Nine Buck's Row (26 page)

Loud footsteps pounded. Figures broke through the veils of fog. Black cloak wings rose, flapped, fluttered as he grabbed the knife and hurled himself into a passageway, disappearing. Two seconds had passed since that first scream. Millie had fallen against a wall, drooping there like a wilted yellow flower, the torn cape at her feet. My paralysis broke. I flew to her, gathering her in my arms, sobbing. Her face was wax white, robbed of all color, framed with damp copper curls, but she managed a weak smile just the same.

“I kicked him where it hurts the most,” she whispered. “That's what Daddy told me to do if anyone ever bothered me. I did. He—he dropped the knife.”

“Millie, are you all right?”

She nodded weakly, clinging to me, and I could feel her heart pounding as rapidly as my own as I held her trembling body. All around us there were shouts, heavy, hoarse, loud, and stampeding footsteps pounding on the pavement, but we were oblivious to them, locked together with stunned horror and even more stunned relief.

“What 'appened!” a husky voice roared. “Was it Th' Ripper?”

“Musta-been! Eatin' my cabbage, I was, 'n I 'eard this bloodcurdlin' yell. My blood froze, I don't mind tellin' ya!”

“Which way did 'e go! Was it Jack?
Was
it?”

The noise rumbled, roared, breaking in dense waves over the street as more and more people poured out of the houses: men in leather jerkins and boots, neighbors who had been aroused by screams. Some of them were waving clubs and sticks. One man gripped a heavy brass andiron. Sulphur stench rose as torches were lighted. Curiously, no one approached Millie and me. They held back a few paces, watching, tense, hysteria mounting. Orange flames sputtered. Black smoke rose, curled, blending with the fog. Millie pulled herself out of my arms, her bosom still heaving.

“Is she 'urt! Who is she? Ain't one of th' regulars. Ain't never seen '
er
about before.”

“It was Jack all right! 'Ad to be.”

“Make room!” a cold, disdainful voice ordered. “Out of the way!”

Nicholas shoved through the excited crowd, pushing men aside, making his way over to us. He was dressed in black. His face was white. His eyes were as dark as ink, and he was terrified, absolutely terrified, yet he still maintained that icy, superior calm. People fell back, recognizing his authority, bowing to it.

“Thank God,” he whispered hoarsely, standing in front of us, seeing that neither of us were hurt.

Jamie broke out of the crowd at almost the same moment. His face was ashen. He had lost his helmet, and fog-wet yellow waves were plastered all over his forehead. He started to say something, but Nicholas seized his arm, strong fingers gripping the uniformed bicep with painful force. Jamie tried to pull away. The fingers tightened, causing him to wince.

“Think,” Nicholas warned in a low, urgent voice. “Before you say a word, think. Do you want her subjected to Sir Charles? Do you want her to be hounded by the press, her name in all the tabloids? Think, man!”

They exchanged looks. Jamie nodded, eyes stern, jaw thrust out. He heaved his shoulders and turned to the crowd. Torches flickered, casting bizarre shadows over alarmed, eager faces, washing over a sea of waving clubs, sticks, hammers. Frantic eyes glittered. Mouths hung open slackly. The mob continued to swell, and it grew more and more horrifying, one great angry animal ready to destroy in crazed fury. Sweat glistened on Jamie's face, and he held up his arms, demanding silence. It came, broken only by heavy panting.

“Fellow tried to accost her,” he said, his voice like steel. “Tried to drag her into a doorway. Drunk. He was just a drunk. It wasn't The Ripper. No need for panic. Go back to your houses!”

They hung motionless for a few seconds, disappointed, cheated, and then, grumbling, began to disperse. Several of the men decided to hunt down the drunk. They held a brief conference, huddled together, then broke into two groups, running down the street in different directions, spluttering torches flying orange banners overhead. The others went back to their respective houses, some of them standing on doorsteps to discuss the excitement in hushed voices.

Jamie had his arms around Millie. She leaned against his chest, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His face was grave, still ashen, and he stroked her hair tenderly, not even aware he was doing so.

“Take her to the house,” Nicholas ordered. “We have to discuss this. There are questions.”

