Page 19

CHAPTER 18

S oft voices swirled around Jasper as he paced the cream-and-green drawing room in the Bow Street building, which also seemed to serve as the women’s offices. Juliana, her new husband, and Mr. Percy Baxter sipped tea around a small table while Miss Huntsbury served, and Miss Heather Morgan stood gazing out one window.

“The summons came some time ago,” Juliana said to the room. “What do you suppose is keeping her?”

Jasper glanced at her while he paced. “She was to bring a gossip article to The Morning Herald offices this morning as a means to secure our excuses for the evening with her family and society. I imagine that she will receive the summons once she has returned to her apartments from the offices.”

Juliana shook her head and swallowed a sip of tea. “Knowing Maria, she would become distracted by the pile of work assigned to her. If it was urgent, Thomas would undoubtedly have delivered it to Maria at the offices?—”

“ Hsst !” Heather spun from the window to pin Juliana with a wide-eyed stare.

Jasper’s heart skipped a beat, and he realized belatedly that he’d stopped his pacing. Thomas was Maria’s brother’s name, was it not?

Both women turned to glance at him with a mixture of guilt and trepidation. What in the bloody hell was going on?

The front door slammed open and shut, and within a heartbeat, Maria was framed in the doorway. Exclamations of shock and disbelief rose up around the room at the sight of her. Damn, but she was a right fine mess: dirt streaked her cheeks and coated her suit of clothes, her bottom half was almost entirely caked in mud and muck, and her queue was all but wholly matted.

“ Maria !” Juliana breathed, hurrying forward.

A snort escaped Miss Morgan before she attempted to cover it with a cough. “Whatever happened to you?”

Maria reached inside her dirt-smudged satchel, withdrew a poorly-wrapped parcel, paced forward, and tossed it onto the surface of one of the low tables in the seating area.

“ That happened to me,” she said emphatically.

Miss Huntsbury and Miss Morgan bent to open the parcel as Maria continued. “I returned to my apartments from The Morning Herald offices, and that parcel awaited me. I didn’t recognize the writing, but I opened it anyway. I knew at once that I must come here.”

“ Holy Christ, Maria !” Miss Morgan reared back from the parcel’s contents, her cheeks pallid.

“This is clearly the work of Francis,” Juliana said grimly, and clucked her tongue. “Poor thing.”

The contents of Jasper’s stomach roiled uneasily at the sight of the bloody mess. Livingston and Mr. Baxter peered over Juliana’s shoulders to get a look.

“It’s a message,” Mr. Baxter noted.

Maria grunted. “I should say it was. The bastard gave me a demonstration of what he wished to do to me before he ran my hack off the road and sent me fleeing through the streets of London!”

“He what ?” Red-hot fire burned across Jasper’s chest as fury and fear flared to life inside him.

His rage scorched ever hotter the longer Maria spoke, detailing the harrowing events of her morning.

“I believe that I lost him on the way here,” she continued, “but we must accept that he already knows our location and could pursue us at any time.” She shook her head and curled a dislodged lock of brown hair behind one ear.

“We’ve news, as well,” Jasper put in, the muscle in his jaw bunching as his gaze caught hers. “Lady Cartwright was found deceased in the mews behind my home this morning…” He swiftly outlined the events, and with every word, Maria’s mien grew increasingly grim.

“ R , F , O , N , and J ,” Maria mused. “I daresay the man intends to spell for Jean , though that is hardly a secret. He said as much when he and Miles attempted to take Juliana’s life.”

“Mayhap it was a ruse meant to distract us from our search,” Miss Huntsbury put in.

“I imagine you’re correct. Of course, our current plan has failed,” Maria stated baldly. “Despite our efforts, Francis not only continues to have access to Jasper’s home, but has redoubled his efforts. We need to formulate a new course of action.”

“In that we agree. What of your assignment last evening?” Miss Huntsbury asked. “I learned of the most recent note, but naught else.”

With quick, succinct words, Maria detailed the events of their evening and her encounter with Francis. “If it had not been for the duke’s interruption, Francis would have overpowered me,” she continued. “I’ve come to the conclusion that we as runners require more weaponry and further training in combat as we advance.”

“Again, we are in full agreement,” Miss Huntsbury replied. “I am still in search of possible candidates?—”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Huntsbury.” Mr. Percy Baxter stepped forward and exchanged a long glance with Lord Livingston, which ended in them both nodding in some sort of accord, before Baxter returned his attention to Miss Huntsbury. “I would be honoured to offer my services.”

