Chapter Twelve
Drake
Drake had seen Bane in earnest conversation with Cilla during the dance after supper, but it wasn’t until the brothers were walking home together after the ball that he finally had an opportunity to find out what they were talking about.
He was furious, and if Bane hadn’t restrained him with a hand on his arm, he’d have turned around to hunt down Curston and Marple, and teach them a lesson.
“Think, man,” said Bane. “If you attack a pair of aristocrats, who is going to end up in court charged with assault? And you’ll not be able to defend yourself, either. Not without damaging the reputation of our ladies.”
Blast. Bane was right. “We cannot let it sit, though, Bane,” he protested.
“You say you’ve warned Cilla and through her Livy, but Marple has the inside track, as the son of their chaperone.
It is bad enough that they spend so much time in the house where he lives.
But if they move in? Locking their bedchamber doors won’t be enough if he’s determined.
Also, he’ll know where they’re going and who with, and will be able to tell his friend. ”
Drake couldn’t understand how his brother was so calm. Did the man not have a heart?
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Bane said.
“I suggest a counter attack on three fronts. I’ve warned Cilla, and through her, Livy.
That’s one. Forewarned is forearmed, and they’ll protect one another.
The second won’t work if Wintergreen is in favor of the match with Marple, but I think we must tell their father what we heard.
If he objects to the plotting, he’ll be able to insist that the sisters stay under his roof.
The third is to tell Garry and Drew. If they enlisted the ladies of their family to look after our ladies, that would keep Livy and Cilla safe at events. ”
“Marrying them would keep them safest of all,” Drake commented, “but would they consider it? Would Wintergreen give his permission? Is it too early to ask?”
“Look out!” Bane’s warning shout gave Drake time to duck sideways, and the blow aimed at his head struck a glancing blow to his shoulder, instead.
Drake twirled as he came out of his crouch, weaving to avoid his assailant’s second strike, and landing a punch that not only had all his own strength behind it, but was amplified by the attacker’s own forward momentum.
The man fell backward and lay still.
Bane was fighting two more men, but Drake had no sooner turned to help him than Bane managed a buffet to the side of the head of each such that he clapped their heads together, and they, too, sank to ground.
“Dead or out cold?” Bane asked, nodding toward the man Drake had dealt with.
Drake was flexing his hand. It wasn’t broken, but that was an almighty punch. He checked his attacker and reported, “Out cold.”
“This one isn’t,” said Bane, pulling one of the others up by a handful of necktie, so that the man’s eyes were almost level with Bane’s own and his feet dangled, just the toes of his boots scuffing the ground. “Who sent you?” Bane demanded.
The man’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he searched for a way out, but Bane’s grip was firm. He shook the man. “Who sent you? Answer me.” Another shake.
The man squealed, “Don’t know, do I? Some gent. Dressed like you. Plummy voice.” He pointed the way Bane and Drake had come. “Back along there. Said to rough you up bad, and take anything you had on you. Paid us a spangle each.”
Drake was investigating the pockets of the other two men.
Another cosh. Several knives. Several coins, including a gold one from each villain.
It was the coin known as a “spangle”—a seven-shilling piece or one-third of a guinea.
Three villains, three spangles. So, someone who had seen them walking this way had paid these bully boys a guinea to assault him and Bane.
“Hand them over to the Watch?” Drake suggested.
“This man who paid you?” Bane asked the man he was still dangling. “Did he warn you that you’d need more than three of you to take us on?”
“Nah,” the man said. Another of the assailants was groaning his way back into consciousness. Bane cast a glance at him then asked the first man, “The stick pin in the gent’s cravat. Winged, with a blue stone? Or a bird skull?”
“Bird skull,” the man confirmed. Curston, then. That had been his cravat pin of choice tonight. The winged one was Marple’s.
After lowering the man so his feet were firm on the ground again, Bane let go of his necktie and stepped back.
The second man was trying to sit up and the third man was stirring.
“Let’s not bother with the Watch. Curston will deny paying them, and they’ll hang for assaulting us and probably for stealing the spangles. I don’t want them to hang.”
Bane’s tough exterior hid a soft heart.
“At the very least,” Drake said, “we should take their money. They shouldn’t profit from attempting to ‘rough us up bad,’ as he put it.” He was wasting his breath and he knew it. He sighed. “I suppose you want me to give them back their knives, too.”
He sighed again and made a small pile of the items he’d abstracted from the pockets of the unconscious men.
