Page 32 of Rules for Ruin (The Crinoline Academy #1)

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Effie held Franc tightly in her arms, her face buried in the soft black curls of his coat. She hadn’t stopped trembling since she’d returned to Brook Street ten minutes ago, hatless and disheveled, missing one of her dragonfly hairpins.

It hadn’t prevented her from doing what must be done.

Before withdrawing to her room, she’d first taken pains to hide the book. She’d put it in the Belwoods’ library, wedged behind a high shelf of leather-bound tomes on the history of the Roman Empire. It would have to be wrapped in brown paper and posted to the Academy. Effie must do it herself. She couldn’t trust the errand to one of the Belwoods’ footmen.

In the meanwhile, she didn’t dare keep the book on her person. Not when she expected Parker to appear at any moment, either alone or with the constable. They would almost certainly demand to search her, and very likely insist on searching her room.

Seated in an armchair by her chamber window, Effie cradled Franc, willing herself to remain calm. The little poodle pawed at her cheek in canine concern.

“If only Gabriel wasn’t at the dratted Derby,” she told him. “I’ve no doubt he would manage this situation impeccably.”

But Gabriel wasn’t in London. Effie was on her own. And she had no time to spare.

“We must away from here,” she said to Franc. “As soon as I catch my breath, we’ll pack a bag. I’ll post the book, and then we shall board the next steamer for Calais. Madame Dalhousie will give us shelter until Miss Corvus can determine what I’m to do next.”

Franc blinked up at her.

“What we’re to do next,” she amended.

Franc’s tail quivered. He licked her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Ten minutes later, her carpetbag packed, Effie was just heading for the bedroom door to see about wrapping the book when a knock arrested her step.

“Miss Flite?” Mary poked her head in. “Sorry to disturb you, miss, but Lady Belwood requests your presence in the drawing room.”

“Now?” Effie asked, incredulous.

Mary cast an interested look at Effie’s carpetbag. “At once, miss.”

“Very well.” Effie settled Franc back on the bed. Giving him one final pet of reassurance, she exited the bedroom. She followed Mary down a flight of stairs to the drawing room.

Lady Belwood awaited her there on the brocade sofa. She wasn’t alone.

“Miss Flite.” Lord Compton rose as Effie entered, a cold smile curving his thin lips. “The very person I’ve come to see.”

Effie stared at the man for a full five seconds. Her every instinct told her to flee. She ignored the impulse. She wasn’t going to run only to be caught in some ignominious fashion. Compton was the one in the wrong, not her. Despite the anxiety pulsing in her veins, she had no intention of showing even a scintilla of fear.

She summoned a smile. “Lord Compton. How delightful.”

Lady Belwood looked between the two of them with a frown. She fluttered her pastel painted fan, appearing much vexed. “His lordship has a matter he most earnestly wishes to discuss with you,” she said to Effie. “If you would be so obliging?”

“Of course.” Effie came to join them.

“There is no need for you to stay, my lady,” Lord Compton said to Lady Belwood. “The matter is between me and your ward.”

“As you mentioned.” Lady Belwood stood. “Though I must say it is most irregular. Were it anyone but you, sir, I would insist on remaining to chaperone Miss Flite.”

Effie’s gaze held Compton’s. “I require no chaperone,” she replied to her hostess. “But I thank you for your consideration.”

Lady Belwood reluctantly departed the room. Lord Compton followed her to the door, closing it behind her. He turned to face Effie. He didn’t mince words.

“You have something of mine,” he said.

“I don’t,” she replied.

Compton walked back to her. He motioned to the sofa. “Do sit down. This needn’t become unpleasant.”

Effie preferred to remain standing. She folded her arms.

His lips flattened. “Very well. If this is how you wish to proceed…” He stopped in front of her. “There are severe punishments for theft, young lady. Just as there are severe punishments for assault. You may believe that you—and your pretty neck—will find neither of them to your liking.”

“I’ve stolen nothing,” Effie said. “And I’ve assaulted no one.”

“My butler would beg to differ.”

“Your butler? That hulking brute better suited to a bare-knuckle brawl?”

