Chapter Fourteen
At dawn the following morning, as they left the club, both tired and perhaps not as alert as they might be, the first direct attack came. As they walked down toward the docks, shapes appeared out of alleys on either side, resolving into men as they drew closer, batons raised and knives out.
Without consultation, they moved smoothly into a defensive position, back-to-back. Mel let her knives fall into her hands, trusting to Allan to produce whatever weapon he carried, and prepared to teach these bullies a lesson.
There were so many of them! They might not come out of this in one piece, but if they were to die in this place, on this last day of the year, Mel swore they would not go unaccompanied into the eternal night.
It took her a moment to realize that half those she believed to be opponents were Moriarty’s guards, and they were laying about them with efficient and ruthless accuracy.
Mel disabled one of those who managed to evade their allies.
She cut his hand to make him drop his weapon, and hit him behind the ear with the hilt of her other knife to knock him to the ground.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Allan spun around to check on her. She had time to notice that he’d left two of the assailants groaning on the ground when he seized her and hugged her, so tightly that she could not get a breath.
“Melody! Are you hurt?” He drew back, gripping her upper arms to examine her, then hugging her again when she shook her head. Over her head, he spoke to one of Moriarty’s men. “Are they all accounted for?”
“All six, Lord Kemble. One dead, five disabled. We shall tie them up and deliver them to the Southwark Watch House.”
“After questioning,” said Allan. “I want to know who told them we’d be here.”
“It would not be hard to figure it out,” Mel commented.
“You have been masked, yes, but you’ve not changed your body shapes.
Ten brothers work at the Golden Adonis. Eight of the Sheppard brothers appear in the Burlington Arcade and announce the other two have gone overseas.
Ten brothers resign from the Golden Adonis, nine of them effective immediately. ”
“True,” said the Moriarty man. “But we shall ask, anyway. And we’ll ask who sent them, even if we think we know the answer to that.
Be careful, my lord and madam. We cannot know whether this is the only ambush planned for this morning.
Half my team shall escort you to the boats, and another team shall pick you up on the other bank of the river. ”
The leader of the three who formed their escort questioned the boatman and searched the boat before he would let Allan and Mel leave. “We would be wise to choose another form of transport for tonight’s trip,” said Allan.
Mel agreed. New Year’s Eve. Their last night at the club.
But if—as they assumed—the attack had been ordered by the marquess, then he would know where to find them.
“We had better send a note to Madam Hera, telling her what happened,” she said.
“It might not be safe for her and the club if we put in an appearance tonight.”
“If you will trust me with that message,” said the Moriarty man, “I can let her know what happened.”
“Tell her she can contact us through Lady Cornelius or Lady Ernest,” said Mel.
The guards waiting for them reported no suspicious activity, and the lock on the tunnel gate was intact. They made their way cautiously up to the lower tower without incident, and Allan shut them in and barred the door from the inside.
“Let us try to get a good sleep,” Mel suggested. “We are expected at Clara’s at one o’clock this afternoon, and it must be nearly eight in the morning by now.” Tired as she was, as soon as she put her head on her pillow, she fell asleep.
*
She woke two hours later from a deep sleep, not certain what had alerted her.
The sounds were wrong. That was it. Accustomed to the background noise of the upper tower, she now had the deep stillness of the lower tower, with its thicker walls.
The door of her chamber was thinner, though.
Someone was moving around out in the center space.
When she wrapped herself in a shawl and went to investigate, she found that Allan was up, and was bending over a metal jug-like contraption that was heating over a spirit burner.
“Melody,” he said, when he noticed her. “Did you smell the coffee?”
She did now. The pleasing odor was rising from the jug.
“It’s a Rumford percolator,” Allan explained.
“Little to no smoke, and we’ll be able to drink fresh coffee in about ten minutes.
” After a quick look at her in her nightgown and the loosely-wrapped shawl, he had his eyes fixed on his coffee machine.
That won’t do at all.
Mel dropped the shawl. “What shall we do for ten minutes?” she asked.
His head snapped around and his eyes devoured her for a moment before he said, in a hoarse voice, “My darling woman, if you mean what I think you mean, it shall take much longer than ten minutes.”