Jamie nodded and led Millie away. She paused to scoop up the torn cape so mercifully free of blood. They disappeared into the fog, walking slowly back to number nine. I was alone with Nicholas. He was still tense, all iron control, but there was open relief in his eyes. I was trembling, delayed reaction setting in. My hands shook, I clasped them together, wringing them. Nicholas stared at me, the hollows under his cheekbones deep and shadowy, his mouth a hard line.

“That was an insane stunt,” he said harshly, “dashing out into the fog like that. Maggie heard you yell. She raced up to my study. I had just come in a few minutes before.”

“The door—” I whispered, trying not to sob. “It was unlocked. Someone had been in the storage room. I knew, I sensed—”

“You're hysterical. Don't say anything else.”

“I
knew
, I tell you! As soon as she left, as soon as she walked away I knew—”

“Hush, Susannah.”

“You've got to listen to me!”

He slapped my face, hard, the impact of it making my head snap back. I gasped, sobbing, cheek burning painfully, and he pulled me roughly into his arms and held me tightly, so tightly, strong arms wrapping around me like bands of steel. My face was buried against his vest. I could feel the smooth silky cloth against my cheek, feel his heart beat. He held me against him until the hysteria receded, continued to hold me, hurting me.

“I thought it was you,” he said. “I thought he'd come after you. My God, I was so frightened.”

“Nicholas—”

“Are you all right now?”

I nodded. He released me abruptly and stepped back. His features were granite hard, his eyes impassive. I wiped the tears from my lashes, smearing salty wetness over my cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and handed it to me without a word. After a moment he took my arm in a firm grip and led me back to the house. Less than ten minutes had passed since Millie and I first stepped out the door.

Maggie, Colleen and Mrs. Henderson formed a shaken trio on the landing. Colleen's eyes were wide blue saucers full of nervous fright. Mrs. Henderson wore her apron, her arms dusted with flour, a heavy rolling pin held tightly in one hand. Maggie was calmest of the three, but her small red mouth quivered.

“Are they in the parlor?” Nicholas asked.

Maggie nodded. I could see Jamie and Millie sitting on the sofa, his arm around her, her face more composed now, the color back in her cheeks. I started to go to her. Nicholas stepped in front of me, blocking the way. He looked over my shoulder at Maggie.

“Take Susannah up to her bedroom,” he ordered. “You two, get back to your duties!”

Both Colleen and Mrs. Henderson hesitated. He stood glaring at them until Colleen finally scurried down the hall to the back stairs. Mrs. Henderson made an irritable face and caressed her rolling pin, determined to find out more, but she was no match for Nicholas' fierce stare. His eyes dared her to disobey, and at last she followed the maid, muttering mutinous words under her breath. Nicholas glanced at me.

“Go upstairs with Maggie,” he said coldly.

“But—”

“No arguments! Obey me!”

He stepped into the parlor and slammed the door behind him. I stared at it, unable to comprehend his brutality, and Maggie put her hand on my arm, eyes full of unspoken sympathy.

“He had no call to treat me like that,” I protested.

“I imagine he's still upset, dear. We've all had a terrible fright. You come along with me. My, your dress is all damp from fog, and your hair is limp. You'll want to tidy up.”

We went upstairs. Maggie insisted I take a swallow of brandy from her flask. It went through me like liquid fire, but it helped. I no longer felt so weak and dizzy. After a while, convinced that I was all right, she went down to the kitchen to soothe Mrs. Henderson's ruffled feelings. I changed my dress and brushed my hair. They were down there in the parlor, discussing the attempted murder, and I had been left out. Why? Why didn't he want me to hear what was said. Thirty minutes passed, forty-five, and I couldn't restrain myself any longer.

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard the parlor door opening. I paused, peering through the varnished mahogany railings. I could see only the lower half of their bodies, Millie's yellow skirt brushing against Jamie's navy blue trousers, Nicholas' black-clad legs planted wide apart, his highly polished boots gleaming in the lamplight. Leaning against the wall, out of sight, I listened.

“You're sure we're doing the right thing?” Jamie asked dubiously.

