The Fighter and the Fallen Woman (5 page)

“Lady? Since we’re... I mean, if you could...” As King tried to say whatever was on his mind, Lady slowly turned back to him, confused beyond anything she’d ever faced before. Was he going to ask her for a tumble? Was that the reason this hard man was tripping all over his tongue? And what in heaven’s name would she answer if he did?

Coming to some kind of conclusion, he looked at her and abruptly headed for a small table near the fireplace. He pulled an old rag off a box and indicated she should look inside. Lady stepped hesitantly forward. She had been asked to look in boxes before, and they never contained something seen in a polite sitting room.

Bracing herself for the worst and pasting a small smile on her face, Lady looked. It was a small brown ball of feathers with a dirty white strip of fabric around its middle.

“It’s a bird,” Lady said, surprise causing the smile on her face to become real. She reached out to touch it, then pulled back, suddenly scared of hurting the tiny thing.

“It’s okay.” He picked it up and cradled it gently to his chest. “I found her outside a few days ago, and except for her wing, she seemed fine. But I’m not a doctor, not even a passable nurse—” he laughed as he briefly met her eyes, “—but I was wondering if you knew of anything at the apothecary’s that might help her.”

Lady looked at King’s face and found herself lost at his gentle expression. This fearsome bruiser, who beat a man bloody last night, was babying this little ball of fluff like most girls would play Mother and Baby with kittens.

“Can you think of anything?” He looked up at her, and his eyes were as innocent as the bird’s. She took a step back before she could take the bird’s place in King’s arms—safe and warm.

“Ahhh, perhaps. I don’t know. We’ll ask there. I’ll wait outside until you’re ready,” she said in a rush and left. As she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Are you well, Lady?” Nessie rose from the bench and touched her lightly on the hand. “You look pale.”

“I’m well, Nessie.” Lady put her other hand over Nessie’s. “King’s injuries were a little nastier than I expected. We’re going to an apothecary’s to get him some salve.”

Nessie nodded. “Good girl. That’ll get him right as rain in no time.”

Perhaps she should get some for herself, as well.

* * *

King left his rooms by way of the back door and came around the front of the building looking for Lady and Mrs. Nesbitt. As he turned the corner, he saw them and was able to study Lady for several seconds.

For one of the most prized whores of the East End, right now she looked like any other woman on an outing with her maid. She stood with her shoulders back and chin up, an invisible book balanced on her head. In contrast to her rigid posture, she wore a pleasant, faraway expression on her face like she could see the ocean in front of her, smell the bite of salt in the breeze. If he had to guess, he’d say she looked happy.

Mrs. Nesbitt glanced his way and then whispered something to Lady. He watched the ocean disappear as she looked over her shoulder and saw him watching her. She was still smiling, but it looked harder, brittle somehow. He’d done that.

“Shall we?” He paused for a few seconds, then started walking. Lady joined him after a few steps, Mrs. Nesbitt trailing a discreet distance behind.

“Lovely day for a stroll,” she said after a moment.

“If you enjoy gray skies and rain.”

King waited for her to say more, do like she was supposed to and make another comment about the weather, but she didn’t. They’d shared looks aplenty, terrible situations a handful of times, but they’d never really shared a conversation. Fighting three men at the same time would have been easier than navigating this new step with Lady. He wished he could take her hand and simply walk together like couples did. He glanced at her, close to defeat, then came up with a last idea.

“That’s a lovely hat you’re wearing,” he said, gesturing toward her head. If a woman wasn’t willing to talk about her hat, he was a goner.

“Thank you, King,” Lady said slowly. “It’s traditionally called a bonnet, but I suppose a hat isn’t incorrect.”

“Where did you learn to speak so nice?” King asked, the words blurting out of his mouth. He’d never heard any bangtail, anybody from the East End for that matter, sound like they could have been gentry.

“You mean for a whore?” she asked him in a dry voice, and King felt like he’d been punched in the gut—that same dull flower of pain followed quickly by the bile rising in the back of his throat.

“No, for one of us.” He watched her face go from hard to not-so-hard. He turned his attention back to the street and listened to her footsteps match his. Conversation wasn’t going to be one of those things they shared.

