Chapter 21
After Georgina restored Emily to her family, she returned to her box to find Sarah and Colt. They had brought with them some additional Champagne and cake, but Georgina had no appetite and soon grew bored with them both.
“Was the pleasure garden too risqué for your priggish friend, Lady Mortimer?” Colt teased.
Sarah gave him a sharp look.
“Evidently,” Georgina agreed.
Despite Sarah’s urging her to stay for the fireworks, Georgina soon bade her companions a good evening and left Vauxhall in a carriage bound for home.
Her mind raced over everything that had transpired.
Her longing for Elizabeth, the sensation of pleasure that surged through her when they finally kissed, and the dejection she felt when Elizabeth had withdrawn so quickly after their exchange.
Georgina sat in the darkened carriage and scowled. She had never thought herself an indifferent lover, and it wounded her pride to think Elizabeth withdrew from her physically.
The hackney pulled up outside her house; gathering the folds of her blue gown, she climbed down to the pavement with care. She reached up and paid the driver, and the coach creaked off down the street.
Georgina mounted the first step, but found her wrist seized from behind and jerked down, forcing her back off the stair. She gasped and tried to wrench her arm free as she whirled around to face her assailant, all the while trying to regain her footing.
A burly man had her in his unyielding grip, and despite her dexterity in movement, her strength did not match his and she could not jerk free. My God, he meant to mug her!
Georgina tried to tell him he might take her reticule with the money inside, but she found herself unable to find the words. She waved her arm up, hoping he would take notice of it and flee with his contraband, but he seemed disinterested in her belongings. Could he be here for her?
She fixed her eyes on his face but did not recognise him, and those features she could see were difficult to discern in the dim streetlight. He had a short, unkempt beard. His gray hat, pulled low over his eyes, cast a shadow over his face.
He took her shoulder in his other hand and dug his fingers into her collar. The small beads hemming the bodice of her dress pinched against her skin, stinging her. Georgina knew the more she fought against him, the faster her reserves of energy would deplete. Yet she could not simply give in.
His other hand released her wrist, and he wrapped his grubby fingers around her throat. He tightened his grip, cutting off her airways and her hope. As Georgina struggled to breathe, fear ripped through her. How far would he take this? Her movements became more frantic.
When he finally released her neck, she coughed violently, but he quickly covered her mouth with his fingers, pressing her cheeks together.
Georgina glared at him. She tried to move her head, but he held her fast, breathing into her face. He reeked of pickles and cheap whiskey.
“I’ve heard you have something that belongs to a friend of mine,” he whispered beside her ear. “Mrs Gardner would like her trinket back, along with some ready that you owe her.”
Mrs Gardner. The fiend.
The scent of him made her want to vomit. She wished her legs were not presently tangled in silk, or that she had her cane with her. She certainly had not dressed for a brawl tonight.
Georgina endeavoured not to panic, but the odds of getting out of this situation unscathed were quickly narrowing.
She had trained as a Corinthian and enjoyed being recognised as a member of that set.
As such, Georgina benefited from some of the best schools of pugilism in London, including Gentleman Jackson’s very own Boxing Academy.
No amount of training prepared one for combat such as this, where one’s life was in actual danger. No one mentioned the terror.
Nor did this man move or skirmish in the same way a boxer would. Little of his behaviour resembled anything she experienced while studying under the masters. Mrs Gardner’s friends did not hail from the same circles.
She eyed her front door. Even if she could break free of this man, she doubted whether she could cover the distance to the safety of her house without him catching up with her. Such an attempt would be foolish indeed. This coward clearly hoped for a reason to inflict more than just a warning.
His breath made the wisps of hair near her face quiver, and his fingers were sticky against her flesh. Georgina’s nostrils flared as he continued to hold her mouth closed. Her eyes locked with his. If she kept looking at him, at least she would be ready for his next move.
“Happen I’ve been here before,” he breathed into her face. “’Twas years ago now, but I never forget a door.”
The realisation of what he insinuated hit her hard.
Henry. Georgina jerked instinctively. His grip on her only tightened.
“Shhh. Listen up. Bad things happen to people who don’t pay up, see, missy.
This debt is not meant to be reckoned for years, but seeing as you have kicked up a dust about it, my employers have agreed to negotiate with you.
