No Place for a Lady (5 page)

"Cut and run, you halfwit," she snapped. "I can take care of myself."

His smile was slow in coming, but no less startling. "You would like that, hmmm?" he asked, his voice humming with the low throb of authority. "Perhaps you intend to betray me to Ballast, tip his hat to me only to rid yourself of an annoyance? Who is the halfwit, Fantine? I would not advise such an act."

Fantine swallowed, unnerved that he could think as deviously as she. "
I
will not betray you, Chadwick. You are a fish out of water, here. Your own ignorance will destroy you." Then she decided to end this debate, knowing she could return to it when she had more command of the situation. She jerked her head toward the pub. "We cannot waste any more time on this. If we wait much longer, Ballast will be too drunk to be of any use."

He shifted slightly, as if allowing the change in topic. "Perhaps we should wait until he is well into his cups."

Fantine shook her head. "Ballast is a mean drunk—suspicious and violent. Our best chance is to approach him when his brainpan is not awash with spirits." She did not add that her guise as a child would not protect her from a drunken Ballast. At such times, he was known to take boys to bed as well as girls.

Chadwick nodded once, as if he understood her silent concerns. That was impossible, of course, but for some silly reason, the gesture reassured her. She began to relax, making the mental shift into the persona of the Rat.

"Ye're me daft flash," she said softly, "who 'ired me to let ye peer at London's sordid underbelly." She repeated that last phrase again, seeking to imitate his wording as a boy would, mocking the man while trying out his large words. "If we be split," she added, looking directly at him to give weight to her words, "run like a craven mort. Oi can 'andle Ballast." Then she let herself smile. "'E ain't near as smart as 'e thinks."

She saw the question in his eyes, but she did not give him a chance to voice it. Instead, she sprang past him, scurrying through the damp street until she could duck into the pub doorway. She knew he would follow, no doubt cursing her all the way, and the thought made her smile grow even wider.

She was still grinning when she shook her damp clothes by the smoky fire. All around her, the patrons cursed as drops of sleet and mud flew about her, some landing with a hiss on the fire. She neatly ducked a fist thrown out to cuff her as she scampered to the opposite comer.

The pub was dark and dingy, filled with a sea of sweaty men and stale ale. Directly in front of her, Gilly the barmaid navigated tables, alternating curses with suggestive winks. Fantine took a moment to admire the way she handled the rough customers.

Then Chadwick burst in.

True to form, he did not slink in as she and all the other customers would. No, he let the wind throw open the door, gusting through his cloak so that it billowed about his large frame as he peered down his aristocratic nose at the clientele. Everyone looked up. Many began to grumble. And Fantine was hard-pressed to stifle a curse.

Then something happened. Chadwick did not strut in like an arrogant lord. Instead, he ogled the people.

"Are ye daft? Git out!" grumbled a thick-shouldered dockworker by the door.

Chadwick grinned. "Ooo, how positively delightful!" he drawled, effecting a dandy's nasal tone. Then he stepped in the door, his gaze unerringly picking out Fantine as she crouched in the shadows. "Come, boy, this is perfectly delicious. Charming. Marvelously dreadful. No need to hide in the comer. Fetch me some... some ale!"

Fantine could only gape. He was perfect! Her having told him to play a daft peer looking for some dockside excitement, he performed the role exquisitely. Which allowed Fantine to play her own part with equal nerve.

She groaned out loud. "Damned queer, 'e is," she muttered to the nearest man. "Wants t' see the local color, 'e says. Pay good money." Then she caught the avaricious gleam in the man's eye and shook her head, her grin cocky. "Ain't no use, wot yer thinkin'. I already cleaned 'im out. 'E's got enough for 'is drink and a diddle wi' Gilly, 'at's all."

She watched as the man narrowed his gaze, quickly evaluating the truth of her statement. Eventually he spat out a curse and turned back to his tankard of ale. Nearby, other men hunkered back down, their interest in the daft lord already gone.

"Boy!" Chadwick called again, his voice slightly roughened, as if he were trying to assume a dockside accent. "Come along now, I am parched. Uh, now, ye bugger!" Then he grinned as if he had just said something brilliant.

