Chapter 27 #2
A figure wearing a silk gown and red slippers dashed past Eric. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things because he’d swear Abigail was in front of him. But she couldn’t be. Unless …
“Abigail,” Flynn called.
Before Eric could fully process what was happening, Abigail bent down and grabbed the pistol from the floor. Standing tall and her hand shaking, she aimed the weapon at Riley.
“I tried to stop her,” Flynn said.
“I hate you, Lord Riley,” Abigail said. “So much so that I dream about your death.”
“Ridiculous little whore,” Riley spat. “You aren’t going to shoot me. There isn’t a thought in your silly brain that I haven’t put there.”
Abigail cocked the pistol and steadied her hand.
“Miss, put the gun down,” Fletcher said. “I’m taking him to the magistrate.”
“No.” Abigail’s gaze remained glued to her target. “He is an aristocrat, so he will get away with it all. No one cares what he does to us. We are just ridiculous whores who can’t think for ourselves, after all.”
“I mean to see that he pays for his crimes,” Fletcher said.
“Would you have even cared enough to stop him if he hadn’t abducted a lady?” Abigail asked.
Eric swallowed hard. Abigail was correct on all accounts.
No magistrate in London would punish Riley for hurting women, be they whores or daughters of barons.
If Abigail shot him, she’d be sent away to a place that made her life at a brothel seem as though she’d been living in a fairy tale.
If Eric killed him, he’d be sent to Newgate, never to see Juliet again.
And if Riley lived, he would destroy the Knight Roamer and continue to torment Juliet and Abigail.
Ironically, the no-win situation provided Eric with insight into his own nature.
He’d become an avenger due to his anger about the lack of a system in place to protect the people he loved.
The mask provided anonymity and shielded Eric from punishment as he righted the upside-down world.
He had no other choice. Tonight, he would have to don his disguise, break into whatever building Riley happened to be in—hopefully a jail, but probably not—and end the man’s life.
“Pretty lady, put down the gun,” the tall man said as he extended his arm and slowly moved toward her as if trying not to scare a terrified child.
“Abigail, please give him the pistol,” Eric said.
Abigail looked over her shoulder at Eric and gave him a bittersweet smile. “He won’t hurt any of us ever again.”
“He isn’t worth the punishment you will receive,” Eric said, repeating Juliet’s convincing argument. Luckily, they would have to catch Knight Roamer to hold him accountable, and he would not allow that to happen.
Eric let go of Juliet to reach for his friend, but Abigail had already returned her focus to Riley.
“This is for every woman, make that every person you've ever hurt,” she said.
Thunderation, she was going to shoot the heir to an earldom. Eric lunged, but he was too far away to keep Abigail from pulling the trigger. The bang from the gunshot echoed.
Riley grabbed his chest. His hand over his heart didn’t hide the red patch staining his shirt. His eyes widened as his demise hit him. Then he toppled over, hitting the ground with a resounding crash.
“Bloody hell.” Fletcher cringed. “Now every nosy chap on High Street is going to come a calling.”
“Damnations, ye are one hell of a shot, and a pretty chit to boot,” one of Fletcher’s goons said.
“Humph,” murmured the other. “That’s one less useless aristocrat in the world.”
Time seemed to pass slowly as Eric caressed Juliet’s back and whispered soothing words.
Miracle of miracles, at least no “nosy chaps” came “a calling.” Perhaps it was the early hour.
Although the pessimistic part of Eric suspected those who might be about avoided the despicable Riley—with good reason.
Meanwhile, Abigail stared at the corpse, her skin pale and her expression blank. Shivers wracked her body, and her teeth chattered. The mustached man wrapped his threadbare greatcoat around her.
“We ain’t gonna take her to prison, are we?” the tall man asked. “It doesn’t seem right? He was a right proper arse.”
“I’m thinking,” Fletcher said.
“Say it was Knight Roamer, and he got away before you caught him,” Eric suggested.
Juliet whimpered.
Fletcher scratched his head. “Nah. It will only fuel the aristocracy’s hatred of Knight Roamer and make Riley a martyr. We need to ensure the world sees who he truly was. Depraved, cruel, vindictive, abusive, and violent.”
Juliet lifted her cheek from Eric’s chest. “If we can discover who AW at The Daily Dispatch of London is, we could ask him to write about Riley’s secret life. He doesn’t seem to be intimidated by Riley or afraid to tell the truth.”
Fletcher’s lips quirked upward with his subtle nod. “Brilliant idea. I happen to have an old mate from school who writes the Meanderings of a Gentleman column. I will ask him if he can put me in touch with AW.” Fletcher frowned. “Unfortunately, Abigail, you need to disappear for now.”
Abigail didn’t react. The poor woman must still be in a state of shock.
“Guv, what about asking that sweet mum of yours to help her?” the tall man asked.
Fletcher bobbed his head. “Stilts, for once, you are worth the blunt I pay you.”
Stilts grinned.
Fletcher approached Abigail and held out his hand. “Your shoes and your hair ribbon, please.”
She blinked at him.
Juliet pulled from Eric’s embrace and wiped the tears from her eyes. To his surprise, she approached Abigail.
“Abigail,” she softly said. “I hated him, too. I also wanted him dead for what he put me through. I can’t imagine the horrible things he did to you.