He was not rejecting her out of hand. Mel gulped back the lump in her throat and said, boldly though with a quaking stomach, “Then I suggest you turn off the coffee pot until we are ready.”
She watched in fascination but also disappointment as he jerked toward the pot as if moved by strings then stopped the motion, reasserted his iron control and replied to her, though his voice shook as he spoke. “I promised myself I would not take advantage of you when we are here alone.”
Taking heart from the fact that his voice was not fully under his control, and nor was his gaze—it continued to heat her skin as his eyes roved her form—Mel said, “I made myself no such promise. Allan, may I take advantage of you?”
What could she say to persuade him? “We are alone together, and I want to be with you. I warn you. I have little experience. My husband was not much interested in me, and I suspect he was not very accomplished in the arts of the bed chamber.”
That was what one of the women at The Golden Adonis had called them. The arts of the bed chamber. Mel had never seen much “art” in the messy, boring, uncomfortable process, but she was willing to learn.
“Your husband,” responded Allan, his voice huskier still, “was a fool.”
“Must I beg?” Mel asked.
Allan did not reply. Or perhaps his actions spoke for him, for he bent to the spirit lamp under the percolator and turned a wheel until the flame went out. Then he held out his hand, and she put hers into it.
“Are you certain?” Allan asked, and she assured him that she was.
“Your bed or mine?” That was the next question. She chose his, for it was larger. As he led her in that direction, he added, “You can stop me at any time. Just say ‘stop’, and I shall.” That required no reply, but was good to know.
Allan was right about it taking more than ten minutes. And those at The Golden Adonis who enjoyed the activity were right, too. It was neither boring nor uncomfortable. Her husband really had been a fool.
*
The marquess had men watching Clara’s. The leader of the guard assigned to Mel and Allan this afternoon had received a note from his colleagues explaining the likelihood of ambush and proposing a strategy for avoiding the risk points.
He sent notice of their arrival by one of the myriad street boys that Moriarty Protection used to run messages, and they waited for the planned commotion to draw the marquess’s men away.
The plan worked like clockwork. They were climbing the steps at Clara’s when they heard a shout from the roof above, followed by the sharp bark of a rifle.
In the next moment, simultaneously, Allan shouted, “Get down!” and a yell of pain sounded across the street.
Something fell to crash into the street.
Feet scrabbled on tiles. A voice called from Clara’s roof. “Sniper, sir. Neutralized.”
Mel and Allan had both turned to look at the roof across the street.
As her gaze fell to street-level, her eyes met Farnham’s.
Teign’s steward was glaring at her as if attempting to incinerate her on the spot.
She gave him a wave and a grin, just as Allan touched her arm and said, “It would ease my mind if you did not stay any longer on these steps, Melody.”
She took his arm and allowed him to escort her inside as he scolded her, “I know we agreed that angering the marquess would encourage him to rash behavior, but you must not make a target of yourself. Farnham is a soulless bully, and you have already provoked him once.”
“Twice, at least,” Mel corrected. “I shall be careful not to go unprotected, Allan. I am not a fool. But I am not going to let him or anyone else frighten me into scurrying around like a mouse.”
It was unusual for anyone to be concerned about her safety. Even her sister Harmony, who loved Mel and relied on her for protection, seemed to think that she was made of iron. Mel was torn between being annoyed at Allan for ordering her around and being touched by his evident concern.
At least he didn’t compound his error by arguing. “I know you are competent, my dear lady. You know more than me about intrigue and derring-do, and I suppose you are going to tell me you have been shot at before. But please allow me to worry about you.”
He was evidently teachable. “Very well, since you said ‘please’,” she said, smiling to indicate she was joking.
They had been escorted into the drawing room while they were talking, and most of the other couples were already there. “Has he been ordering you about, Mrs. Blackmore?” asked Donald. “He does that.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Frank assured her. “It is just that he is the eldest, and used to being in charge.”
“It is damned annoying, though,” said Baldwin.
Their sidelong looks at their brother indicated that they were teasing, and he knew it, for his only reaction was to say, “Leave off, brats. I’m sorry, Melody.