Miss Huntsbury’s eyebrows rose and the dimples on her cheeks deepened as she considered him. “Have you much experience with close combat and weaponry?”

A faint flush rose up the man’s cheeks, but he maintained eye contact with the woman. “I do, yes.”

Curious , Jasper mused. The man was inscrutable, yet Jasper didn’t doubt his ability to wield a weapon.

“I can attest to his skill,” Livingston offered.

Miss Huntsbury eyed Baxter curiously for several long moments before breaking into a smile. “Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Baxter. We would be glad to have you among our ranks.”

* * *

“Like so,” Mr. Percy Baxter concluded, replacing the newly loaded pistol on the dining table with a thunk . “Despite the additional step, it has been proven the swifter and more efficient method of reloading your flintlock—and it is easier to accomplish in battle. Now, this would be different for a double-barrelled flintlock, but you will learn that later.”

The wave of relief that had spread through Maria when the man offered to help continued to ripple through her as he spoke. He had only begun his instruction an hour hence, and Maria already felt so much more prepared than before.

They’d begun their instruction by retrieving all their weaponry, laying them out on the dining table, and engaging in a review of what she, Heather, Juliana, and Grace already knew about each piece—which had been a rather great deal. But Baxter knew more.

“I wish I’d known that months ago,” Juliana grumbled.

“There is, of course, much more to learn,” Mr. Baxter continued, “particularly with regards to aiming and shooting?—”

“Do we not merely point and pull the trigger?” Heather inquired.

He tilted his head sideways and shrugged one shoulder. “One could shoot that way—and many do—but you would be likely to incur an injury in your hand or wrist. You would also have little hope of hitting your target with any accuracy.”

“Mr. Greene mentioned that in his instruction,” Juliana began, “but before he left, we’d not had many opportunities to learn.”

“Or practise,” Heather offered.

There was a heavy knock from the front door, and the group of them glanced at each other. The women and Mr. Baxter stood around the dining table, while Leonard—Lord Livingston—and Jasper sat in chairs and conversed at the other side of the room.

“It could be a client,” Grace said, as though reading the path of Maria’s thoughts.

The knock sounded again before there was a deafening bang and a cry of pain.

As one, they rushed for the foyer as their only footman, James, opened the door, and Thomas tumbled through it to the floor.

“ Thomas !” Maria hurried forward to kneel at his side.

And then she saw it: seeping through his coat and onto the floor was dark, glistening blood. Horror froze her throat, and she instantly pressed her hands to the tear in the side of his coat, hoping to stem the blood’s flow.

“Thomas?”

The fear that had taken hold of her tightened as though a fist clutched her heart, the icy sensation spreading through her to the tips of her fingers. Thomas was unconscious.

“He’s been shot!” she said to the group behind her.

Grace cursed under her breath. “Bring him to one of the bedchambers inside. We cannot stand here while we offer ourselves as further target practice for Francis.”

“But why Thomas? He was meant to find a safe place in which to sequester himself!” Maria said through gritted teeth, keeping pressure on her brother’s wound while the men surrounded and carried him inside, up the stairs, and into one of the bedchambers.

“Francis wanted to hurt you,” Jasper replied grimly, his gaze shifting between her and Thomas, who lay bleeding on the bed’s counterpane. Curiosity, guilt, and concern mingled on his features.

Anger, hot and swift, took hold of her. She could not let the bastard win. Could not let him believe that he’d bested her yet again—even though he had.

With a firm set to her lips, she nodded at Heather. “Could you please put pressure on this wound?”

“Of course.” She hurried forward and placed her hands just where Maria’s had been.

Maria considered the water in the washbasin at one side of the small room, wishing that she could clean her hands, but they would require that water for Thomas, and at the moment, he was far more important. Instead, she wiped her blood-covered hands down the front of her coat—the thing was already half-covered in Thomas’ blood anyway—and left the room.

Her objective was clear, and there would not be any dissuading her. She reached the dining room, retrieved the newly loaded pistol, then stormed out the front door.

Several women walking nearby gasped in surprise, and one appeared to faint, but Maria’s attention was set on the shadows surrounding the buildings. There were no hunched or human-like shapes, and nothing moved in any of the places she looked. And there were no shots directed at her .

Blast . He could have ridden his horse far from there by now. And Thomas needed her.