“I found out anybody can be a whore,” she said, and the surprise of it made him catch his breath, then hold it so as not to scare her into stopping. “Spread your legs, get a few shillings a day and that’s one more day you don’t starve. But I could see there were worse things than starvation and I didn’t want that to happen to me.” She let silence fill the next several steps. “So I stole the first black dress and apron that fit and started to spend my days in London. I’d sit in the park or near a tea shop—anywhere society women gathered. Dressed as a maid, I was invisible. I could stand there for hours listening, watching, learning how to act like a lady.” She fell silent again and King slowly exhaled, letting her relive the memory as she needed.

“On the way home or when I was working, I’d practice my speech and my actions. I knew I’d succeeded when a cop pulled a paying customer off me. He’d heard me speak and thought a proper lady was being attacked.”

King heard the amusement in her voice and glanced at her. She was barely smiling, but she had been looking at him. When he caught her eye, she turned her gaze forward though her lips were pressed together in mirth. She was a stunner any day of the week, but with this mischievous expression she wore, King felt everything he’d promised not to do crumble into dust.

“Lady! Oh, I say—Lady!” King stopped, completely ripped out of his thoughts, and looked over his shoulder to where he heard the call. Jonathan’s American boss was across the street, waving at them with a fistful of ragged flowers. King looked back at Lady, and though her expression was pleasant, he could see in her eyes that she was obviously confused. King stood to her side, but also a step in front of her, able to be her shield if Mr. Collins became too familiar. Even though Lady did what she did, he didn’t think it gave men like Mr. Collins free rein, even though they all thought it did.

He watched the American run across the street, careless as a schoolboy, and present Lady the flowers with a flourish, a wide grin splitting his face as he waited to get his breath under control.

“Why thank you, Mr. Collins. Such a surprise.” Lady held the blooms up to her face. The nearest flower cart was at least one hundred feet back, long enough that Mr. Collins hadn’t just seen the two of them. He had to have followed for a distance.

“How could I not? As soon as I saw you I knew I absolutely had to.” The American turned to him. “And I watched you last night, King. You have some impressive skills there.” He held out his hand. “You can call me Mr. Collins.”

King shook his hand and nodded. “Many thanks, Mr. Collins.”

“Actually, it was quite fortunate I happened to come across you today, my boy. I have something important to ask you. Could you meet me at the Four Crowns later, say about six?”

“Sure thing,” King answered, every instinct he had shouting a warning while every lesson he’d ever learned told him never to cut off an option. “Six tonight at the Four Crowns.”

“Splendid. See you then.” With a jaunty wave, the American set off like he was strolling through the park instead of one of the roughest slums of London. It wasn’t until he was well gone from sight that he and Lady shared a concerned glance.

“What was that about?” she murmured, and he didn’t know if she was talking to him or not.

King answered regardless. “I wish I knew.”

* * *

“Mrs. Nesbitt to see you, Mr. Adams.”

“Very good, Mrs. Binkley. Please show her in,” Hannibal said. His good mood of last night was carrying into today. “And if you could bring in a tea cart, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Adams.” Mrs. Binkley bobbed a curtsy. Hannibal gave her a wink as she left, and he heard her giggle as she closed the door behind her. He liked Mrs. Binkley; she was good people. Her husband, also, and Hannibal was happy with how they cared for him. They were aware of their supreme fortune in finding posts in his home and their service showed as much. Hannibal poured himself a brandy. Indeed, life was good.

“Mrs. Nesbitt, sir. And I’ll bring your tea the instant it’s ready.”

Hannibal turned to see Mrs. Nesbitt standing inside his study, coyly glancing at him, as lovesick as a girl with her first beau. And like a girl smitten, she was also very nervous, jumping when Mrs. Binkley closed the door. He reminded himself Mrs. Nesbitt could run a household for pennies yet still be intimidated or encouraged enough by him that spying was no question. She wasn’t the best, but until he found that person to place in Lady’s house, she’d do. Then she could retire six feet under with Lady’s first housekeeper.

“My dear Mrs. Nesbitt,” Hannibal said, striding toward her so he could take her rough hand in his. “Please, have a seat. Mrs. Binkley will be back soon with tea and if I’m not mistaken, a sweet or two.” Hannibal laughed like a naughty boy, and it worked like it always did. The biddy in front of him relaxed and let him lead her to the sofa. He gently pulled her down to sit beside him and patted her hand twice.