“Parker does what I require of him. He looks after my person, and he protects my valuables. Not half an hour ago, he was grievously injured in the pursuit of his duties. I’m informed it was you who injured him.”

“You believe that a woman of my stature could harm a man as large and forbidding as he?”

“Yes, it is extraordinary,” Compton allowed. “But the evidence—”

“It was he who assaulted me . I merely defended myself.”

“You stabbed the man with one of your hairpins, Miss Flite, in the course of robbing my library. I presume this has something to do with Royce. He’s ensnared you—ruined you, I don’t doubt—in an effort to ruin me.”

“Mr.Royce has nothing to do with this.”

“Is it greed, then? You think to sell my book and make yourself a tidy profit?”

“It isn’t your book,” Effie said.

Compton’s gaze narrowed.

“The proof is there for anyone to see,” she said. “Do you dispute the fact?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“My gift to you on the eve of our marriage,” Effie quoted. “But you didn’t marry Elizabeth Wingard, did you?”

Something dangerous glimmered in Compton’s eyes.

“You had a contract with her and you breached it. You kept her books. You took her fortune. You defrauded her, and presumed that shame would keep her silent. But you have been the author of your own downfall. Your greed and lust for riches have done you in.”

Compton moved closer to her. “Where have you heard this nonsense? From Royce? From someone else?”

“From Miss Wingard, naturally.”

His face betrayed a flare of uncertainty. “Miss Wingard is dead.”

Effie would have loved to tell him the truth, that Elizabeth Wingard was alive and thriving. But Miss Corvus desired her past self to remain dead. Effie must respect her wishes.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “And her voice cries out from the grave. Too long you’ve evaded justice. Consider this your reckoning.”

He stared at her, all traces of doubt gone. His face went hard with calculation. “What do you want of me? Money?”

“No, not money.”

“What, then?”

“Resign from Parliament,” she said. “Write a public letter of apology, acknowledging your crimes against women.”

Compton gave a sudden laugh. It was a chilling sound, short and contemptuous. “Like all females, you overreach yourself.” He took a step toward Effie, lowering his voice. “Do you imagine your threats can harm me? You’re no one. You have no family or connections. No money. You might have made an interesting diversion in the bedchamber, but let us be frank, my dear. You are in no ways my equal.”

“On that we can agree,” Effie said.

“A word from me and you’ll be hauled to prison. No one will save you, nor will they wish to do so. Society has no love for violent, conniving females. When they hang you, the crowds will cheer as your neck snaps.”

Effie’s heart beat heavily. This time it was anger that surged in her blood, not fear. “A diverting picture. I trust you’ll enjoy the spectacle from your cell at Newgate.”

Compton loomed over her, gritting his teeth. “Who do you think you’re speaking to? Do you imagine you know me? That I’m a man to be trifled with?”

“Oh, but I do know you, my lord. I know you well, indeed. Ask your mistress. Ask your daughter. You have no idea of what I’ve set in motion. You, sir, are on the brink of being besieged on every front.”

Compton reached for her.

Effie stepped back, avoiding his grasp by inches. “Have a care, sir. Do recall that violence is the last resort of a desperate man.”

His expression hardened. “Enough of these games. Return the book, and we shall end this amicably. I’ll allow you to leave London under your own power.”

“A generous offer. I fear I must decline it.”

“Don’t be hasty, Miss Flite. Think on it. I will await your answer. I give you until two o’clock today.”

“You will wait in vain, my lord,” she said.

His lips curled into a smile that had more in common with a sneer. “We shall see.” Turning on his heel, he exited the room.

Effie pressed a trembling hand to her midriff. Her stomach was roiling and her pulse was pounding in her ears. She remained in the drawing room until she heard the fading tread of footsteps descending to the hall. Venturing out on the landing, she peered down in time to see the front door shut.

The instant it did, Effie dashed upstairs to collect her things. She found her bedchamber door standing open.

A dull sense of horror overtook her.

She had shut it after leaving. She always shut it. One of the servants must have opened it in the course of their duties. Franc would have immediately availed himself of the opportunity. He couldn’t resist wandering.

