Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (9 page)

She stepped toward the open door, seemingly desperate to escape him. “You can read everything here. Don’t take anything from my office.”

“I’m not a thief,” he called out to her receding back.

“No, only a liar,” she muttered under her breath.

He smiled, looking around the small office. It seemed so empty without her, but her lemony scent lingered like the smoke from a doused candle, still carrying the memory of heat and dancing flame.

T
he next afternoon, Catherine stood in an alcove on Lamont Street diagonally across from a brown, wooden, four-storied structure with two large red-painted doors with gold frames. A crimson, white and gold sign swung over the doors on a spring breeze, declaring the establishment Weatherly’s Boardinghouse—Marcus Dunn’s temporary residence while in town.

In addition to being a rooming house, it apparently was a popular drinking establishment, as men in uniform had been coming and going for the last two hours. The officers seemed to travel in twos and threes, congenially slipping inside, then upon leaving, easily melting into the flow of the congested street. For all of the activity, Catherine’s raven-haired scoundrel had yet to appear.

She adjusted the white oversized bonnet on her head, irritated that it hung so long over her ears. But it had been difficult to find a housemaid’s dress that fit on such short notice, especially when everyone she knew who had one needed it for work. Luckily, a friend of one of the Ander
sen Hall staff had recently run off with an underbutler and had left her uniform behind.

The voluminous gray gown hung on her like a sack and she’d had to strap it up with a line of cord. Still, she doubted anyone would spare her a second glance. She would likely be judged a young servant with a clutchfisted employer who’d given her a used gown. Yet, she feared someone might notice that the young servant hovering about in an alcove had been there for hours, the epitome of idleness.

She’d already eaten the apple and hunk of cheese she’d brought along in her wool netted reticule, and the bag hung limply at her side. She wondered if Marcus Dunn would deign to appear before dinner or if she should use her coin for one of the meat pies they were selling down the lane. The scent of meat and pastry tugged at her middle like pincers.

Much of the pinched feeling was nerves, she knew. She had never been one for stealth, and spying on a dangerous man, one who already made her jumpy, was more than a bit nerve-wracking. But since Marcus wouldn’t tell her the truth about why he was back, she was forced to figure it out on her own.

Ever since leaving the orphanage, her heart had been hammering and she couldn’t seem to get enough moisture in her mouth. A meat pie might make her feel better…But what if she missed him? She’d already wasted a whole afternoon, and Headmaster Dunn would expect her back by dinner. He thought her on a trip to a circulating library and even though she often lost sight of the time while there, in good conscience she shouldn’t be gone for so long.

But how well would she be able to conduct herself if she were starving?

Just as she was about to venture down the lane, Marcus exited the all-male establishment. She would have noticed the tall, broad, raven-haired rogue in a crowd of thousands, even without his bright crimson uniform and distinctive white plume.

“Finally,” she muttered, but for all her bravado, her heart was in her throat and her pulse pounded in her ears. Imagining trailing Marcus was one thing, actually doing it was suddenly far chancier. She schooled her nerves to steady and studied her prey.

Standing in front of the boardinghouse, Marcus conferred with a lanky, red-uniformed man with a hat under his arm. The man’s shiny bald head glistened in the afternoon sun. Catherine pressed the man’s prominent hooked nose and weathered features into her memory, not knowing when she might need the intelligence.

Distantly she wondered why Marcus wore his uniform some days and discarded it on others. Likely to use it to influence his audience, she mused. She imagined him a slimy actor, pretending to be noble when he was anything but. Using his charm to disarm innocent young women, leading them down the path of depravity…

Her anger seethed. Oh, how often she’d mentally replayed those moments in her office, wishing that she’d slapped the supercilious smile off his face. Or stomped on his good foot and listened to him howl. The anger erased her fear, lending her the strength of purpose to follow Marcus wherever he went today.

The unknown man nodded patiently as Marcus spoke. The man must work for Marcus, she realized, and her heartbeat quickened even more. She hadn’t counted on tracking two men, only one. That meant four eyes potentially discovering her, and the possibility of facing an unknown element. Her mind scrambled for how to deal with
this turn of events, but just then, the man set his hat on his bald head and took off to the east. Marcus turned and loped along in the opposite direction, his crutches swinging easily before each stride.

