Chapter Eighteen
“A re you sure about this, my lady?” The hansom cab driver stuck his head through the window with a baleful expression. He’d stopped the cab a block away from the address Taylor had left on his card, saying he would venture no further. “I don’t think you should be here. In fact, I know you shouldn’t be here.”
Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat along with the biting retort. She hadn’t gone this far to back down now. The world truly wished women to be helpless. No one wanted to help her steal her dog back, nor did they want her to do it by herself. How was a woman supposed set things right when every opportunity was continually blocked?
“It’s fine,” she said evenly. “Will you wait?”
The driver’s eyes were jumpy; he valued money but valued his life more. “How long?”
Maggie had no clue! But uncertainty would only make the fearful man even more jittery. “Ten minutes.”
The driver made a meal out of contemplating but ultimately agreed. “If you’re not back by then, I’m leaving you.”
“I would expect nothing less, sir,” Maggie replied curtly.
She opened the door onto the dingy street, taking pains not to step into a running river of trash and foul-smelling debris. Despite the late hour, the East End borough was loud and active, with groups of men stumbling down the thin, winding paths and gangs of tattered children harassing each other over their “takes” for the night. The pubs were crowded and noisy with people releasing steam at the end of the long workday. Maggie hoped that would work to her advantage. She wondered if Taylor was in one of the numerous pubs lining the streets, biding his time until he had to harass another family like hers.
Even with her cloak, Maggie was conspicuous. By the ton ’s standards, her uninspired clothes were hardly worthy of mention, but in Whitechapel they were terribly out of place. Right away the children flocked to her with palms outstretched, begging Maggie for spare change or food. They covered her like bees on honey, prohibiting her from taking any more steps. She tried to tell them she had nothing to give—hadn’t thought to bring anything—but they were all talking at the same time, shouting to be heard over the others.
A large, brutal hand came out of nowhere, smacking the children’s heads, so hard and so fierce that Maggie cried out for them.
“Get back! Get back, you dirty beggars!” the man said, charging toward Maggie, taking her elbow in his large hand. “Leave the lady alone!”
“Please, don’t hurt them,” she said as he towed her away from the urchins. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”
The man was short and thick and had a full head of hair stuffed under his cap. His grip on her intensified the more she pleaded. “You have nothing to worry about, miss,” he said. “I’ve got you now. Those little bastards will bleed you dry.”
Maggie tugged, but he wouldn’t release her arm. “You can unhand me now.” Her voice shook. The man was walking her toward Taylor’s address, but she didn’t get the sense that he would be overly helpful to her cause. “Please,” she tried again. “I appreciate what you did, but you need to let me be now.”
“Ah, come on,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s just go to the pub and have a good time. I have friends there that might take a shine to you. Everyone wants to make friends, don’t they?”
“That’s not what I came here for.”
He humphed . “A fine lady like you in a place like this? Sure you did.”
In a panic, Maggie reached into her reticule, where she’d stashed a small knife. She clutched it in her shaking hand and lunged, catching the man’s wrist.
“Bitch!” he shouted, releasing his hold just enough for Maggie to turn on her heels and run. She didn’t get three steps away before he caught her again, snagging the back of her cloak. Red-faced and furious, the brute spun her back toward him and raised his arm. Blood dripped down in thin red rivulets as he reared back to strike her. All Maggie could do was cringe and tense for the smack—
But it never happened.
She opened her eyes to find Michael behind the man, holding his wrist in the air, burrowing his fingers into the cut. Then Michael landed a blow. One hard shot in the kidney sent the man straight to his knees. Another shot to the man’s face had him on the ground, unmoving, other than a few twitches from his legs.
“You’re here,” Maggie said, feeling equal parts awe and unimaginable relief. “ How are you here?” She hurried to him, thinking to throw herself in his arms, but Michael stepped back, keeping her at a distance.
“Wait. Just wait,” he said irritably. His breathing was labored; his eyes were like slits. Maggie couldn’t understand it. This was nothing like Michael after his boxing match. This was a whole other animal.
“Michael?” she tried again, but once more he dodged out of reach.
“Damn it, Maggie. Give me time. I can’t touch you right now. I don’t…” Anguish tore at his throat. “I don’t trust myself.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
The man on the ground groaned, and Michael kicked him again. “I’m not angry at you,” he said. “I’m angry at this piece of shite. And I don’t want to touch you until I’m sure all the anger is out.”
He kicked again.
Maggie flinched. “He wasn’t even groaning that time.”
“I don’t give a damn.” Michael planted his hands on his hips. He looked around as if he’d just now realized where they were. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?
“I’m looking for you, you daft woman.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Oliver.” He nodded at Maggie’s disbelief. “He’s a wastrel, but I think he spares a measly few minutes a day thinking about someone besides himself, and you were that person today. I hate to say it, but I’ll forever be in that man’s debt.”