Effie rushed inside. She cast about the room with increasing desperation. Just as she’d feared, Franc was gone. She told herself not to panic. He must be somewhere in the house. It wouldn’t be difficult to find him, providing no one had inadvertently let him outside.

She was turning to exit her room, intent on starting her search, when a scrap of white on her coverlet caught her eye. Something twinkled atop it—a glitter of glass sparkling in the sun from the window.

It was the dragonfly hairpin she’d left in Parker’s ear.

Someone had used it to stab a note to Effie’s bed. She tore the paper free. The blood drained from her face as she read it.

If you want to see your dog alive again, bring the book to the balloon ascension at Cremorne Gardens. You have until two o’clock.

· · ·

Gabriel’s carriage stopped in front of the Belwoods’ house in Brook Street. He straightened his freshly starched black cravat. Effie wasn’t expecting him today. He’d told her they would talk after the Derby—tomorrow, at the earliest. But once he’d made up his mind, Gabriel had seen no reason to delay. Not even the business of the track had been sufficient to keep him at Epsom. Not when his whole future was hanging in the balance.

He’d traveled home this morning, shortly after speaking to Lord Haverford at the stables. On returning to London, Gabriel had first gone to Sloane Street, and then to Fleet Street to speak with Miles. After that…

Gabriel had made for a jeweler’s shop in Oxford Street.

Climbing out of the carriage, he patted the small, flat box in the pocket of his waistcoat, assuring himself his purchase was still there. Anxiety simmered in his chest. He was nervous, by God. A baffling sensation. He wasn’t a lad. He didn’t get nervous . But there was no mistaking the feeling.

He ascended the stone front steps of the house. He’d nearly reached the top when the door flew open and Effie charged out, hatless and disheveled, clutching a book. She ran straight into Gabriel’s arms.

“Oh!” she gasped. She looked up at him wildly as he steadied her with his hands. Her eyes were damp with the threat of tears. “Gabriel!”

His heart lurched. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Is that your carriage?”

“Yes, but—”

“We must go.” She pulled free of him, bounding down the steps.

He followed her. “Go where?”

“The balloon ascent at Cremorne Gardens. I haven’t a moment to spare.”

Gabriel opened the carriage door for her, assisting her in without question. “Cremorne Gardens,” he called to his coachman. “Quick as you can.”

Effie looked at Gabriel gratefully as he climbed into the cab beside her. He shut the door. The carriage jolted forward, the driver springing the horses into an extended trot.

“What the devil is going on?” Gabriel asked her.

“Compton has taken Franc,” she said.

“What?”

“Or one of his servants did it. I’m not perfectly sure. Lady Belwood said he came with a footman. He must have sent the man to search my room while he was interrogating me. When he didn’t find the book there, he took Franc instead. Compton would have told him to do so. He knows what Franc means to me.”

Gabriel’s attention briefly fell to the aged, cord-bound book Effie was clutching to her bosom. He gave her a questioning look.

“I took it from Compton’s library,” she said. “Parker caught me red-handed. He chased me. We fought in an alleyway. I-I stabbed him with a hairpin.”

Gabriel’s blood went cold. His voice took on a dangerous edge. “Parker put his hands on you?”

“He tried to. I’d hid the book under my crinoline and he was attempting to take it back.” Effie’s fingers tightened on the book, her knuckles going white. “If he’s hurt Franc—”

“He’s a dead man,” Gabriel said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “If he’s harmed a curl on his coat—”

“I’ll rip his bleeding head from his shoulders.”

“Not if I get to him first,” Effie said.

The carriage bounced hard as Gabriel’s driver raced the horses toward Chelsea, weaving in and out of the traffic on the Brompton Road. A clatter of hooves sounded over the street, punctuated by the noise of other drivers shouting, horses whinnying, and wheels rattling like thunder.

Gabriel made an effort to master his temper. He would be no help to Effie if he was in a blind rage. “What did you mean about Compton interrogating you?”

“I confronted him with what he’d done to Elizabeth Wingard.”

Gabriel absorbed the information without a flinch. “And he did nothing to you in return?”