Taking a steadying breath, Catherine adjusted her bonnet and tried to look nonchalant as she followed Marcus from across the thoroughfare. She hung back, ready to jump into the nearest alcove if he turned. But he moved blithely onward, as unaware of his surroundings as if he were on a stroll in a peaceful pasture.

She wished she could feel peaceful and wondered at her own disquiet. Was she so frightened of Marcus? Nervous at being discovered, yes, but not afraid of him. Somehow, she doubted that he would actually harm her. Debauch her, perhaps…

Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t think of consequences, only of Headmaster Dunn, the orphanage and the children. Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to ignore the rank odor of refuse hanging over the street and focus on her quarry.

Marcus stopped to confer with a street urchin. Even from across the thoroughfare, his charm practically oozed for the world to see. The young lad was grinning a toothless smile as he readily accepted a coin from Marcus and scampered off. Marcus probably considered himself a philanthropist now.

Catherine’s sense of unease intensified. Was it the boy? No, she didn’t think so. Her instincts had saved her from more than one confrontation with her cousin, Stanford Caddyhorn, before she’d escaped her wretched aunt and uncle’s house; since then she’d only grown to respect her intuition even more. Her eyes scanned the street, drifting over the muted gowns, white bonnets, brown caps and
sundry faces. Horses’ hooves clattered down the lane as a carriage rolled past.

Marcus moved off, loping along on his crutches, his white plume whipping on the spring breeze.

Catherine sped up, not to lose sight of him. That’s when she saw the men.

Two burly ruffians dressed in brown clothing followed Marcus, their gazes intent, their movements less walking than stalking. They wore brown caps slung low over their eyes. An air of menace hung about them, evident from the determined looks on their features, the tight set of their shoulders and how their hands fisted at their sides.

Marcus stopped to chat with a shopkeeper and Catherine hung back, watching. The two men delayed their progress, pretending to examine a store window, a dressmaker’s display, one with pink ruffles and bows. Catherine tasted cotton and realized that she was chewing on her thumb through her glove. What mischief had Marcus gotten himself into now?

A short, wiry fellow in a long black coat and sloppy black hat joined the two men, staring up at the same window display. He turned and quickly scanned the passersby. Catherine spun around and stepped over to a pastry stall, staring at the baked goods as if she were starved, but she couldn’t eat now even if all the pastries were free.

After a moment, Catherine peered over her shoulder. The men had no eyes for her, only Marcus.

The short one spoke, then jerked his head toward Marcus. One of the taller men pulled a club from his pocket and showed it to the man.

They meant to assail him!

Catherine felt the sudden urge to do something. But
what? Marcus was the villain in this piece, wasn’t he? If he was caught up in mischief, shouldn’t he suffer the penalty of his actions? Still, he was Headmaster Dunn’s son and if Marcus was hurt, or worse yet, killed, then Dunn would be devastated. And deep down, she knew, so would she. She might want to arrest Marcus’s plans, but that didn’t mean she wished him injury. Well, at least nothing permanent.

Reaching down, Catherine lifted a broken brick from the ground and slipped it into her reticule. The wool netting stretched heavily with its new contents. She felt like David readying his sling to face Goliath, but without his legendary confidence.

Marcus resumed his stroll and the men stalked him once more.

As Catherine trailed behind this powder keg situation, she wondered what was going to happen if the men attacked. Marcus seemed fit and strong, but he was injured. Moreover, it would be three against one. Somehow Catherine doubted that these men would fight fair. As if there was such a thing.

But they were on a busy street…doubtless these men wouldn’t act so boldly. If people saw an army officer being attacked, they would rush to Marcus’s aid, wouldn’t they?

The short wiry fellow glanced over his shoulder, his dark piercing eyes fixing on her. It took every ounce of willpower for Catherine not to freeze in her tracks. She kept walking, her eyes set forward, her bad leg suddenly giving her more of a limp than she’d had in years.
I’m lame, no threat to you
, she cast the thoughts at the man.
I’m of no consequence
.

His gaze slipped past her and she almost sagged with relief.

Then the man’s eyes lighted on another, just a few steps behind her. Pretending to fix her shoe, Catherine surreptitiously peered over her shoulder. Two beefy gray-clothed men stepped past her and trotted ahead, their gazes focused on the oblivious Marcus Dunn.

