Chapter One #2
Durward recognized courage born of despair when he heard it. He waited no longer. Breaking into a run, he shouted to distract the ruffians. The one nearest whirled to face him, passing something—surely a blade—from hand to hand in clear threat.
Durward felled him with one punch to the side of the head, barely breaking stride.
One of the remaining two assailants shoved his victims up against the wall, snarling like a dog defending his bone. The other lunged at Durward, his serrated knife swishing through the air.
Durward kicked the man’s legs from under him.
“Run,” he said to the couple by the wall, his attention all on their guard, who swept his blade in a vicious arc, catching Durward’s forearm, just before his other fist crashed into the man’s face.
He’d felled all three, though only temporarily.
Very aware of the movement he had seen earlier at the mouth of the alley, Durward cast a quick glance in that direction.
Nothing stirred in the gloom. In the other direction, the first man he’d knocked down was back on his feet but haring away from them, back toward the docks.
“Run” had perhaps been an over-optimistic command to the original victims of the attack. The girl could barely hold her companion upright.
The air shivered right behind Durward—panting, rancid breath on his neck. Durward jerked his elbow back hard and connected with flesh. A grunt of pain sounded as his attacker staggered backward and Durward swung to face him before the third man had time to recover.
He misjudged them. The man he’d just elbowed was running after his friend in the direction of the docks. The other was pounding toward the nearer end of the alley.
Incensed that he would now have no one to hail before the Watch, Durward took his trusty pistol from his pocket, and raised his arm to take aim. He could at least get one of them.
A small hand closed over his wrist, bearing it downward with unexpected strength.
“Don’t,” commanded a female voice.
“Why the devil not?” Durward said furiously. “They’d have...?” He broke off, reining in his temper. He was not the victim here. And he doubted the girl was a perpetrator.
Her hand was shaking, though she held on until he lowered the pistol.
He turned his head, and for an instant they stared at each other. Even in the darkness, she radiated exhaustion, resignation. As though the earlier spirit with which she’d told him to bugger off had died a sudden death. An involuntary frown tugged at his brow.
Something rustled, distracting him from the girl in time to see her drunk companion sliding happily down the wall.
“Oh, Papa...” It was barely a whisper, and yet Durward had never heard, never sensed, such despair, such weary anger mingled with resignation, as though this latest hurdle was, finally, more than she could deal with, and yet horribly inevitable.
Without a word, Durward went to the slumped man, grasped him under the arm and hauled him semi-upright. The girl went to his other side.
“I can carry him over my shoulder,” Durward said, hoping it was true. “He’s a dead weight, now.”
“No, I’m used to that. Now that he’s upright, I can manage.” She had her arm around her father’s waist, and his arm draped mechanically across her shoulders. “It isn’t far.” She glanced at him. “Thank you,” she added with difficulty.
She clearly expected Durward to walk away and leave her to struggle on alone, even though she wouldn’t make it to the end of the alley unless her burden woke and took some of his own weight.
“Oh, we inebriates have to look after each other,” he said, and began to walk, dragging the sleeping drunk with him. The girl supporting the other side moved with him, though Durward made sure to take the majority of the load. “I take it the problem is just the drink, not illness?”
“Drink,” she said shortly. She seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It isn’t far.”
The distance bothered Durward less than the unknown he had glimpsed at the mouth of the alley, so he kept one hand on his pistol as they hauled their burden onward.
As if by some instinct, the drunk began to move his feet in vague walking motions, while he muttered to himself.
Or to them. It was impossible to tell. At least it showed willing.
The alley emerged into a street with lighting. No one lurked there with clubs or knives to attack or rob them. And the girl had told the truth. It was only the third door to the left of the alley when she stopped.
“I have to thank you for your kindness, sir.”
“Is there someone who can help you put him to bed?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said stiffly, slipping a key into the lock and turning it. “I can manage.”
Pride and shame, he thought ruefully, for he doubted there was anyone else in the house. But perhaps, also, the neighbours judged and refused to help. “Just tell me where to put him.”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but at that moment, the next door along opened and a large woman in a starched cap emerged, looking both outraged and smug.
“My father will be glad of your company,” the girl said quickly, throwing the door wide and all but hauling her parent inside.
Durward took off his hat and stepped quickly over the door, shoving it closed behind him with his shoulder.
A lamp burned low in the hallway, revealing a spotlessly clean floor and a staircase to the upper floor.
“Where does he sleep?” Durward asked.
“You don’t have to—”
“Upstairs?” Durward asked.
“The first door at the top,” she said, giving in. “I’ll bring the light.”
Durward all but carried the now gently singing drunk up the stairs, while the girl followed, holding the lamp high. On the landing, she slipped past and opened the first door. She lit two short candles from the lamp, while Durward dumped his burden onto the bed with some relief.
“Perhaps there’s something he needs? Food? Water?”
Rather to his surprise, the girl nodded and went out. The drunk co-operated like a child, so it was easy to get him out of his coat and breeches. At which point, the patient made use of the chamber pot, on his own initiative, then fell onto the bed.
Durward turned him onto his side. In contrast to the crisp, fresh sheets, the man smelled of stale rum, ale, tobacco, and sweat.
Durward had just pulled the covers over him when the girl came back with a large glass of water which she placed on the bedside table. Her father snored, oblivious.
