No Place for a Lady (42 page)

Lady Anne would never forgive her for allowing such a thing to happen.

Fantine frowned at the irrelevant thought, and then she stopped. Perhaps that was the answer, after all.

"'Ey! Careful with me visage," she cried, making a show of rubbing her jaw. "Loiday Anne—" She made a concerted effort to return to her cultured form of speech. "Lady Anne will be most perturbed if I appear with a distorted visage."

Ballast merely blinked and stared at her. Then, abruptly he burst into an evil laugh. "Jes listen t' Rat, boys. She thinks she's the bloomin' Queen o' England."

"No, I am not," returned Fantine smoothly as she gained her feet and smoothed out her gown. "But I am to be presented at Court soon." Then before Ballast could comment, she sharpened her gaze on him. "And so will Sprat, if you let me be."

It was a mistake. She should have stayed with pretending ignorance of Sprat's whereabouts. After all, there were dozens of ways a young boy could disappear in the dockside rookeries. But it was too late, and now she had to face Ballast's rage.

"Where is Sprat?" he bellowed. Then he raised his fist again, but Fantine was prepared. Ducking under his fist, she dove straight for one of Ballast's thugs. He was so startled, he did not fight her. He merely stepped aside, allowing her to fall flat on her face, into the pile of Rat's clothing.

Her hand curled around her knife.

"Get up!" screamed Ballast between obscenities.

Fantine stood, knife before her. She did not make the mistake of believing herself out of danger. She was still only one small woman against four large men. But at least her knife kept Ballast from hitting her again.

And that gave her enough time to reason with him.

"Yes, Ballast, I have your son. He is learning Greek and Latin and table manners. He is being taught how to talk and dress and read French. He is making his own future now, a better one than you could ever have."

"I don't believe you!" exploded Ballast, advancing on her. "Wot did you do t' 'im? Did ye kill 'im? Was 'e going t' cut you out of yer daft nob? Is 'at why?"

"He ain't dead!" she practically screamed at him."'E's going to 'Arrow."

"Don't lie t' me!" he bellowed. "'E ain't never gonna get t' Arrow, an' you and I both know it!"

He had stopped advancing, but his face was purple with rage. Fantine readjusted her grip on her knife, but she did not use it. She was still hoping to reason with Ballast.

"He will get to Harrow. You are supposed to get a letter from him soon. I swear it!"

She could see the struggle on the man's face. She saw the hope and the disbelief and the panic all wound together. She had always known he loved his son, but she had not realized just how much the boy's disappearance would effect him. Ballast was so twisted up with fear and hope for the boy, he did not seem to know what to do.

"You must trust me," she said softly. "He is safe and happy. He is getting an education. He will have a future outside of the rookeries."

She saw his emotions at war on his face as he tried to believe what she had told him. And she saw him lose his own fight. Ballast had lived too long in the rookeries. He could not trust in a better life for him or his son.

"I want me son!" he roared in a voice that seemed to echo in her head. Then he fell on her. She had the knife ready, and she worked it with as much skill as she could, but he was unstoppable in his fury. Finally she plunged the knife into his thick belly, while he pummeled her about the face and shoulders. She heard nothing, saw nothing, knew nothing but the furious rain of blows.

Then suddenly, he was gone, plucked off of her as if he had never been.

She looked up, her thoughts spinning. Had Marcus come to rescue her?

She first saw Ballast on the floor, his wound bleeding sluggishly. She saw Wilberforce, still pinned to his chair, but this time, not by Ballast's man, but by... Hurdy's man? The three thugs Ballast had brought with him were already on the floor, either held at knifepoint or knocked unconscious, being watched by more brutes. She dismissed all of them with barely a glance.

Her gaze was drawn to another man, a man in gentleman's attire who stood by Wilberforce and gloated.

Teggie. Or Lord Baylor, as she now recognized him.

Then, before she could comment, another man stepped into her line of sight. He was the one man more dangerous to her than Ballast. She had not thought him so at first, but then she looked into his green eyes. There was a dangerous glint in there, and no mercy whatsoever. Fantine bit her lip.

Hurdy. And he knew she had betrayed him.

Still, she tried to brazen it out, hoping against hope that she could slip through relatively unscathed. She smiled warmly as she struggled to her feet. "Thank God you are here."

"Do not thank me yet, Fanny."

She pulled her swollen eyes as wide as she could and tried to look innocent. "Why? What is wrong?"

He took a leisurely step forward, his expression almost serene. "Because I know, Fanny. I know you and th' daft were using me to stop Teggie—"

"No!" she gasped.

"O' course you were. I found Chadwick right at Teggie's doorstep threatening all sorts o' things." Then he stepped forward with an evil grin on his face. "I took care o' him—"

"No!" she whispered as a vision of Marcus's dead body filled her thoughts.

"Yes," he returned as he neatly pulled the knife from her slackened grip. "Now I'm going t' take care o' you."

Fantine tried to resist. She wanted to fight, but she had no heart for it. The thought of Marcus dead killed any hope she had for the future. For even the present.

He was dead.

They had done their best.
She
had done her best, but the odds were stacked too high against them. Marcus was dead.

* * *

"Bloody, pissing hell!"

Marcus cursed with fluidity as he struggled against his bonds. His wrists and ankles were raw from the fight. His nose was bleeding and his shoulder ached abominably from the two times he had managed to gain his feet only to fall painfully onto the body parts in question.