I tend to order, but I shall try to ask.
Do you think you could be kind enough to just assume the ‘please’ if you are actually being shot at? ”
The brothers and their wives gaped at Mel. “You were shot at?” Cornelius asked.
“Actually, the sniper could have been aiming at Allan,” she told them. “Either way, Moriarty Protection had put a man on Clara’s roof, and the sniper was shot before he could carry out his commission. Only wounded. He ran off. I don’t know whether our guards caught him.”
“Farnham was in the street,” said Allan.
“We saw him, too.” It was a group of four new arrivals, the twins Gerard and Hudson and their wives.
“Did you have trouble with him and his men?” Allan asked. He was leaning forward on the balls of his feet, his fists clenched, as if he was ready to rush to the rescue.
“Not at all,” said Gerard.
Hudson continued the explanation. “The Moriarty bodyguard said the marquess’s men had all rushed off to the way you came in, Allan.”
“So, our carriage came straight down the most direct way,” Gerard continued.
And Hudson finished. “Nobody knew it was us until we started up the steps to the front door.”
“Our brothers and sisters may have some difficulties leaving, Clara,” said Baldwin, seriously.
“I believe,” said Mel, “that the street will be crawling with Bow Street Runners and constables from the other Magistrates’ Courts.
Someone took a shot at a marquess’s heir, and others of the marquess’s sons have been harassed on their way here.
Nobody is going to want any harm to come to any of you on their patch.
Nor is Farnham going to want his men caught and blabbing if the officers of the law are behind every brick, bush, and chimney pot. ”
“That makes sense,” Clara said. “But also, Moriarty Protection’s men have been efficient so far.
We shall take their advice. First, though, we have a stack of invitations to consider.
I have ordered tea…” she looked toward the door as it opened to let in a procession of maids and footmen.
“And here it is. Please be seated, brothers and sisters—I include you as a sister, Melody, for you are as close as a sister to Thomasina and Winifred.” She cast a sly look at Allan, but she was out in her thinking.
Mel had no expectation of anything except heartbreak at the end of their affair.
She was not marchioness material. Allan would have to marry one of his own kind.
Enjoy it while it lasts and don’t fret about the future.
The maids and footmen brought in all the paraphernalia for tea making, a couple of coffee pots, another two chocolate pots, and trays full of sandwiches, savories, and sweet cakes. A feast, in fact, though with sixteen of them in the room, they would probably devour much of it.
Once everyone had a plate of edibles and the beverage of their choice, Clara began.
“Verity, Parthena, Winifred, and I have sorted these into three piles. I must say it was much easier than it would have been in the Season, when there are scores—perhaps even hundreds, if one counts the lesser entertainments—of possible invitations every day. Even if one only considers those from the top 500 families, it can be hard to choose.”
“Some people remain in London all year round,” said Winifred. “Some leave only in the worst of the heat. And some return for a few weeks over Christmas and the new year, so there are always a few events worth attending.”
Verity pointed to the left-most of the three piles on the table. “We discarded those events with small numbers and those unlikely to attract guests whose opinions might matter to the marquess or those he still respects.”
Parthena touched the smallest of the three piles—the one on the right. “These are the invitations most suited to our purpose.”
“I suggest we discuss those first, and decide who is going to attend,” Clara said. “Then we can go through the middle pile and use them to fill in available time.”
“No fewer than three couples at any event, with their bodyguards,” Allan decreed. He looked at Mel, and though he kept his lips from smiling, his eyes danced. “I suppose you would like me to say, ‘I suggest’ and ‘please’.”
“Melody doesn’t do that,” Winifred observed. “She has a habit of handing down decrees.”
Thomasina chuckled. “It comes of being the oldest,” she said. “She grew up bossing Harmony and myself around, and it stuck.”
Allan took Mel’s hand. “We have insubordination in the ranks, fellow commander,” he said. “We two shall need to stick together.”
“If we could focus on the matter at hand,” Clara reminded them, “we might be able to complete our responses to the invitations before it is time for our promenade in Hyde Park.”