Durward observed her as she cast a quick, assessing glance over her father. He suspected she had done this or something similar many times. The anger he had had sensed churning her up from their initial encounter, was of long-standing, as though she were so inured to it, it bored her.
Even as he pitied her, and wondered about her life, her status, and her father’s, her rare beauty hit him like a blow—large, brilliant green eyes gleaming in the candle-light, shining brown hair, pale, flawless skin, the delicate, refined features, that still somehow spoke of character and determination, a soft mouth that hovered between tenderness and fury.
Bugger off, she had snarled at him. And later, with so much more difficulty, I have to thank you for your kindness.
The girl was a mass of contradictions, and she was dealing with the impossible.
Though even as he knew an urge to help, he was aware it stemmed as much from her beauty as from his own chivalry.
He was a rake by nature and by present, urgent inclination; and neither of them needed that complication in their lives.
She walked briskly out of the room, so he followed.
In the hallway, she spun around to face him, drawing in her breath. And depriving him of his own.
“I’m sorry to be inhospitable, but despite my gratitude, I must ask you to leave. My reputation hangs by a thread as it is.”
And it was probably all she had left.
“So does mine,” he said. And with more cause. “May I at least know your name, so that I might call upon your father?”
Wariness entered her expression, but as if she decided he would discover easily enough for himself, she shrugged and replied, “My father is Captain Jasper.”
Durward bowed. “Miss Jasper. I’m Durward, staying at the Black Lion, should you have need of me.”
“Good night, Mr. Durward.”
It hardly seemed the right moment to correct her. He took his hat from her, inclined his head and opened the door. A curtain twitched at the house next door.
“Good night, ma’am,” he said, and sauntered off back down the street toward the Black Lion. He heard the door shut and lock immediately behind him. He was also aware of being watched from other windows on both sides of the street. It was a respectable if hardly wealthy neighbourhood.
Captain and Miss Jasper had come from better. Despite the one obscenity she had thrown at him, she spoke otherwise like an educated lady. And her face, by turns angry, vulnerable, proud, and ashamed, was the kind to haunt a man’s dreams...
And Durward had a couple of days to fill before his ship sailed for Lisbon.
CARINA JASPER FELT a prickle of shame as she recalled that obscenity uttered to the man who had proven to be such a good Samaritan.
In truth, she had spat the word at him partly from temper, and partly from the knowledge that it would be the quickest way to be rid of him.
She didn’t need a man making her lewd offers when she had a very limited amount of time to get her father home before he collapsed in the street and she would be forced to beg for help.
As she closed and locked the door firmly behind Mr. Durward, she knew an urge to peek through the parlour curtains and watch him.
Which was ridiculous. So the man had a handsome face and enough courage to face up to a few footpads.
There was no need to award him the status of hero, let alone ogle him for his grace of movement.
And yet she was aware of both.
She set about clearing up for the night, moving her father’s uneaten dinner from the oven to the larder—there wasn’t so much food in the house that she could afford to waste any —and washing up the few dishes and utensils she had left behind to go searching for Papa.
As she climbed the stairs, lit by her last stump of wax candle, the face of the stranger still tried to intrude.
Mr. Durward. He was the first person ever to offer her practical help—if she didn’t count Papa’s drinking companions who occasionally deposited him on the doorstep before bolting, leaving her to drag his snoring body into the house on her own, under the glare of the twitching curtains.
Self-righteous, smug... In truth, their judgement still angered her.
They had never been true friends if they rejoiced so in Papa’s downfall.
Sometimes, it seemed as if she was angry with the whole world—Papa, his drinking companions and tavern keepers, everyone who pitied or ignored her, or looked down on him.
But most of all she was angry with herself for being unable to halt her father’s spiral of self-destruction.
She hadn’t wanted Mr. Durward’s help. She wouldn’t have needed it, having taken the shortcut up the alley which, of course, also served the purpose of hiding them from respectable view. Only, of course, for the first time ever, footpads had tried to rob them.
Why had Mr. Durward followed them down that alley?
Should she be angry with him, too? She had no idea if she could have diffused the confrontation with the robbers, who could have stolen the clothes from their backs though very little else.
Durward had removed the necessity and had seemed quite happy to shoot the fleeing man.
To be responsible for anyone’s death appalled her. But not him, apparently.
And yet he had picked her father up without judgement. “We inebriates have to look after each other,” he had said. But he hadn’t been inebriated. He had been a perfect gentleman.
There is no such thing. He will have had some ulterior motive, even if he didn’t take advantage of it, of me.
It seemed she had washed and changed into her mended nightgown without noticing. She brushed her teeth with the last scraping of tooth powder, blew out the candle and climbed into bed.
Durward’s face swam before her. Young, fair, handsome, his eyes intelligent and yet reckless enough to sparkle in the throes of a fight in which he was badly outnumbered.
He had a pistol, of course, which hadn’t been immediately apparent.
She had never seen grace amongst violence before.
Was that the attraction of prize-fights to gentlemen?
She doubted it somehow. But she had noticed it.
What was the matter with her? Just because a gentleman had been kind and helpful and happened to be pleasant to the eye... And vital, exciting, like no one else she had ever encountered.
She turned over with unnecessary force and closed her eyes. Tomorrow, it would be all to do again. Without Mr. Durward’s help. She knew in her heart she would never see him again.