“I think I’ll have a sword stick made,” he told Bane as the two of them strode away from the recovering attackers. “I can run the next man through before you have a chance to feel sorry for him.”
“We should add a little chat with Curston onto our list of things to do,” Bane commented.
*
Livy
Aunt Ginny’s carriage drew up in front of her townhouse.
“Shall we walk to our house, or is your coachmen going to drive us?” asked Cilla.
“Come inside,” Aunt Ginny said. “I daresay your father and all his household are asleep. I shall leave a message to be given to your father when he awakens to say where you are, and that you will be comfortable here with us.”
“I would prefer to go home,” said Cilla, remaining seated as her cousins got down from the carriage one after another.
Livy, who was about to follow them, sat down again. “Would you ask the carriage driver to take us home, please, Aunt Ginny?” she said.
She did not know why Cilla was insisting on going home, but she knew her sister. Cilla was the pleasantest and most biddable of girls. However, on the rare occasions she dug her toes in—and her tone told Livy this was one of those occasions—nothing would move her.
No doubt she had an excellent reason. Livy wondered what it could be.
“If you are going to refuse my hospitality,” said Aunt Ginny, “you can walk.”
Their house was on the other side of the street and a few doors down.
Not a long walk, but it was very dark in between the pools of light cast by the new-fangled gas lamps, and the rain that had fallen during the evening had left the streets wet and undoubtedly muddy.
Their light dancing slippers would soon soak through.
“Then we shall walk,” said Cilla.
Barker, who had traveled from the ball on top of the carriage, must have clambered down, for Livy could see her hovering behind Aunt Ginny, looking anxious.
“Olivia,” Aunt Ginny demanded, “talk some sense into your sister.”
“We would prefer to sleep in our own beds, Aunt Ginny,” Livy said, keeping her tone pleasant. Playing the peacemaker was not usually her role, but she did her best.
“Livy,” said Cilla, “I want to go home to Pa.” Her eyes were particularly intent. This mattered to her. Livy wondered what arguments she could marshal to gain for her sister what she wanted.
Just then, Jasper filled the doorway. “Is there a problem, Mama? Come along, cousins. You must be needing your beds.”
Cilla shrank back against the cushions of the seat, and Livy narrowed her eyes at Jasper. Had he done something to frighten Cilla? If so, she would find a way to make him pay.
“Oh, Marple,” Aunt Ginny complained. “Cilla is being difficult. She is insisting on returning to my brother’s house.”
“How foolish,” said Jasper. “Selfish, too, when his house is all dark and our servants are up. Also, dear cousin, your bed upstairs has been made and is warm. Come along.”
He reached for Cilla’s wrist, but she shrank back in her corner, lifting her hands to her chest so that he could not reach without climbing into the carriage.
Livy opened the door on the other side of the vehicle. “Come on, Cilla,” she said. “If you wish to go home, we shall go home.” She turned when they were both on the road. “We shall call tomorrow, Aunt Ginny. Thank you for a lovely ball.”
Cilla let out a screech, and Livy turned to see that Jasper had grasped her by the upper arms and was dragging her back toward the Marple townhouse.
“Let her go,” Livy demanded, and when he ignored her as if she didn’t exist, she turned on Aunt Ginny. “Tell him to get his hands off my sister, Aunt Ginny.”
“He does not mean Lucilla any harm, Olivia,” Aunt Ginny assured her.
Cilla screamed, startling Jasper so much that his hands must have loosened, for she spun around and punched him. Low. Just the way their father had taught them.
It worked. Jasper shrieked and dropped to the ground, hunched in on himself, his voice still shrill as he called Cilla names and threatened retribution. Aunt Ginny hurried to crouch by her son, and Livy to pull her sister into the shelter of her arm.
“You wicked, wicked girl,” Aunt Ginny said to Cilla.
Jasper had no one to blame but himself, but Aunt Ginny would not listen to that tonight. The noise had woken some of the neighbors. Footmen brandishing canes had appeared on several doorsteps, and shadows in upper windows hinted at watchers.
“I shall take Cilla home and we shall talk in the morning,” said Livy to her aunt, and she led Cilla away across the street to where their own front door was open, with a footman lurking on the porch and the butler, a nightcap on his head, looking out from inside.
“I assume there was a reason for that,” Livy told Cilla. “We shall have some fences to mend with Aunt Ginny, I suppose.”