Page 42 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)
“Wait, please,” she ordered the hackney, and sailed up the steps wishing she had an umbrella to lay about her with. Panic was beginning to set in, because the plan that had seemed so simple in Solomon’s house was falling apart because of her, and Solomon would be abandoned in danger alone.
“Excuse me!” she bellowed. And rather to her surprise, the crowd of men parted for her, although the noise did not recede much.
“Mrs. Silver!” called someone in great delight. “Have you come for the party?”
It was Lord Rawleigh, an amiable if hedonistic young peer and occasional visitor to her establishment.
“Not at a party, Rawl,” his nearest companion informed him, as they both bowed to Constance with unimpaired grace and offered her their flasks. “At Bow Street.”
Rawleigh frowned, looking about him in surprise. “What the devil are we doing at Bow Street?”
“Arrested, old fellow. Or at least Pinster was, and we objected, so the constable had to take us all.”
For a moment, they all regarded the hapless constable in the midst of this sea of good-natured but utterly castaway young gentlemen.
He had a firm hold of his prisoner—presumably Mr. Pinster—by the arm, but whenever he tried to move forward, Pinster’s companions surged too and everything came to a halt.
The poor policeman, red-faced in the lamplight, was clearly wishing he had never begun the procedure.
Constance, having politely declined the proffered flasks, was beginning to move past Lord Rawleigh when a somewhat outrageous idea began to form. “Why are the other policemen not coming out to haul you all inside?” she asked.
“Expect they’re all busy,” Rawleigh said wisely. “Good thing, if you ask me.”
Busy, Constance thought, and reluctant to embroil themselves with the well-connected drunks who might damage their careers.
Rawleigh offered her his arm. “Escort you to the door, ma’am!”
Constance laid her hand on his arm and assessed her prospective army.
Swigging from flasks and bottles, they sat on steps and milled around, mingling and calling to each other.
A few were singing a bawdy song. Two on the steps were playing cards.
Two more were climbing dangerously onto the shoulders of their companions with the apparent intention of racing, to the accompanying cheers of those nearest.
“Dashed rowdy party when there’s ladies present,” Rawleigh said with disapproval. “Lady Davenham shouldn’t allow it.”
“Goodness, you’re well oiled,” said his friend. “Best let me escort the lady.”
Rawleigh grinned. “Not at Lady Davenham’s!” he said triumphantly. “At Bow Street!” He peered at Constance. “Do you really want to be at Bow Street?”
“Actually, no,” Constance said, making her decision. “I want to be at the Crown and Anchor.”
“Doesn’t sound the sort of place for a lady.”
Constance smiled. “Not quite a lady, though, am I? All the same, I would appreciate the escort.”
Rawleigh scratched his head. His friend looked thoughtful. One of the would-be racers fell off his friend’s back, to roars of laughter. The constable made another effort to take his prisoner inside, and again found his path blocked.
“Can we go if we’re arrested, Sammy?” Rawleigh asked his friend.
“We could come back again.”
“Good idea.” Rawleigh offered his flask to Constance.
This time she took it and replaced the stopper. “I think a large escort would be safest, since a friend is in trouble. In fact, the constable should be with us, too.” For if he was, the police inside the station would surely be forced to follow.
“Of course it would!” Sammy said, and filled his lungs.
He and Rawleigh bellowed together, “Or-der!”
And bizarrely, the ruckus cut off like a tap.
“Rescuing a lady in distress!” Rawleigh declared.
“Hurrah!” cheered the drunks.
Rawleigh and Sammy brandished their fashionable walking canes like swords, and Constance, taking a firmer hold of Rawleigh’s arm and a very deep breath, tugged him briskly toward her still-waiting hackney.
“Charge!” yelled Rawleigh, and they all did, even the gentleman balancing a friend on his shoulder.
Several hats bounced down the steps and were crunched underfoot or leapt over. Constance’s hackney driver, looking terrified, brandished his whip.
“The Crown and Anchor, if you please!” Constance commanded, and dived inside the cab. Rawleigh, Sammy, and a complete stranger piled in after her, and she heard a thud as someone else landed beside the driver.
The driver gave in to the inevitable and urged his poor horse forward at a decent clip, no doubt to prevent the arrival of anyone else to his vehicle.
Through the window, Constance saw the shouldered man fall off onto the roof of a waiting Black Maria.
Another cheer went up as several men dived inside it and clambered onto the roof.
Pinster jumped onto the driver’s box, dragging the alarmed but determined constable with him.
Someone bolted out of the police station at last.
Hysterical laughter caught in Constance’s throat. Oh dear, what have I done?
*
For authenticity, Solomon dressed in David’s rough seamen’s clothing. Regarding himself doubtfully in his bedroom mirror, he adjusted his posture, the tilt of his head, the friendliness of his normally cool gaze. Now he looked more like his brother.
A shadow darkened the doorway.
David stood there, looking at him. “It should be me. I should go. Or we both should.”
“There can’t be two of us. They would know it was a trick and scarper. And it can’t be you just in case the police arrest you before we have the proof.”
“They could arrest you for being me.”
“But I have proof of who I am and connections who can speak for me. Even in these clothes, I am Solomon Grey. This is the only way.”
“You were always a stubborn little—”
“So were you,” Solomon said, his lips twitching. He met his brother’s gaze in the mirror. “What did we quarrel about that day?”
David shrugged. “It’s always bothered you, hasn’t it? I never thought it was your fault. It wasn’t. Nor mine, though that conclusion was harder to reach. We can’t change the past, Sol.”
Only David—and Constance—had ever called him that. He swallowed. “No. And the future will be better. Once we catch this miscreant.” Solomon strode purposefully to the door, snatching up David’s waxed wool jacket on the way.
“Are you sure she’ll bring the police?” David blurted. “ Can she?”
Solomon smiled. “Constance can do anything.”