Suzanne Robinson (28 page)

She was in a dimly lit room bare of furniture except for a rough wool carpet. A few feet away from her Cheyne lay on his back, one leg bent with the other over it. She couldn’t see the wound caused by the ruffian’s blow because his face was turned toward her. The leader of their abductors was standing over Cheyne, and behind him were his fellow criminals.

A door opened, and she heard the rapid tap of heels on the bare floor. As the newcomer gained the carpet, the tapping grew muffled. Giving their leader uneasy glances, the two assistant criminals scuffled out of the room. Mattie half closed her eyes so that she appeared to still be unconscious. She waited for the newcomer to move into her range of vision. She wasn’t surprised to see Rose Marie Seton, but the countess evidently had been surprised to see her. She was staring at the ruffian leader with a mixture of amazement, exasperation, and fury.

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, Gamp. This afternoon when I saw them at the abbey, did I not tell you to get rid of them discreetly? Perhaps my choice
of words was above you. Discreet means without attracting attention; it does not mean bring them to my house and toss them in my lap!”

Gamp scratched his head, impervious to his employer’s sarcasm.

“Weren’t no choice, m’lady. The coppers was thick as worms on a corpse, stopping carriages an all. They was looking for ’em. We barely got out o’ there by heading west. If we’d of tried for the docks, they’d have got us for sure.”

“You’re an idiot. You could have taken them anywhere but here.”

Gamp shrugged. “You hired us to do a simple job. You didn’t say anything about Scotland Yard crawling all over the place. We had to get off the streets, and you was close.”

The countess narrowed her eyes, but seemed to think better of arguing with her employee. “It’s done and can’t be helped. Keep them here until dark, then take them to the docks. Don’t kill them here. I don’t want them traced to me.”

Scratching his chin, Gamp nodded. “Don’t you worry. They’ll just be two more floaters fished out o’ the river.”

Rose Marie glanced at Cheyne’s prone form, her upper lip curling. “I knew I was followed after I picked up her first payment, but I never suspected the police had recruited her and Tennant.”

“Lucky you hired me to watch who came to the abbey, then,” Gamp said.

The countess gave him an irate glance. “The whole point to this excursion was to get rid of whoever was trying to trap me, not risk exposing me by dragging them here.”

“Don’t get yer knickers twisted, m’lady. Me and the boys’ll take care of everything soon as it’s dark and the streets are full of traffic for the New Year’s celebrations.”

“You’d better.”

Rose Marie stalked out, and Gamp followed. After the door shut, Mattie heard the click of a key turning a lock. She waited a moment as their footsteps receded. Rising slowly, she crawled to Cheyne, touched his cheek and whispered his name. No response. She turned his head and felt a lump on the back of it as large as a hen’s egg. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she lifted him so that his head rested in her lap. Tapping his cheek gently with the palm of her hand, she whispered again.

“Cheyne! Cheyne, wake up.”

He didn’t move. His eyelids were tinged with blue, and he seemed to be in some deep oblivion. She’d heard of people receiving blows to the head and never regaining consciousness. Mattie went cold and hugged him to her.

What was she going to do? What if he didn’t wake up before Gamp came to take them away? Mattie looked around the bare room. There was a narrow window sealed with a wooden shutter, and the ceiling slanted. They must be in an attic room. Maybe they could climb out. She didn’t know if the
window was blocked; she didn’t know how long they had.

All she knew for certain was that she wasn’t leaving without Cheyne. Her fingers stroked soft blond hair. She held one of his elegant, strong hands, knowing she’d rather risk death than leave him behind.

 
20
 

She should have figured it out sooner. Rose Marie was supposed to have worn the costume of the Empress Josephine to the Trillford ball. Why, then, would she have complained about stomachers and farthingales? Because she’d changed at some point, disguising herself as Queen Elizabeth I to pick up the blackmail money in St. James’s Park. A sixteenth-century lady would wear a farthingale, not one who lived two centuries later.