"Sink and pissing ant," he grumbled. He might even have knocked a tooth loose. What he had not done was inch one mote of dust closer to the door. Neither had he managed to loosen his bonds in the slightest.

That was when he heard it. A small creak as if someone or something stepped on a loose floorboard in the hall. It was not a loud sound, barely noticeable over his own muttered curses, but he heard it nonetheless, and he stilled immediately, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath too loud in his ears.

Was it Hurdy returned to finish the job? No, Hurdy would not bother to be silent. But it could be one of his men. More likely, it was Baylor's last remaining servant. No, wait. The man was on holiday.

It did not matter. Whoever it was, he was well and truly caught.

Chapter 23

It took some time before Fantine could straighten herself up enough to face Hurdy. It took even longer for her to try and find a handle on the situation to turn it to her advantage.

It took so long, in fact, that she could not do it. She could only sigh as Hurdy stood before her, lifting up her bruised face until he stared right into her eyes.

"You betrayed me. You were supposed to kill 'im." It was not a question.

"I told you I would protect Wilberforce until I met with Teggie." She glanced over at Lord Baylor. "My lord, would you be so kind as to open your mouth."

"I beg your pardon!"

"Do it!" ordered Hurdy.

"I will not." The man practically quivered in outrage.

Then something absolutely delightful happened. Mr. Wilberforce, a crippled old man, surged up and grabbed hold of Lord Baylor's hair, pulling it backward. Then he peered down into the man's mouth.

"Three gold teeth," he pronounced solemnly.

Fantine smiled. She had not even thought Wilberforce aware of their discoveries regarding Teggie.

In answer to her unspoken question, the MP turned to her. "Penworthy told me. I swear, it has been difficult counting men's teeth while discussing politics. Gave me a headache."

"I understand completely," responded Fantine, some of her equilibrium returning.

Unfortunately, Wilberforce's one comment was enough to wipe away Hurdy's lingering doubts. He now had absolute proof that she had been colluding against him.

"You will die horribly," he hissed in her ear.

Fantine's heart sank. She heard no reprieve in his voice, no room for manipulation. She had lost, and she knew it.

A dull sort of fatalism washed through her. She had no expectation of a daring rescue by Marcus. Hurdy had already "taken care o' him." But then she frowned. That did not necessarily mean he killed him.

"What exactly did you do to Chadwick?" she asked.

Hurdy grinned. "'E's dead. I sent my best man to finish 'im."

Fantine could only close her eyes against the stab of pain. Baylor, on the other hand, stiffened, pulling away from Wilberforce with a swift jerk of his head. "You did not!"

"Aye, I did," returned Hurdy."'E'll be colder than stone by now."

"How dare you!" shrieked Baylor. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Fantine forced herself to open her eyes, forced herself to pay attention. She might not care for herself anymore. With Marcus dead, she had little heart for her own life. But Wilberforce was another matter. She still had a responsibility to save him.

So she clenched her teeth and tried to bring her thoughts into focus. Lord Baylor and Hurdy were quarreling, over Marcus, of all things.

"I told you to leave Chadwick alive!" he screeched.

"Well, 'e's dead. And now you ain't got a choice. You 'ave to kill Wilberforce, and it will be by your own 'and too. I will not be left to 'ang just because of your nonsense."

Then the strangest thing happened. Baylor actually seemed to preen. He puffed up his chest, his expression sly. "Perhaps it will be you who dies." Then he pulled out a pistol. Just one. Loaded, no doubt, with one ball. Against four men, not counting the lumped forms of Ballast and his men.

At least he had the brains to point it at Hurdy and not any of the hirelings. Still, he looked quite ridiculous standing there, a single weapon against so many.

"You see," he said to the room at large, "I have uncovered a most heinous plot. Unfortunately, I was not in time to save Chadwick or Wilberforce," and he swung his pistol to the aged MP. "But at least I was able to kill the famous dockside criminal and rescue the lovely Miss Drake." He pointed his gun back toward Hurdy as he smiled at Fantine. "Come along, my dear. I know this must seem terribly confusing, but I swear I shall explain it all to you."

Fantine considered going with him. At least by his side, she could keep him from shooting Wilberforce. But one glance about the room told her she need not worry. Two of Hurdy's men were already flanking Baylor and both had pistols. If the one did not get him, the other would. Lord Baylor would be dead before he could get off a single shot, and he was the only one who did not understand that.

She could not even summon up enough energy to feel sorry for him. "My lord, you are a fool," she said softly.

Then the door flew open, smashing Baylor in the face, flinging him backward. The reports of two guns went off, echoing loudly in the small room. The one was from Baylor and produced a massive hole right in the center of her door. The other was from the poor sod Baylor landed on, and went right through Baylor's chest from back to front.

Fantine did not have to see the body to know that Lord Baylor was dead. She was more interested in why the door had suddenly flown open.

But there was nothing to see. The hall seemed empty. Fantine's heart soared within her. She did not dare hope, but she did. Had Marcus come back for her?

Then she remembered that he was probably dead, and she had to blink away the tears. She could not hope for aid from her personal daft hero.

Finally someone stepped into the open door, and Fantine had no more time to spare for grief. It was an auspicious moment, a grand entrance, as everyone strained to see who was there.