glass and ash, her graying hair sticking out of a sleeping cap. The fire had damaged the front hall, classroom, and kitchen, it seemed. Enough to cancel classes for a bit. Enough to silence the sharp tongue on the housekeeper, who just watched him in mute misery as he walked past.

There was another clump of people in the back garden. Torches flickered, casting writhing shadows and muting the faces of the men who bent over the ground. Voices were hushed, as if they stood in a cemetery.

Then he saw what they all bent over.

“Good Christ,” he breathed, his stomach revolting. “What is that?”

One of the crowd, a short, squat man with a thick head of dark hair stepped forward. “’oo are you?” he asked, standing in front of the scene as if protecting it.

For once Alex threw around his title. “The Earl of Whitmore,” he said in his best Lords voice. “I am a friend of the ladies’ family. Now, what’s going on?”

The little man nodded. “Constable Byrnes, my lord, and I have to ask…do you know this man?”

He stepped aside. Again, Alex’s stomach heaved. “How could I possibly tell?”

The body was large and curled up on its side, arms tucked in, as if protecting its belly. The head, though, was thrown back, frozen in the final throes, and Alex could see…disaster. It looked as if the man had lost a fight with an animal, the face slashed to ribbons, the neck gaping, the blood black in the shadows, the teeth bared in an awful rictus, the flesh that surrounded them gone. Alex’s mouth went dry and his heart began to gallop. This was more than the work of a neighborhood bully.

“It’s Crusher,” Alex heard behind him, and he turned to see Thrasher standing like a stone in the doorway, his face stark white, his focus on the grisly body.

“You know ’im?” the constable asked, notebook suddenly in hand.

Thrasher looked up at Alex, his expression suddenly unbearably young. “’e’s one o’ Mr. Finney’s friends. One o’ the watchers.”

“Watchers?” the constables echoed, his attention caught.

Alex truly thought he would be sick now. He looked back down at the body and then at the constable. “For the Ferguson ladies,” he said. “They were here alone, and I was their brother’s friend and wanted to protect them. I thought to hire some help.”

“Their brother…” The man looked down at his notebook. “Colonel Lord Ian Ferguson? The one what tried ta kill the Duke o’ Wellington?
That
brother?”

“He…” But Alex couldn’t say it. He needed permission. “Lady Fiona said that the fire was set,” he said instead.

“It was. Do you know of anybody might want to harm the ladies?”

“No.”

Yes. Could he have been protecting the wrong person? Had he led the people who did this right to Fiona? Fisting a hand, he rubbed at his temple.

He had to speak with Weams. He had to speak with Drake. He had to know that he hadn’t just compounded his sins.

The constable was shaking his head. “No civilized person would do this. Even after what their brother did. Besides, the brother’s dead. Can’t make no difference.”

Alex caught himself once again just shy of disagreeing. “I need to get those women out of here.”

“You just wait a minute, my lord,” the man protested, stepping up.

Alex whipped around. “My home is in St. James Square,” he said. “I will be at your disposal. But I am not leaving these women in a burned-out house without protection. Do you want their deaths on your hands, Constable?”

And until he spoke with Drake, he couldn’t tell the constable why.

“The ladies will speak with you tomorrow,” he said, leading the way back into the house. “But I don’t think you would want to be the one to put them in further peril.”

“Peril? What do you mean?”

Alex stopped so fast the man almost slammed into him. “What do I
mean
? Someone set a fire here tonight and then proceeded to filet the man I set to watch the women. What more peril do you need?”

The little man just stood there. “They musta known the attacker,” he insisted. “Nobody does this to strangers. You got any ideas?”

“We can speak tomorrow as well. Now, Constable, unless you have something purposeful to say, I would suggest you let me get these women someplace safe and leave you to your crime.”

And without waiting for an answer, he stalked off.

“’oo’s gonna tell Mr. Finney?” Thrasher asked behind him, his voice small.

“I will,” Alex said, his gut twisting hard. “It’s my fault.”

It was his fault that he hadn’t warned the ex-boxers just how dangerous their task was. But then, he hadn’t known. How could he?

How could he? If the Lions had done this, he had plenty of evidence how dangerous they were. How ruthless. Wasn’t he one of the examples, after all? Hadn’t they boxed him into a corner from which there seemed no escape?

But what purpose could be served by terrorizing innocent women? Why torture a stranger? Unless they had taken to exacting revenge on their enemies, this made no sense. And nothing Alex had ever seen or heard about the Lions would point to that.

Maybe Drake would have some ideas. After the women were settled, Alex would have to contact him.

By the time Alex walked back into the salon, Mairead had stopped keening. Now she was deathly quiet and staring, and Fiona, still rocking, was stroking her cheek. Alex suspected this was no improvement. He wished he could have taken the time to be gentler with them both. At least to wait until Chuffy came to jolly Mairead out of her hysterics.

“You saw what was in the back garden,” he said without preamble. “I believe you’ll agree with me that you have no choice now but to come with me.”

“I need to speak with the constable,” Fiona said. “And…clean. And Mrs. Quick…”

“Will be coming with us. You cannot stay here, Fiona. You know that.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes. “I know.”

That should have made him feel better. She was finally allowing him to help her.

Looking at her now, though, the blue of her eyes oddly hollow and spectral, her skin the color of parchment, her hands betraying a fine tremor as they stroked her sister’s hair, he knew she had lost more than just her independence tonight. She looked smaller, more fragile, more dimmed than ever before, as if she were fast running out of strength.

Without thinking, he crouched down in front of her, commanding her attention. “We’ll find out who did this, Fiona,” he said. “We’ll find out and make them pay. And then we’ll find a way to bring you back here to your students.”

The worst part of that lie should have been that she recognized it for what it was. It wasn’t. The worst part was that she simply nodded and helped her sister to her feet, without a word of protest. As Alex watched her carefully guide her sister up the stairs, he made another vow, one he meant to keep. He vowed that no matter what, he would make someone pay for what had happened tonight. And he would do everything he could to keep Fiona from ever looking like this again.

Chapter 10

T
he hackney that pulled up before the Knight residence in St. James Square was packed like a turnip wagon, carrying not only Fiona, Mairead, and their pitiful luggage, but Mrs. Quick and Lennie, with Alex riding up with the jarvey. If Fiona had felt more in the mood, she would have found it amusing. As it was, she simply felt crowded, sick, and frightened.

Mairead hadn’t spoken since she’d stopped keening. She hadn’t protested being dragged or dressed or guided, simply held on to that poor, ragged pillow and followed instructions. She had acted the same way once before. But not in a long time. A very long time. Her arms wrapped tightly around her silent sister, Fiona wasn’t certain whether to pray that Mairead broke back out of her cold shell or that she didn’t. Not yet, anyway. Not until they could be alone to deal with the fallout.

“Cor,” she heard at her other elbow. “Swells live good, don’ they?”