Fantine pushed herself up from the corner. "Gilly!" she called to the barmaid. "Entertain 'im fer a mite. I needs to talk wi' Ballast."

The barmaid nodded, her hips already shifting enough to catch Chadwick's eye. Not one to miss so obvious a cue, Chadwick returned the wink and patted his lap lasciviously. Gilly grinned, barely remembering to pass her tray to Rat. "Ballast's in th' back room. Ye can take 'im 'is drink."

The barmaid extended the tray, and Fantine rushed forward to catch it. She barely made it in time, and she held her breath while the ale sloshed, but didn't spill. Lord, but she was slow tonight. Her joints ached, and she had yet to feel her toes after her hour's wait in the bitter cold. Ten years ago, she would have laughed at such minor discomforts, but at twenty-five, she could no longer move like the wind. How long before she would be too slow to outrun her pursuers?

She shuddered at the thought, pushing it away with the ease of long practice. Now was not the time to fight demons she could not conquer. So she straightened, pushing her way through the back door into a small, windowless room.

"Evenin', guv'nor," she said to Ballast, who sat counting his money at a scarred desk on the opposite side of the room. Beside him stood his son, a gangly youth with greasy black hair and eyes that studied everything and everyone. Lounging against the walls were two large brutes, one on either side.

Fantine sauntered forward, her gestures cocky as she kicked the door shut behind her. "'Ave a little rat's piss," she said as she sloshed the tankard down before Ballast, spilling drink over the coins and notes piled there. Then she grinned at Ballast's startled expression. He probably had already known she was in the pub. Ballast simply had not expected her to push her way into his back room without so much as a by-yer-leave.

Continuing her role as a cocksure youth, she perched insolently on the only other piece of furniture there—a rickety chair opposite the desk—then began swinging one foot back and forth as so many children do. Meanwhile, she studied her opponent.

Ballast had gained weight. Thickset and heavy by nature, his flesh now seemed to hang on him while his mouth drooped in a perpetual frown. But his fatty body was all that had gone soft. His narrowed black eyes and his meaty fist appeared just as hard as ever.

"Got a minute t' speak wi' an old, dear friend?" Fantine asked happily, pretending to a confidence she didn't feel.

"Humph!" snorted Ballast, his gaze returning to the pound notes before him.

Fantine was not fooled. She knew his attention was firmly fixed on her. And if she had any doubts, the actions of the other three would have tipped her off. The boy glared at her, his face a mirror image of his father's contempt, except that his gaze still held a lively intelligence that could be dangerous. As for the other two, Fantine's back prickled as they moved silently behind her, one on each side.

"Go' a tad bit o' business fer you, guv," Fantine said as she bounced slightly on the seat with boyish enthusiasm.

Ballast continued counting his coins with dogged determination. "Forty-eight. Nine. Fifty."

Fantine swallowed. Fifty pounds. Oh, the things she could do with such ready blunt. It had been a while since her last job with Penworthy, and her money was stretched painfully thin. Her empty stomach growled loudly.

Suddenly, the man looked up, his gaze intent."'Ave t' do wi' th' nob?"

Fantine blinked. "Wot?"

Ballast grinned as Fantine forced her thoughts into order. The man might be crude and slow, but he had not become a dockside force by being completely stupid. She had to remain sharp if she wanted to keep herself and Chadwick alive.

"Oh," she stammered. "Naw," she answered, her cockiness returning with each word. "'Is queer nibs jes wanted a night peeping at London's soirded underbelly. So naturally Oi thought o' you."

Ballast straightened slightly, clearly not catching the insult. "Oi've th' best drink on the docks."

Fantine had a lively retort ready until she caught the flash of annoyance in the boy's eye. He had understood the insult and was not pleased. She had best watch her tongue.

"'Is nibs is just an... an incidental," she said. "Oi've come about a matter fer another lord."

"Moving up, ain't ye, Rat?" That was from the boy, his tone as haughty as any peer's. "Two lords in one day? Comin' t' you? Oi don't believe it."

