Chapter 17 #2
There was the slightest hesitation, but the first groom gave a nod of understanding, dipping his head in farewell to Perry without meeting his eyes. Perry quickly dismissed the incident from his mind as they finished their circle to the back of the stables.
The lane was quiet. The noise from the activity out front was dulled by the narrow passage, and behind the stables, the straw scattered underfoot further hushed sound. As promised, his horse stood alone. The groom was moving towards the mounting block tucked against the wall.
“I do not need the assistance of the block; just hold him,” Perry suggested.
“Aye, m’lord. I’ll hold him steady.” The man steadied the bridle and placed a hand to the stirrup, holding it.
The moment Perry lifted his leg to set his boot, the nagging hint of concern worrying in the back of his head exploded into a full-fledged apprehension. It slowed him, just enough.
The groom jerked his horse’s bridle suddenly, and the horse skittered away from both of them.
But because he hadn’t yet set his foot, he avoided being trapped in the stirrup and being dragged.
Bad enough, though, that he was unbalanced because he had been leaning on the horse.
Perry threw out his arms, trying to avoid falling.
The man posing as a groom grabbed Perry’s left arm, pulling Perry in towards him. Instinct had Perry shove himself forward with both feet on the ground, shoving himself away and ripping his left sleeve in the process of jerking his arm out of the man’s grasp.
For that reason alone, he avoided the knife plunging toward his kidney. The point of the blade snagged only his coat instead of flesh.
Stumbling forward, Perry twisted. He was unarmed—disadvantaged.
All he had on his side was momentum. So before this assassin could ready another attack, Perry threw himself into the man, slamming his shoulder into the man’s chest hard enough that they staggered together into the shadowed wall of the stable.
The timbers cracked, and the assassin’s head hit the stable wall, but not hard enough. He held onto both blade and wits, recovering with terrifying speed and grabbing Perry by the lapel of his jacket, trying to rake the knife across his midriff instead.
Again, Perry barely avoided the blade by throwing himself away from his attacker. It whispered along his waistcoat, cutting a rent in one side and barely kissing skin. The assassin snarled epithets, dragging Peregrine in once more.
“Hold still, m’lord,” the killer hissed at him, smashing Peregrine in the side of the head with the butt of the knife.
Dark lights burst in Perry’s vision, and he reeled, disoriented.
The groom’s grin showed broken teeth, and he seized a fistful of Peregrine’s cravat, dragging his head back for the killing strike. Perry drove forward with his elbow blindly, connecting with the man’s ribs. They both crashed into the wall again, and the assassin had to turn to lift his knife arm.
Perry caught the man’s wrist as he did so, preventing him from being able to bring the knife down. Both men were straining. Peregrine could feel the inside of his gloves slick with sweat, his arm trembling with the strain of keeping the point hovering a hand’s breadth from his throat.
And then—the sharp crack of boot heels on stone. The thug’s eyes flickered towards the passageway, and Peregrine heaved with all his strength, forcing the man’s knifehand back against the stable wall and away from his neck.
A heavy fist swung between them, clouting the groom in the temple.
He staggered, dropping to one knee, and released, Perry fell backwards, catching himself after a few steps.
The newcomer loomed above the man pretending to be a groom.
Without hesitation, his unexpected ally swung again, this time laying out the assassin on the stone.
The man’s body twitched once before going still on the stable floor. Probably dead.
Breath ragged, Perry checked himself, finding several gashes in his clothing, but nothing worse than scratches lay beneath. The newcomer waited a few steps away for Peregrine to right himself, not coming closer.
“Yer in trouble, Lord Fitzroy,” the man told him, his accent thick. “You an’ yers. Red Hand sent me to let ye know.”
“I figured that part out,” Peregrine muttered, looking down at the body. “But your appearance was timely nonetheless.”
The man grunted. “Last night marked an early grave fer Nibs.”
It took a few seconds for Peregrine to recall why that name sounded familiar. “That was the record man who held the Duchess Atholl’s bounty?”