But for now, you must find your wits and let these men help you, or you will be sent to Bedlam.
” She placed her hand on Abigail’s shoulder.
“Give Mr. Fletcher your shoes and your ribbon.”
Abigail seemed to return from whatever alternate world she had escaped to.
“May I help you?” Juliet asked her.
Abigail nodded.
Juliet removed the ribbon from her hair, taking the time to tuck a long, curling strand behind Abigail’s ear. Then she bent down and waited for Abigail to slip out of her shoes.
By God, Juliet Coldpepper was too good to be true—a high-born lady, bowing in front of a low-born prostitute, as she tried to comfort her and save her life.
Juliet handed the shoes and ribbon to Fletcher. He placed the ribbon in the dead man’s hand. Then, he tossed one shoe into the pool of blood and placed the other beside the chair Juliet had been tethered to.
“Stilts and Curly.” Fletcher waved to his men, ensuring that he had their attention.
“Go out the back door,” he said in a stern voice that brooked no argument.
“Make sure no one sees you. Use my carriage and take Abigail to my mother at The Crown Jewel Inn in Brighton. I will send a missive explaining our predicament as soon as I can.”
The men saluted.
“Abigail,” Fletcher said, his tone gentle but firm. “My mother owns a lovely seaside inn. I will ask her to take you on as a maid. No one will think to look for you there. It’s a chance to start your life over.”
The mustached man rubbed his hands together. “I’ve always wanted to go to a rich people’s seaside inn.”
“Get Abigail there safely,” Fletcher said, “and you can stay for three nights. After that, I expect you to head back to London. I need your assistance with another case. This time, I’ve dug up a privateer with a surly attitude and a plethora of weapons.”
For a moment, Eric wondered if Fletcher was referencing another of Chesterhill’s by-blows but pushed the thought to the side. First, he couldn’t care less about Chesterhill’s bastards. And second, he had other, more pressing issues to focus on.
“I always wanted to see a Kraken and an octopus.” Stilts bounced on his toes, almost hitting his head on the ceiling. “Oh, mermaids…”
“Both of you keep your hands off of Abigail,” Fletcher grumbled.
“You are safe with us, Miss Abigail. After this —” Stilts slid his gaze over the disastrous room “—I’d protect ye with me life.”
“We will treat ye like a lady, we will.” Curly crossed his heart.
“Tell Billy the plan and ask him to get money from my safe,” Fletcher said. “He’ll know how much to give you. See that Abigail has a new dress and new shoes. Once she arrives at the inn, she can borrow anything she needs from my sister.
“Abigail, do not stop to pack anything or say goodbye. Once I alert the magistrate, Mr. Fielding’s men will be looking for you. Just get the blunt and leave the city immediately.”
After Eric saw Chesterhill’s solicitor, perhaps there would be enough to pay Fletcher back.
“Aye, aye,” Fletcher’s sidekicks said in unison.
“Come on, miss.” Curly held out his hand, palm up, inviting Abigail to walk in front of him.
Instead, she ran to Flynn and threw her arms around his neck.
Tears dripped from Flynn’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of protecting ye,” he said.
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat. This was so unfair. If he’d just had a few more days, he’d have purchased her freedom. And if he’d had tonight, he would be the one responsible for the villain’s death.
Abigail withdrew from Flynn’s embrace and rushed to Eric. She leapt into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Abigail,” Eric said. “For everything.”
“You were a good friend, Eric. I’ll miss you.”
“But now you are going to be a maid in a respectable seaside inn,” he said, trying to cheer her up even though he couldn’t help but think that in a few more days, she would never have had to work for anyone unless she wanted to.
Abigail backed away from Eric. “In case I don’t see her, tell Auntie Athena that I love her.”
Eric nodded.
“Take good care of him,” Abigail told Juliet as she passed by her.
“Good luck, Abigail,” Juliet said.
“Don’t torment my mother and keep your hands off my sister,” Fletcher called to his goons.
“Got it, your kingship,” Curly called over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna be too busy swimming like a merman and searching for me lady love,” Curly said with a doff of his cap.
And then Abigail and her unlikely, but seemingly sincere, protectors were gone.
“Get out of here, Stone,” Fletcher said. “Make sure no one sees you leave. I’m going to get the magistrate and bring him back here. And I’m going to reach out to my old reporter friend, Nicolas Wentworth.”
“Thank you,” Eric said.
“Yes, thank you,” Juliet added.
Eric placed his palm on the small of Juliet’s back as they followed Flynn through the archway. Eric was almost to the broken door when he recalled that Fletcher had said he had news.
“Wait here,” he told Juliet and Flynn.
He retraced his path to the main room. Fletcher’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he was frowning at the corpse.
“Fletcher, you said you stopped by The Pink Petal to deliver news, but you never said what that news was,” Eric said.
Fletcher strolled around the room picking up Abigail’s slippers.
He pressed the souls in the blood, then, taking his time, he made a trail of bloody footprints.
He studied his handiwork, then bobbed his chin as if satisfied.
Again, he meandered the room, depositing the shoes where he’d originally placed them.
Meanwhile, Eric fought his irritation because he needed to get Juliet to safety.
Fletcher finally looked up from his fabricated crime scene. “I wanted to let you know that after we parted last night, I found the man who murdered your mother.”
For the millionth time that morning, the wind was knocked from Eric’s lungs.