With a curse, she turned, and spotted the old satchel in which she’d placed her maid’s costume the previous night near the door. Thomas must have brought it with him, but dropped it when he’d been shot. She flattened her lips into a grim line, and brought the thing inside and up to the bedchamber where Thomas had been carried.

The room was humming with tense energy while Grace, Heather, and Juliana prepared bandages, cloths, water, and a poultice. Thomas’ torso had been exposed, and Livingston, Jasper, and Baxter worked together to assess the damage done.

“He’s losing a fair amount of blood,” Baxter said. “But it appears to be only a flesh wound alongside his ribs; there is no ball to remove. I will stem the flow and set him to rights swiftly.”

Maria’s stomach clenched as she rounded the bed to sit at Thomas’ side. He was pale, his eyebrows twitching even in his unconscious state.

Livingston accepted the washbasin and cloths from Grace, and he and Jasper began wiping away the crimson streaks from Thomas’ narrow frame.

“You know how to do that?” Heather asked bemusedly, tearing another strip of linen.

“Percy had to take on the role of physician on our ship for nearly two years after ours perished in battle,” Livingston offered as he washed the wound entirely clean. “He is fully capable.”

Thomas moaned, drawing everyone’s attention away from the fascinating history of Livingston’s and Baxter’s previous lives as pirates.

“Thomas?” she whispered. “I’m here, Thomas. You’ve been shot, but the very capable Mr. Baxter is taking care of you.”

Mr. Baxter leaned forward and gently touched Thomas’ shoulder. “My name is Percy Baxter. I need to sew up your wound.”

Thomas groaned, and his eyes fluttered before he returned to unconsciousness, and Mr. Baxter bent to his task. Maria’s stomach knotted with worry. She’d never before seen a man lose so much blood as to be rendered unconscious, and for that man to be her brother… A shiver travelled up her spine and gooseflesh spread over her skin. She hated to think what could happen.

Clutching Thomas’ hand, she waited while Mr. Baxter finished the sutures, then cleaned and bandaged him. As a group, they changed the bloodied counterpane. And then they waited.

A full quarter of an hour passed, and with every second, Maria felt increasingly ill at ease. Her focus was on Thomas, but she could not help the awareness of attention upon her. Jasper’s gaze veritably burned into her back. He was, no doubt, desirous to learn more about the brother to whom he’d not been introduced.

A swell of protectiveness rushed through her, and she tightened her hold on Thomas’ hand.

Then, at last, he stirred.

“Thomas?” she whispered, her voice garnering the attention of the others, who sat at a table across the small bedchamber.

Groaning, he blinked his bleary eyes before focusing his light-brown gaze on her face. “Maria,” he mumbled.

He reached up to palm his forehead, then winced in pain. “ Bl-bl-ast! ”

“You were shot,” Maria said, sitting closer on the edge of the bed. “Do you recall what happened?”

Thomas nodded, then groaned. “I felt— grunt, grunt— fire lance through my— click— side, then hit my— grunt— head on the s-s-s— click— sodding door.”

Thomas grunted and clicked several more times, but nodded, his eyes wide and chin wobbling. His hand scrambled along the counterpane for hers, and she clasped it tight. She hadn’t seen him this frightened since she had rescued him from Bethlem Royal Hospital, and it put a deep ache in her chest.

The room had grown silent. While her friends knew of Thomas and his spasms and twitches, the others had likely only heard rumours about the man. In that moment, however, Maria couldn’t bring herself to care. She hadn’t intended for Jasper to learn of her brother’s place in her life this way, but either the man accepted Thomas for who he was, or he could go to the devil. As painful as severing ties with him would be…

Swallowing past the thickness in her throat, she bent to press a soft kiss to Thomas’ forehead. “I’ll be right here.” Always .

Thomas’ throat bobbed. “I came here bec— grunt, grunt, click, grunt —I came because— click, click .” His face scrunched in spasmodic twitches, and Maria smoothed back the hair on his forehead. The poor man’s spasms grew worse when his emotions were high, making it difficult for him to speak.

“Shh, shh,” she hushed. “Take a slow breath in, and a slow breath out. Breathe through it, Thomas. I’m here.”

His light eyes grew dark and tempestuous as he breathed slowly.

With a slight wince, Thomas tried again. “I came— grunt, grunt —because when I’d returned— grunt, click-click, grunt —from my walk to the haber— grunt —dashery, our door was ajar.”