He gave a nod. “Red reckons ’twas one o’ yer ma’s.
Nibs was found with ‘Thief’ carved in his gut, an’ the whole underbelly’s up in arms. She’s layin’ waste to folk now, Fitzroy.
Six new names marked last night. Bounties set on you, the duchess, Lady Normanby, Lord Ravenscroft, Sir Nathaniel, an’ some bloke called Antoine.
Red says if yer smart, you’d leave London today. ”
Peregrine let out a short puff of consternation. Thorne and Antoine too? And despite all of the deaths and searching in the last week, his mother still retained enough influence in London’s underworld to access hired killers.
“Thank you,” Peregrine told him sincerely. “I have to go. But I owe you—you and Red Hand both. And I won’t forget my debts.”
“Red counts on it, m’lord,” the man said with a crooked grin.
So urgent was Perry to get back to Carlton House, he almost forgot his horse, who had backed itself as far away from the fight as possible.
Clucking at the beast, Perry caught the reins and swung into the saddle, riding the short bit back to the front yard so he could give the mount to another groom.
“Hold him here,” he said shortly to the man who took his horse. “Nowhere else. Where is the groom who was helping me earlier?”
“Digby, m’lord? He went down to the farrier’s.”
Perry filed that name away in his thoughts, marching back to the front door. The porter stared at Peregrine. Or rather, he stared at his clothing. One sleeve half ripped, a gash in his waistcoat. The porter probably thought he was lunatic.
“If you are done having a long look,” said Perry dryly, “I need a private word with Lord Ravenscroft. Now.”
He was ushered quickly into a side room, and his request must have been sent at a run. Lord Ravenscroft trotted into the front hallway only a few minutes later, concern already writ across his face, and with someone else’s coat in his hands.
“Ah. So things have taken a turn for the worse,” he said in a hushed whisper, staring at Peregrine’s clothing. Then he turned to the footman. “Mind your business! Preferably outside of the door,” Ravenscroft barked at the footman who was openly staring at the two of them.
“For the worse, do you think? An assassin accosted me behind the Carlton House stables—his body is still there, by the by—and paid off one of Prinny’s own groomsmen to bring me there. A man by the name of Digby, who I expect will never return from his ‘errand’ to the farrier’s.”
The magpie began to play valet, helping Peregrine out of his torn coat. “We can go see Prinny—”
“No. There is no time to spare for him. I have just learned that my mother has put out contracts on all of our lives. All of them.” Perry leaned in until he was almost nose to nose with the dandy. “Antoine is on the list too.”
Ravenscroft turned as white as a shroud, but to his credit, he gritted his teeth in determination. “What do you need me to do, Fitzroy?”
“I need you to play messenger. Warn Selina to leave London. Warn Thorne too; he is still at my estate. And… then perhaps it’s time for you and your valet to find a safer harbour too, Maggie.”
The lord took several deep breaths, staring Peregrine in the face. “You would want us to leave you to have to face your mother alone?”
“My mother will hurt Antoine to punish you. And she will most definitely harm you to hurt me.” Peregrine laid his hand on Ravenscroft’s arm.
“I may not be much of a fighter, but I shall not play the role of a coward, Canary. When I delivered the letter, I already knew that this was going to be the outcome. Don’t ask me to turn tail and run now that the consequences of the actions I expected are here.
I cannot leave, but perhaps Antoine—” Ravenscroft bit his thumb, thinking quickly.
“Whatever you decide to do, do it quickly, but know that I will not be disappointed if you decide to protect yourselves. Tell Prinny what has happened, and have someone deal with the body. I have to find Charity.”
“The Queen and Princess are at St James’s. You cannot go like that—” Ravenscroft ran his fingers down the front of Peregrine’s waistcoat, bending to peer at the tear. “Good God, Fitzroy. You nearly got yourself gutted again!”
“He missed, Maggie.”