She turned to look at him, noting that he would grow to be as tall as his father, but at present was more gangly than broad. What was his name? Jack, but everyone called him Sprat. His father doted on him, and he was smart as a whip.

"Oi ain't nowhere's t' go but up," she said, her voice cheeky. "'Sides, it were a friend of 'is queerness. Wants t' buy information."

"On what?" asked the boy, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed. He was much too suspicious, and therefore the most dangerous person in the room.

"'Ey, who's running this meetin' anyway?" she asked, turning back to Ballast. "Ye give 'im all yer brains? Or do ye still 'ave some left t' negotiate wi' me?" She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in as much of a challenge as she dared. "Or should I take me business t' Hurdy?" She named Ballast's primary rival.

True to form, Ballast took the bait. Cuffing his son back, he matched her glare for glare. "You deal wi' me, Rat. Tho' I ain't so sure I should trust ye after th' last time I saw ye, so keep yer tongue honest."

"Aw." Fantine laughed to disguise a tremor of fear. "'At were jes a big misunderstandin'." Actually, it was more than a big misunderstanding. She had downright stolen from Ballast, taken one of his new whores—a girl named Jenny—away from him. That was, in fact, one of the reasons "Rat" had disappeared from this area of town.

Jenny had sharp ears, hearing things that Penworthy found most valuable. In return for the information, Fantine had gotten the girl away from Ballast. She was now working happily as a maid/spy on one of Penworthy's political enemies.

"Wot's past is past," Fantine said, as she folded her arms across her chest. "'Sides, if ye kill me now, ye'll lose a fat lot o' gold. Now, do ye want t' do business, or shall I go out an diddle a little wi' Gilly?"

"You ain't got the balls to diddle a rat, Rat."

True enough, she thought with a grin. Then she leaned back and grasped her crotch in a typically male gesture of arrogance. "I got enough balls to offer ten guineas for the name o' the man who wants t' kill some cove named Wilberforce."

"Ten guineas." Ballast laughed. "Not after costin' me Jenny. You owe me a brand-new whore, Rat. Not ten lousy guineas."

Fantine winced. She had never truly expected Ballast to forget Jenny's disappearance. She simply hoped he would not be smart enough to connect her with the girl's escape. "Aw, ye cain't be blamin' that on me, Ballast!" she cried, full of righteous indignation. "I cain't 'elp it if ye lost yer whore!"

Ballast grasped the desk, his knuckles white with anger. "I saw ye meself, Rat. You an' me spankin' new whore!"

"It weren't Jenny. Ye saw Nameless dressin' up." Ballast nearly purpled in rage, so Fantine rushed on, speaking in a mollifying tone. "Tell ye what. I ain't had nothin't do with Jenny disappearin'," she lied, "but in t' name o' good relations, I'll double me offer. Twenty guineas fer that name. 'At's a fair deal, ain't it? An' now I ain't makin' so much as a copper from this 'ere transaction, so make yer mind up quick. It ain't worth me time no more."

Ballast paused. She had clearly gotten his attention, but he was not a man who thought with great ease. He grabbed his tankard of ale and drained it, then leaned back, crossing his arms over his massive chest as he stared at her.

Fantine held his gaze, working hard to maintain the false bravado that was so key to survival in the rookeries. Then Sprat made a gesture to one of the men behind her, and Fantine tensed as the brute quickly left the room. She wondered what was going on, but didn't dare lose eye contact with Ballast. It was her only show of strength.

"Come on, Ballast," Fantine said, all her instincts urging her to cut and run. "Wot be yer answer?"

Ballast merely smiled, and Fantine felt a chill settle into her belly. A moment later, her premonition was confirmed as she heard a sound that spelled disaster.

"I sssay, old boy."
Hic
. "What is the meaning of this?"

It was Chadwick, still playing the role of daft peer, only he now seemed slightly castaway. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that his normally clear blue eyes were owlish and bleary, and she prayed this was pretense and not for real.

He would not have intended to get drunk, of course. She gave him that much credit. But Ballast's fare contained more punch than the finer stuff. He might have misjudged his abilities.

In which case, they were both in serious trouble.