“Aside from abducting Franc?” She gave a dismissive huff. “He threatened me with prison. And he related a rather graphic fantasy of my being hanged. But other than that…”

The words prison and hanged echoed in Gabriel’s head. Unlike her, he didn’t treat them lightly. His composure fractured. “Bloody hell, Effie. What if I hadn’t come back today?”

“Why did you?” she asked. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

“Because I haven’t been able to think straight since you left me on the train at Waltham Cross.”

Her mouth ticked up briefly in a rueful smile. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” He searched her face. “Did you mean it?”

Her expression softened. “With all my heart.”

His own heart swelled in reply. “Effie—”

“But I can’t think of it now,” she said. “Not when Franc might be hurt or frightened. Compton could do anything—”

“He won’t. Not if wants his book back. It’s in his interest to keep Franc safe.”

The reassurance seemed to calm her fears, even if only a little. Some of the tension left her brow. She nodded her head. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, of course. He won’t harm him.”

Gabriel took her ungloved hand, holding it safe in both of his. “I’ll get him back for you,” he swore. “I promise you that.”

Her fingers curled around his. She gave him another faint smile. “You’re very chivalrous, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances are those?”

“Objectively bad ones. I stole a book. I stabbed a man.” Her smile faded. “I’m not the fine lady you originally thought me, only an orphan from the Rookery. You’d be within your rights to think less of me.”

“I think more of you than ever.” He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss to the curve of her knuckles. “You’re the whole world to me, Effie Flite. You do know that, don’t you?”

Her eyes met his. A hint of color bloomed in her cheeks. “I didn’t know,” she said. “But I’d hoped.”

He recalled his words to her on the train, recognizing them in her answer. It prompted a fleeting, foolish grin. “There,” he replied. “See how well matched we are?”

“And yet still unaccountably at odds,” she said. “Even more after today. I’ve made an enemy of Compton. There will be no going back. Not for me.”

Gabriel grew serious. “As to that…”

The carriage rattled to a jolting halt before he could finish.

Effie’s head jerked to the window. “Are we there already? Thank heavens!”

He glanced outside. They’d reached the entrance to Cremorne Gardens with uncommon speed. His speech would have to wait.

He opened the door for them and he and Effie jumped out. Passing through the black iron gates together, they made straight for the expansive grounds near Cremorne House. It was a temperate day, the skies blue and the white clouds billowing, with only a slight wind.

Ahead, the orchestra was playing a rousing tune, and clowns and acrobats capered past, dancing and juggling. Balloon ascensions were still a novel enough sight, but—despite the fine weather—today’s event hadn’t drawn a sizable crowd. It was likely owing to last week’s tragedy with Galezzo. In the aftermath, people had temporarily cooled on the pleasure gardens’ more dangerous feats.

There was only a smattering of ladies and gentlemen in attendance. They milled about the fringes of the rolling tree-edged lawn. At its center, a midsize red-striped silk-and-canvas balloon attached to a small gold-painted wicker gondola was anchored with the aid of sandbags and heavy ropes. A familiar figure stood beside it—a large, hulking bald man in a cloth coat, with a conspicuous plaster covering his left ear.

“It’s Parker,” Effie said grimly. “He doesn’t look best pleased. His ear must be paining him awfully.”

Gabriel regarded the butler with cold menace. The man had better get used to pain. By the time Gabriel finished with him, he’d need more than a blasted sticking plaster. He’d need a pine box.

Effie clutched Gabriel’s sleeve as she scanned the clusters of people. “There’s Lord Mannering and his sister. And there’s Miss Compton, with Lady Lavinia and Miss Whitbread. But where is Lord Compton? He must surely be nearby.”

Gabriel temporarily set aside his bloodlust for Parker and joined her in looking. He spotted the viscount standing on the opposite side of the balloon. He was talking with two ladies and an older gentleman. “There he is.”

Effie followed Gabriel’s gaze. Seeing Compton, her face paled with anger. “He’s spotted us.”

The viscount had indeed seen them. He smiled thinly from across the distance, touching his gleaming ebony walking stick to the brim of his gray silk hat in a brief salute. He moved away from his friends to a place of privacy by the trees.

Effie marched toward him. Gabriel kept pace at her side.