Mattie shifted Cheyne so that his head rested on one of her legs, and watched his steady breathing. The light that had penetrated the shutter was gone, and it was New Year’s Eve. It must be close to ten o’clock, and she could hear muffled street noises. She had explored the room, but the only other way out was through the locked door. She could hear voices down the hall. Gamp had left his assistants on guard, so there was no way out except through the
window. It shouldn’t be too hard to break the shutters, but she couldn’t drag Cheyne with her. She strained to hear any approaching footsteps, and as she did, Cheyne stirred.

“Wake up,” she whispered, patting his face. “Cheyne, we’ve got to get out of here. Try, honey. Try to wake up.”

He moaned, then winced and opened his eyes. “Mattie?”

“It’s me, honey. Wake up now. We’re in trouble.”

All she got was a groan, but he tried to sit up, only to collapse in her arms.

“Wait a bit and try again.” Mattie glanced at the door, expecting Gamp at any moment. “Cheyne, honey, they’re going to come for us any minute. They plan to take us to the river and …” Her courage failed. She didn’t want to put their intended fate into words.

“Floaters,” Cheyne mumbled as he tried to turn his head.

“Yes. So try to sit up.”

She braced him, slowly helping him raise the level of his head. He got halfway up before dizziness knocked him down again.

“It’s no use,” he said when the vertigo had passed. “Go without me.”

“What in blazes do you think you’re saying? They’ll kill you.”

“And you.”

He winced as he tried to pull her close. She kissed his hand.

“I won’t leave you.”

Cheyne caught the neck of her jacket and dragged her down to face him. “Listen to me, Mattie. I’m going to be dizzy for at least another half hour. Too dizzy to travel. You’ve got to escape.”

“No, I’m not leaving—”

“Bloody hell, Mattie, if you don’t go for help, they’ll kill us both. This way I’ll have a chance, but only if you do as I say, for once in your life.”

Cheyne sucked in a breath and went white from the effort of speaking. Mattie bit her lip and stared at him with a terrible helpless feeling in the pit of her stomach. He was right. If she didn’t get help, he would be killed anyway. She had to leave him if she was going to save him.

“I’ll go.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a painful smile. “I knew you would. Kiss me first.”

She lowered her mouth to his, gently. His lips were cool, but they warmed beneath hers. Tearing herself from him, Mattie went to the window. She didn’t even know if she could get it open. It was nailed shut. She tried shoving on the panels of the shutter, but she couldn’t get enough force behind her.

“You’ll have to use your feet,” Cheyne said faintly. “Come help me stand.”

“You can’t.”

“I can for a short time. I’ll hold you, and you kick. Do it quickly, because I’m going to fall.”

Mattie helped him stand, turned her back to him and allowed him to lift her. She hopped up, kicked
the shutters hard, and they popped open. At the same time, Cheyne fell with her on top of him.

“Are you all right?”

He covered his eyes with his forearm, not answering at first. Mattie hovered over him and wrung her hands until he sighed.

“I’m fine.” He lowered his arm and gave her a look of mingled love and urgency. “Go, Mattie.”

She bent down and kissed him again. Before her resolve wavered, she jumped on the windowsill and stuck her head outside. It was dark, but light came from lamps mounted on the walls of the house. The roof slanted down at a steep slope to join a flatter one below. They were in an attic room at the rear of the house. She could see the service area, but no light came from the windows of the kitchen.

“Mattie, you have to go.
Now
.”

Giving Cheyne a last, torn look, Mattie lowered herself out the window and slid down the roof. She almost dropped off the edge, but caught a gutter in time. She hung over the next roof and dropped gently, thanking God for the size of aristocratic town houses. The noise she made here wouldn’t be heard in the rooms the countess frequented. Landing on the second roof almost cost her the use of her left ankle. It turned wrong, but a moment’s massage restored it enough for her to creep along until she found a trellis by which to climb to the ground.

Mattie sneaked out of the service area to a small passage between two houses. Speeding into the night, she thought about banging on one of the
doors of the Georgian houses along the street, but it would take too long to explain that she wasn’t a madwoman and even longer to persuade the occupants to allow her to telephone the police. If they had a telephone. The surest, fastest way was to sprint across the streets of Mayfair to Spencer House.