Five of them!

She had to warn him. No matter his offenses, she couldn’t stand by.

Catherine stepped into the lane to cross the street, but her long hem snagged on her shoe. Impatiently she yanked it free. But when she looked up again, Marcus had vanished.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Where had he gone?

The three men stalking Marcus on his side of the street quickened their pace, then rushed into a narrow alleyway between two buildings. The two men on Catherine’s side of the lane raced across and swept inside the same darkened passageway, disappearing into the shadows.

Marcus must have blindly given these men their chance!

Desperately Catherine searched the street for a constable, anyone. Then, upon seeing a foot soldier in his crimson uniform, she raced over and grabbed his arm. He looked down at her, his youthful face appalled.

“My friend is being attacked! Please help! He’s an officer!”

The man’s eyes filled with fear. Shoving her off, the soldier turned and dashed away into the crowd.

“Please, somebody, help!”

People veered away from her as if she were crazed, their eyes not meeting hers.

Terrified for what Marcus must be going through in the dark alleyway, Catherine rushed across the thoroughfare.
Horses’ hooves stormed down upon her. She’d run directly into the path of a charging carriage!

Catherine raised her arms above her head and closed her eyes, certain death was upon her.

The driver screamed curses as he frantically steered the carriage’s team to the left. Catherine stood frozen, her heart in her throat. The horses stampeded so close, Catherine could almost taste their sweat. But astoundingly, she was whole.

“What the bloody hell do you think yer doing charging into the street like that?” the driver shouted.

Catherine opened her eyes and lowered her arms, so shaken she could hardly breathe. She wasn’t dead. The driver had saved her. But she had no time to thank him.

“Sorry!” Catherine sprinted toward the opening where the men had gone, hoping that the carriage driver would forgive her rudeness.

The sun did not penetrate the long, narrow passage, and within it the air was chilled. The odor of feces and rot and garbage assailed her as she rushed forward, trying not to think about where she was going or what she might do. Grunts and cries welcomed her from deep in the belly of the lane, so far from the busy street.

She turned a corner.

Two burly men circled Marcus, as he swung his crutch about like a weapon. Two men lay motionless on the grimy ground. The larger of the two men brandished a short silver knife in his hand, the other wielded a club. The man with the blade lunged at Marcus.

Marcus whipped the crutch down on the man’s knife arm and flipped it back around for a thrust into the attacker’s middle. The man grunted and slumped to the ground.

The other man stepped out of range of the crutch, seemingly having learned his ally’s lesson.

Marcus was panting, as his hands clenched the crutch and he eyed his much larger opponent. Violence shimmered off him in waves along with an aura of…enjoyment. But that was absurd. The man couldn’t actually be taking pleasure in this dangerous brawl. Doubt slithered through her mind. Had Marcus actually intended to trap his attackers? The quarry stalking the supposed hunters? Had he purposefully acted oblivious, all the while leading the men away from the bystanders?

Someone grabbed Catherine’s bonnet and her hair within, wrenching her head backwards so roughly she was lifted off the ground. Pain shot through her head as she slammed up against a hard form. Something cold was pressed to her exposed neck.

“Stop or I’ll kill the girl!” Gripping her hair so tightly she couldn’t move, the man pushed a sharp blade to her throat. The
fifth
man, of course. Panic paralyzed her.

Marcus froze, his fiery gaze fixing on Catherine. Any amusement she’d thought she’d seen evaporated. His sea blue gaze was as hard as ice. His eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled. He seemed to grow before her eyes, looming with lethal intention.

“Drop it or I’ll kill her!” the brute shouted so loudly in her ear that it rang.

Catherine wondered what Marcus would do, not knowing what to pray for. She didn’t trust the man’s word and doubted that Marcus did either. But she didn’t want to die.

After a moment, Marcus held up his crutch in surrender, his shoulders sagging, his stance relaxing.

The man nearest Marcus straightened and snickered, as if the fight were finished.

He obviously did not know Marcus Dunn.

The knife at her throat lowered.

Catherine smashed her heel down on the wiry man’s foot and whirled out from under his grasp just as Marcus hurled his crutch at the other burly man.