“I'm sure,” Nicholas retorted. “I'll see Sir Reginald tonight—I'm leaving immediately—and he'll agree. Don't worry about it, Caine. I'll take full responsibility.”

“Even so, if Sir Charles—”

“To hell with Sir Charles! He's not going to have a chance to interfere this time. I intend to handle everything myself. You've got your instructions. Follow them!”

“Yes, sir,” Jamie replied.

“You're not to let her out of your sight. Is that understood? It's not likely he'll try again—time's running out on him and he must realize it—but we're taking no chances. You're to be with her every minute. You sleep in her flat. You stay by her side.”

“I don't know what Daddy's going to say—” Millie began.

“And you,” Nicholas interrupted, “not a word of this to anyone! It's imperative! Not even your father is to know the whole story. Too many people know already.”

“But—Susannah? She'll have to be told—”

“I don't want her involved in this any more than she is already. She has no idea what's going on, and I intend to keep it that way. For her own protection.”

“She saw what happened. How will you—”

“I'll handle Susannah. Take her home, Caine, and for God's sake be careful. I'll be in touch with you tomorrow, perhaps even late tonight. I'm hoping we'll be able to wind this thing up.”

Millie and Jamie stepped to the head of the stairs leading down to the street. I was leaning against the wall, in the shadows where they couldn't see me, but I had a clear view of them. Jamie's face was grave, his blue eyes full of worried concern. His arm was wrapped protectively around Millie's shoulders. She had been crying, her eyelids pink and puffy, and her mouth drooped sadly. Nicholas Craig stepped over to them, his back to me. Black broadcloth strained across the wide expanse of shoulders. Hair curled about the nape of his neck.

“Mind you do as you're told!” he snapped.

Millie shot him a look of pure venom.

“I want to say goodbye to Susannah,” she said stiffly.

“I'll not allow that.”

“You have no right to boss people around! If you think—”

“I have every right in the world, miss. You've been a bloody little fool, but you've been lucky. I wonder if you realize just
how
lucky. He wasn't playing games out there. He might have killed you. He might have killed Susannah, too, all because of your idiotic—”

“I say, Craig,” Jamie protested, “there's no need to speak so harshly. She's been through a bloody awful experience, and—”

“Take her home,” Nicholas said wearily. “I've no more time to discuss it. See that your orders are obeyed to the letter.”

Millie and Jamie went on downstairs. He stood there watching them, his palms resting lightly on his thighs, and it wasn't until the outside door opened and closed that he turned around. Lamplight fell over his face. It was lined, weary, the eyes dark and troubled. He sighed deeply, his brow creasing in a frown. Suddenly aware that someone was watching him, Nicholas lifted his eyes and saw me standing on the staircase.

“Come down here,” he said.

I obeyed without hesitation.

I stood at the foot of the stairs. Nicholas stood directly in front of me. Neither of us said a word. The immense grandfather clock ticked loudly, lamplight gleaming on its varnished wooden case and spilling over the Aubusson runner in softly diffused rays. A full minute passed, the heavy brass pendulum clocking each second. Nicholas stared at me, and I met his stare without flinching or looking away.

“How long were you standing there?” he asked quietly.

“Since you came out of the parlor.”

“You heard?”

I nodded. “Nicholas, I don't understand what is—”

“No questions, Susannah.”

“What did Millie tell you? What were you talking about?”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“It has something to do with the murders. I—”

He gripped my shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh, hurting. His face was set in weary lines, and when he spoke his voice was soft, husky, almost a caress.

“I want you to listen to me. Listen carefully. I intend to say this just once.
You are to ask no questions
. I don't intend to tell you anything at all. You're safe. You're in no danger.
Everything will be all right
. There are important reasons why I can't tell you any more. I have a great deal on my mind. I have a great deal to do. Trust me, Susannah. I ask you to trust me. Will you?”

I made no reply. There was entreaty in his eyes.

“
Will
you, Susannah?”

I hesitated before speaking. There was so much I couldn't understand, so much I wanted to know.

“Yes, Nicholas,” I said quietly.

“I have to leave now. I have no idea when I'll be back. I don't want you to leave the house. Is that clear?”