Michael released a long breath and finally opened his arms to her. He enveloped her in an embrace that made her bones pop. “What were you thinking, Maggie? What are you doing?” he whispered into her hair.
“They have George,” she said against his neck. His hand settled on the back of her head, holding her, keeping her steady. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, immediately going to a place in her mind that was safe.
“I know,” he said. “I stopped to speak to Alice. She told me everything.”
Maggie flinched out of his embrace. “She’s awake? She knows I’m here?”
Michael’s expression tightened. “I woke her up. She’s furious, naturally. And scared. She told me that if I didn’t come back with you, I shouldn’t bother coming back at all.” His hand traveled down her arm until it landed on the knife. He raised it between them. “What did you think you were going to do with this?”
Maggie squared her shoulders. “It worked…”
“Until it didn’t. It wasn’t smart, Maggie. None of this was.”
“Well, what did you want me to do?” she asked. “I won’t let them hurt George.”
“You should have waited for me!”
“Like earlier? When you didn’t show up? You weren’t there! I can’t just wait for people to find time to help me. I needed to act. I couldn’t just sit at home thinking about everything that George could be going through! You can’t ask that of me!”
Michael’s expression crumpled. “Shit. I know that! I know I wasn’t there for you. And I’m sorry. Things happened, and I let it all get out of control. I’m sorry, Maggie, but that doesn’t mean you should put your life in jeopardy.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her back to the street.
Maggie swiveled her head. “Where are we going? I’m not leaving without George. You can go if you must. I will do this on my own!”
Michael shot her a thunderous scowl. “Oh, yes, you’re doing a wonderful job so far.”
“Did you come here to berate me or help me?”
“Both!”
Oh . “Well, how about this? Help me first and then berate me later. Please?” She threw out her hand for him to shake.
Michael’s jaw clenched at the sight. Then he palmed the back of her head and snaked her to him, crushing her mouth with a devastating kiss.
“Damn you,” he said, yanking back. “Let’s go—you’re wasting time.”
Maggie stumbled slightly as she followed Michael down the street, ignoring his incredibly descriptive and foul words. Taylor’s address directed them to a short, derelict building, badly maintained, like the others surrounding it. At first, Maggie had thought it a warehouse, but on closer inspection, it was clear that it was another poorly kept lodging house.
Keeping Maggie behind him, Michael opened the door and led her up a flight of stairs to a rudimentary kitchen. A hallway branched out with several doors. A few were open, showcasing crowded rooms with an impossible number of beds and tattered clothes hanging between the walls like ceremonial bunting. Raised voices and crying babies left little to the imagination on what was behind the closed ones.
“Why would he keep the dogs here?” Maggie asked.
Michael squeezed her hand. “The people here are poor, and half don’t even speak English. Who’s going to complain or ask questions?”
“But then, how will we get them to tell us where the dogs are?”
“I’m going to have to be persuasive.”
Maggie frowned at the growl in his voice. Michael’s brand of persuasiveness might be too loud for the current situation. If Taylor wasn’t here, the last thing they needed was his getting wind of what they were up to.
Maggie spied a little girl sitting alone at the far end of the hallway. She sang quietly to herself as she brushed her doll’s hair with her pudgy fingers. Maggie walked to the girl. She noticed the doll was missing an arm and the flower-patterned dress it wore was caked in dirt. But the girl held the doll as if it were a priceless antique. Maggie wondered if any doll had ever been loved as much as that one at that moment.
“Hello,” she said, treading softly on the wooden boards. The young child didn’t startle, but she stared at Maggie warily, as if waiting for signs of trouble. “I like your doll.”
The girl paused then went back to the doll’s hair. “Her name is Mary. My daddy found her for me.”
“You have a good daddy. And that’s a beautiful name. It looks like you love Mary very much.”
The girl’s demeanor softened. “She likes it when I brush her hair. She likes to be pretty.”
“You are doing a very good job of that.”
The girl nodded. “She’s my best friend.”
“I have a best friend,” Maggie explained gently. “His name is George. I think he’s pretty, though some people tell me he isn’t.”
The girl giggled. “Boys can’t be pretty!”
“Well, George is. He’s a dog with the body of a sausage, but he is the prettiest sausage in the world. Someone took him from me. And I’m very sad. Probably as sad as you would feel if someone took your Mary.”
The girl’s hand slowed and eventually dropped from the doll’s head. She contemplated the floor. When she spoke next, her voice was hushed and furtive. “There are dogs down below,” she said. “We’re not supposed to talk about them. I can hear them at night when everyone is sleeping. They bark a lot.” Her eyes lifted to Maggie. “Do you think one of them could be your George?”
Maggie nodded, stifling the tears building in her throat. “George loves to bark. It’s what he does best.”
The little girl stood up and took Maggie’s hand. “Then let’s go find him. He doesn’t seem very happy, and I can’t sleep with George here.”