Ravenscroft snarled, shaking him. “Not entirely, Lord Catastrophe. Fortunately, it’s little more than a scratch, but for God’s sake. You’ve somehow made us care about what side of the dirt you’re laying on. So have the courtesy to keep your guts where they belong, will you?”
He thrust Perry into the spare coat, straightening his disordered cravat. “It is a bit large, but it will have to do.”
It would. Perry spun on his heel the moment Ravenscroft’s hands pulled away from him, hurrying back out the door and leaping on his horse, still being held in the front.
A footman attempted a hasty announcement, but Peregrine was already striding past him into the Queen’s withdrawing room. Charity was indeed there, along with Queen Charlotte and the young princess. All three women turned to stare at him, the Queen’s chin lifting as her expression sharpened.
“This chamber, Lord Fitzroy, is not White’s. Explain yourself!” she blazoned.
“Perry? What happened?” Charity added, her eyes seeking his.
Peregrine held her gaze for a fraught moment, and then turned to the Queen.
Her lips turned downward. “Charlotte Augusta," the Queen instructed her granddaughter, “you may retire. All of you,” she added, waving at the other ladies in waiting.
There was a silence as the others left, and in the rustle of their departure, Perry turned to Charity, taking her hands. Charity was looking at the ill-fitting coat that was clearly not his own, and she swallowed, licking her lips. “Were you hurt?” she whispered.
“Bruises. Not enough to stop me,” he told her softly, squeezing her hands. “But Charity—it’s time for you to leave. Take Thorne and Lark, and ride out for Northumberland. Please.”
Her mouth parted, eyes glistening. “Are you mad? No. Absolutely not.”
The Queen sharply cleared her throat, once the door shut behind the departing women and servants. “Do share with everyone, Lord Fitzroy.”
“My mother is striking back with a vengeance, Your Majesty,” he replied tersely.
He told them both about the summons to Carlton House to meet with von Lieven and Pyotr Andreyevich Malenkov in a full diplomatic meeting.
He ended with the news from Red Hand’s messenger.
“If she was able to have someone infiltrate the stableyard at Carlton House, the palace grounds are not necessarily safe.”
The Queen looked as discomfited as he had ever seen her.
“Your Majesty,” he continued. “I would like to send everyone on my mother’s list away that we can. At the very least, my sister, the duchess, and Lady Normanby should depart London.”
“No,” repeated Charity, in a louder voice, calmly folding her arms over her stomach. “You cannot send me away, Perry. I will not leave; none of us will.”
Perry turned to her, surprised by the amount of pain a man could feel even though he hadn’t been dealt a physical wound.
He didn’t want to say the words he had hurled at her, the last time he was so afraid about bringing the violence in his life to hers. But they were true. Real. They lay like stones in his thoughts. Poison on his lips. Broken glass in his chest, tearing his heart into pieces.
If she could not find a way to strike at Perry, Marian Fitzroy would attack the people that he had somehow unexpectedly grown attached to. Everyone who cared for him. He would grieve any of them, but one of those names had the power to utterly destroy him.
Peregrine sank to one knee, his knees too unsteady, and he took her hands, pressing them to the sides of his face, letting his lashes fall closed.
“When I woke up in Atholl house, Sparkles, I believed beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was treading the path that would lead to my destiny. I am here because I must put a stop to my mother’s evil.
And I suspected it might come at a price. ”
He never imagined a cost that could be so high.
“You are the candle that was given to me to light up the darkest time in my life. Don’t ask me to let you stay and face such danger.” Perry finally looked up, his eyes stinging as he noticed the tears coursing down her cheeks. “I love you. Please.”
Smiling through the tears, she stooped down to drop a lingering kiss on his brow. It was a benediction, of sorts. It felt sacred, like the whispered promise of redemption.
“And I love you. Don’t you see? This move is meant to weaken you.
Isolate you. She needs to divide our loyalties, because she will never have the strength that comes from any kind of love.
” She stroked his cheekbones with her thumbs.
“Have courage. Have faith in all of us. Don’t ask me to let you walk alone into the dark. ”