“Miss Flite,” Compton said. “I anticipated you would be here promptly.” He withdrew his pocket watch to check the time. “And not a minute too late.”

Effie’s countenance was hard as marble. “Where is he?” she demanded. “If you’ve hurt him—”

“And Mr.Royce.” Compton fixed Gabriel with a flinty stare. “Why am I not surprised?”

“She asked you a question,” Gabriel said. “Where’s the dog?”

“First things first.” Compton extended his hand. “My book, if you please?”

Effie thrust it at him. “Take it and be damned,” she said. “What have you done with my poodle?”

“Parker has taken charge of him,” Compton said. “He’s guarding Mr.Chapin’s balloon while Chapin takes tea in the refreshment tent. Parker has a great fondness for aeronautics. Never misses an ascent.” His lips curled. “I believe he’s put your little beast in the basket for safekeeping.”

Effie’s eyes widened in horror. “The basket of the balloon ?”

“Safe enough, as I said. So long as you arrived in time.”

“You’re a monster,” Effie said. Turning away from him, she bolted toward Parker, her skirts clutched in her hands.

Gabriel moved to follow her.

“A moment, Royce,” Compton said, catching his arm.

Gabriel stopped. He faced the viscount, hard-pressed not to do the man violence. Indeed, were they not in full public view, he would do him violence, and hang the consequences.

“She’s told you what has transpired, I presume?” Compton asked.

“Every cursed detail,” Gabriel replied. He glanced after Effie. Parker was standing back from the balloon with a mutinous scowl, permitting her access to the wicker gondola. She climbed inside of it to retrieve Franc.

“It needn’t affect our business together,” Compton said. “So long as I have your word that Wingard’s papers are safe, and that you had nothing to do with Miss Flite’s regrettable actions, I am prepared for our arrangement to continue on the same terms.”

Gabriel’s gaze returned to his. “Our arrangement is finished,” he said. “ You’re finished.”

Compton blanched. “Now see here, Royce—”

A shout drowned out the remainder of the viscount’s words. “What in blazes are you doing?” a fellow exclaimed. “Don’t touch those ropes!”

Gabriel turned sharply in time to see the balloon floating swiftly upward. The ropes that had secured it dangled from beneath. Someone had untied them from their moorings.

Parker.

The hulking brute stood back, admiring his handiwork with a leer of triumph.

Above him, Effie peered over the edge of the gondola in pale-faced horror. She held Franc tightly in her arms. “Gabriel!”

Gabriel’s heart leapt into his throat. Good God! She was still inside the basket! He sprinted toward the escaping balloon at a full run.

Parker moved to block Gabriel’s path on the grass. “You’re too late. That thieving she-cat is getting exactly what she—”

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. Drawing back his fist, he delivered two punishing blows in quick succession, one to Parker’s jaw and one to his injured left ear. Parker staggered back, stunned. Before he could recover his senses, Gabriel slammed his forehead straight down on the bridge of the butler’s nose. There was an audible crunch as the bone shattered.

Parker fell to his knees with a shrill cry, clutching his bleeding face.

Gabriel would have liked to continue the well-deserved beating, but there was no time. Catching the dangling rope in both hands, he pulled it with all his might.

“Gabriel!” Effie’s voice carried from the gondola, high-pitched with fright. “Don’t let me fly away!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Gabriel shouted back to her.

A man in a shabby coat and cap ran to assist him. Another workman joined them, and then another. Together they heaved on the ropes to no avail. The balloon had caught a northeasterly wind. The ropes were already unfurled to their full length. The men’s arms stretched above them, struggling to hang on. If they persisted, they would be lifted off the ground right along with the balloon.

“It’s too late,” the first man gasped. “The scoundrel has thrown off some of the sandbags.”

“We’ll have to wait for it to land,” the second declared, panting. “She’ll be safe enough ’til then.”

The third workman agreed. “You must let go.”

“Like hell I will,” Gabriel muttered.

The woman he loved was inside that blasted basket. He may not be able to rescue her outright, but he would be damned if he left her to face her greatest fear alone.

Gripping fast to the rope, Gabriel did the only thing he could think of. He allowed it to pull him into the sky.