Chapter 12 #2
“Danger and death lay with anyone who interferes. The Hierophant will see to it!” the man yelled before running up the stairs.
Ambrose followed, but he was too late. He’d already disappeared.
His shoulder ached, but rotating it told him that would heal and was not serious—but it could have been. What if Tilly had come down here and encountered that man? The thought made him go cold.
They were going to speak to the Nightingales about it the other day, but the games had been called, and then he’d kissed Tilly, so it had slipped from his mind.
But he knew now, after tonight they must seek advice on their next steps to take.
He started walking again, this time toward his town house, or a hackney, whichever he found first.
“Good evening, Lord Talbot.”
Ambrose let out an unmanly yelp of surprise as a woman drew level with him.
“Mavis,” he got out in a raspy voice. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”
“Walking. It’s the best time, as there are fewer people about.”
She wore a shawl around her shoulders over her serviceable dress and a knitted cap on her head.
“Walking helps keep the body healthy, and the mind clear,” she said in that no-nonsense way she had. “Does your mind need clearing, my lord?” She then stepped in front of him as they reached a streetlamp, her eyes going to the side of his face. “What happened to your face, sir?”
“’Tis nothing. Just an encounter with a miscreant.”
She leaned in to study him. “There is blood. Are you in pain?”
“Nothing too bad.” He brushed off her words, never comfortable admitting weakness, which was a failing of his. “I was just out for a walk,” he added. “Please continue on with yours, I am quite well, Mavis.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she fell into step beside him, and to his mortification, slowed her pace. “When were you attacked?”
“It just happened.”
She thought about that but decided not to pursue the matter. “Perhaps a hackney, my lord?”
Pride had him wanting to say he would walk, but he was suddenly weary and his shoulder sore.
“We shall walk until we encounter one, Lord Talbot. And you can tell me what is on your mind,” Mavis said.
The woman who spoke in clipped sentences wanted Ambrose to unburden himself to her. Not bloody likely.
“Why do you think something is on my mind?” Ambrose enquired.
“Well, most noblemen, I have noted, usually are in a carriage at this time of night—unless you are a resident of Crabbett Close, that is. Our noblemen now walk like us.” She sounded proud of that fact.
“I have a few things on my mind, Mavis,” he conceded. “But nothing that you can help me with, unfortunately.”
“I find knitting excellent for calming the mind also.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I shall give that a try,” he said solemnly, knowing that would never happen.
“Hello, Mavis.”
“Good evening, Mr. Greedy, Mr. Peeky,” she said as the two men appeared before them.
What was wrong with these people? The hour was not young and the air cool, and yet they were out here wandering about like it was a summer’s day.
“Good evening to you also, Lord Talbot,” Mr. Peeky said as if finding him striding about London with Mavis was a nightly occurrence.
“Lord Talbot was hurt, Mr. Greedy. A footpad attacked him,” Mavis said.
Mr. Greedy stepped up in front of Ambrose as Mavis had, forcing him to a halt.
“Where are you hurt, my lord?”
“I am well.”
“I can see you are not. Were you struck on the head?” The man lifted a hand and touched the side of his face.
“No, just a glancing blow off the side of the face, and my shoulder. I really am all right.”
“Well now, perhaps you are all right, but you need your bed. A small amount of tonic would help to heal the muscles in your shoulder and some salve for your face. I’ll send some over to you.”
“Really, there is no—”
“Mavis, find a hackney, please,” Mr. Peeky said. “Lord Talbot needs his bed.”
Even his family did not fuss over him like this, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was humbled or humiliated.
“I really am—” A shrill whistle had him looking to where Mavis now stood in the middle of the street. Seconds later, a hackney pulled up.
“Now, a little tea with a nip of whisky and a hot bath will help, my lord. See you have both those upon your return home,” Mr. Greedy said. “I’ll get those things to you tomorrow.”
He was bundled into the hackney like a child and his address given to the driver. Ambrose had no idea how they knew where he lived, but then he’d long since given up wondering how the residents of Crabbett Close knew things.
Only when he’d bathed and was sitting up in bed, sipping tea laced with whisky, which was surprisingly good, did he give thought to his next steps to do with what had happened tonight.
Tomorrow he was to visit that plot of land in the East End with regards to building a housing complex on it. If he got the chance and depending on who was there, he’d speak to the Nightingales about everything that had transpired.
It worried him that Tilly could be reckless and did not take direction well, which, if he was honest, he loved—liked—most about her, yet it could be her downfall if there was danger lurking beneath the street and she ventured down to check the door.
He had to keep her safe; no other option would do.