She arrived in St. James’s Street gasping for air. Bursting into the house past a startled Wynkin, she almost ran into Narcissa and her mother dressed in evening gowns and wearing worried frowns.

“Mattie, thank God!” Mrs. Bright cried. “Where have you been? You’re a mess. What have you been doing? We’re going to be late for the New Year’s ball.”

“Not now, Mama.” She grabbed Narcissa and shoved her toward the telephone near the stairs. “Call Scotland Yard. Tell them to send Superintendent Balfour to the Countess of Ixworth’s house. She’s the blackmailer.”

Narcissa picked up the telephone and gaped at her. “Blackmailer?”

“No time for questions,” Mattie called as she raced upstairs. “I’m going back.”

“Mattie Bright, you come back here this instant and tell me what’s going on,” Mama shouted.

“Later,” Mattie said as she vanished into her room.

Rushing to the armoire, she dug in the bottom of it and pulled out Papa’s old Colt revolver. She loaded it with shaking fingers, stuffed cartridges into her pockets, and hurtled out of the house to the stables. While the coachman guided the carriage
into the street in preparation for driving to the Prince of Wales’s ball, Mattie jumped into the Panhard and started it. Gunning the motor, she hurtled out of the carriage house, startling the horses and grooms.

The journey back to the countess’s house was the fastest she’d ever driven. Careening down Park Lane, she nearly overturned at the sharp corner at Oxford Street. She sped up into the turn and nearly crashed into a cab. As the car swerved to avoid it, she whipped the wheel around, went several blocks, turned, then turned again, and she was there. Without thinking, she killed the engine, jumped out and stormed into the house.

The foyer was brightly lit and crowded with the countess’s New Year’s guests. Mattie shoved aside a pompous barrister and an elderly baronet, grabbed Rose Marie’s arm and spun her around. She cocked the gun and pointed it six inches from the woman’s head.

“Where is he?”

Silence had fallen, except for some young fop who piped, “I say!”

Mattie’s eyes never left the countess’s. “I know they’ve gone to the docks. Which one? You have until the count of three.”

Rose Marie cast a scandalized look at her guests. “Dear God, she’s mad. Someone stop her.”

“One …” Mattie said with icy calm.

“General Urqhart, do something,” Rose Marie cried with an innocent flutter of her hands.

“Two, three.” Mattie shot a vase behind the countess.

Women screamed, and the men backed away from her.

“She’s insane,” the countess said.

“I haven’t got time for your stage performance,” Mattie said. “So I’ll just have to convince you I’m serious.”

She turned and walked away from Rose Marie. Facing her, she aimed and fired again, hitting the marble tile at her feet. This time Rose Marie’s facade of ladylike panic vanished. She yelped and hopped backward. Then she rounded on her male guests in fury.

“One of you cowards do something, damn it!”

“The next shot will hit your pretty little toes,” Mattie said as if the countess hadn’t spoken. “Which one do you want to lose? Aw, heck, even my aim isn’t that good. I’ll just settle for what I can get. I’ll count to three again. This time you better believe me. One, two, three.” Mattie smiled the smile of a hangman and aimed. “Say good-bye to your dancing days.”

“No, I’ll tell you!” Rose Marie cried.

Mattie kept the pistol aimed at her feet. “Spit it out.”

“They’re going to the Limehouse Reach, near the West India Docks.”

“Good. Now come with me.”

Mattie forced Rose Marie to the motorcar, where she retrieved a length of rope from one of the tool baskets strapped to the side of the vehicle. Knotting
the rope around her wrists, she tied the countess to the frame that protected the front passengers from the engine. With the guests watching from the front steps, she slid into the motorcar, put the gun in her lap and roared down the street. The countess screamed as the Panhard zoomed faster and faster, but Mattie ignored her. While part of her mind concentrating on driving as fast as she could without crashing into a coach or hansom, the other part was racing, trying to decide which road Gamp would have taken.