“Now tell me, how is everything at the house?”

“Quite well, Mr. Adams, quite well. The boy you sent over is real good at hauling things and has been a real help. And I’ve saved a shilling a week by changing butchers,” she added with a proud smile.

“Lovely, lovely. I can always count on you to take care of me, can’t I?” He patted her hand and almost felt sick as she blushed. This woman was too weak to take care of one of his greatest possessions. “And speaking of taking care, did you go with Lady to take care of King today? I needed my number-one girl to take care of my number-one man.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, yes. She got him fixed right up. Took him to the apothecary to get a salve for his hands and face. He’ll be in top form, even after his meeting with Mr. Collins.”

“What meeting with Mr. Collins?” Hannibal asked.

“When Lady and King were heading to the apothecary, Mr. Collins came up. He gave Lady some flowers and asked to meet with King before the fights tonight.”

“Where are they meeting?” Hannibal wanted to hit the old woman, just to see if an answer fell out. As much as she was a loyal employee, sometimes smarts meant more. He’d have to look into getting her replaced sooner rather than later.

“At the Four Crowns, but I think they were supposed to meet a quarter hour ago, so I don’t know how long they’re going to be there,” she trailed off in a soft voice.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Nesbitt.” He patted her hands. “I know what they’re talking about so don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Now, you said he gave Lady flowers?”

Mrs. Nesbitt gave a jerky nod. “Yes, he did. Said he just had to. My Lady has that kind of beauty, she does.”

“You mean
my
Lady, Mrs. Nesbitt. Not yours.” Hannibal slammed his hand on the armrest, making the old biddy jump again. Definitely sooner.

“Y-y-yes, Mr. Adams. I m-m-meant your Lady. Of course she’s yours.”

A light knock sounded at the door and Mrs. Binkley came in with a tea tray.

“Ah, lovely, Mrs. Binkley,” Hannibal said, the wide smile on his face coming from deep within. “And look, Mrs. Nesbitt,” he said, standing up and rubbing his hands together. “I was right. She brought me a few sweets.”

* * *

King waited across the street from the Four Crowns until Mr. Collins went in. Jonathan had come thirty minutes ago, spent maybe five minutes inside and another fifteen loitering outside, finally walking away after that. King would lay even money that he was somewhere a little farther out, in deeper shadows. He headed for the pub and put Jonathan out of his mind. The lean Aussie might be the brawn, but Mr. Collins was definitely the brains.

King stopped inside the doorway and got his bearings. He was a regular here, but he wanted to get a better feel with Mr. Collins in the picture. He waved at Molly behind the bar, then nodded at a table of acquaintances playing cards in the back corner. Mr. Collins was at a table halfway down the far wall that was private yet communal. King couldn’t have picked it better himself, and that’s what made him nervous. Mr. Collins had obviously thought this through. Yes, he was definitely the brains.

“Mr. Collins,” King said as he approached the table. Following the American’s gesture, he sat down.

“I’m glad you could make it, King. I have something I want to discuss with you and didn’t want to have to compete for your attention.” Mr. Collins shared a smile with King, then waved the barmaid over. The giddy schoolboy who had given Lady flowers was gone.

He allowed Mr. Collins to order and drive the conversation through general, safe topics while they ate and enjoyed a nice ale. After their plates had been cleared and Mr. Collins ordered two expensive brandies to go with the Virginia cigars he’d brought with him, King settled in for whatever was coming next. That was the rule—he was treated to dinner and fine drinks, and in return, gave Mr. Collins his consideration. Much like Lady and her business.

King lit his cigar. He suddenly felt a little ill. Nobody could know she ever had been in his thoughts and what a mess she’d made of them. She had come in unbidden tonight but he could escort her out. He lived in a whorehouse. He knew how to walk one to the door.

“Now, Mr. Collins, I am fed and relaxed. You have my full and satisfied attention.” King turned in the booth so he sat sideways, facing the room with an arm across the top of the bench.

“Good, very good.” Mr. Collins lit his cigar and dipped the end of it in his brandy before tucking it between his teeth. “I want you to lose the fight.”