They want Mrs Gardner’s card box back, along with the settlement of the young man’s vowels, with two years’ interest. Happen they said you could have until Sunday, but I suspect a governor like you would have all that blunt inside.
” He wet his lips. “I think they’d give me a tasty reward if I delivered it all early.
What’s about we go inside, and you give me what I need now.
” His eyes raked down over her clinging gown.
“And maybe a nice little thank-you for being so gentle-like. I’ll even put in a good word that you cooperated. ”
Georgina tried to keep her thoughts straight, despite an overwhelming urge to vomit. No, she would not give him such satisfaction. He released her mouth slightly but kept a biting grip on her chin. She ground her teeth together.
When she did not respond, he continued, “And if you disagree with these terms … Well, the other young man may end up discovered on the banks of the Thames, just like that brother of yours. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for that now, would you?
” A sneer twisted the man’s face. “Not after last time.”
Rage and grief competed to overwhelm Georgina in equal measure. She would not survive another death on her conscience. She needed to spare Arthur.
The man tugged her roughly against him. “Now, what’s it to be?”
Whether from fate or simple good fortune, the door of her house opened at this moment, a sliver of light spilling out over them and distracting the footpad momentarily.
Georgina took advantage swiftly. Balling her free hand into a fist, she aimed it with great force toward the man’s fleshy groin.
He bellowed in pain and released his grip on her face and arm as he hunched over.
Now unrestricted, Georgina dealt him an additional right hook to his nose and pushed him off balance as she lurched past him.
The door opened wider, but she made out no silhouette.
No butler or attendant came to her aid. Convinced she had only disabled this man a moment or two, Georgina scurried up the stairs but slipped on the silk of her skirt as it tangled underfoot.
She cursed as her knees hit the stone steps and wasted no time scrambling back to her feet to cover the final distance across the threshold, slamming the door closed behind her.
The man’s voice echoed outside, and Georgina’s hands shook as she fumbled with the bolt. She slid it across the door, and it locked with a loud clunk.
***
Panting, Georgina collapsed against the door. Feeling a rustle beside her, she glanced down to see Joshua’s pale face watching her with a deep frown.
“Friend of yours, Missus?”
The man outside punctuated his shouts with his fist, hammering hard behind them.
“I think not, Joshua.” Georgina appreciated his irony. “Thank you, by the way. How did you know to open the door?”
His cheeks coloured, and he gestured to the small window embrasure. On the windowsill sat a half-eaten pork pie and a yet untouched jam tart.
Georgina had interrupted Joshua’s supper feast. The banging subsided, and she suspected the villain outside had finally given up. She was not about to unlock the door to check, however.
“Do you enjoy looking out on to the street?” Georgina asked, distracting them both.
“Yeah. It’s boring looking at the back end of the house all the time.”
She nodded. “We shall see about moving your room, so you have more to look at.”
Joshua scratched his nose. “That cove were right rough with you, Missus. I don’t like that.”
“I didn’t much enjoy it, either, Joshua,” Georgina agreed.
“I’ve a mind to plant him a facer!”
“I already did,” she reassured her bloodthirsty champion.
“I reckon you’s in a hobble. You’s need some protection while it’s sorted.”
Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed his face and yawned, then cast a longing look over at the remains of his supper. “Someone to keep their blinkers on you, is all I mean. Or maybe someone who can help you with these people what are bothering you.”
“Do you know such people who might help me?” Georgina inquired, going over to the window. She peered behind the curtain and saw no sign of the burly man. Perhaps Joshua had an answer to at least some of her current problems.
“’Course, Missus. I can fix you up, good and proper.”
Georgina gave his head a little pat. “Then we may have an errand to run tomorrow,” she declared.
“As I were listening through the open crack in the window, I hears him say that your brother ended up on the banks of the Thames. Is that true, Miss Pace?”
She really did not wish to indulge Joshua’s highly morbid and bloodthirsty imagination with the details of her brother’s tragic demise. Not now. Possibly not ever. His earnest eyes regarded her without blinking. She sighed. “Yes, Joshua. It appears I just met my brother’s murderer.”
“We could have clobbered him, tied him up, and eaten the jelly from his eyeballs.” Joshua’s tone was almost gleeful.
“You are disturbed, Joshua. And I’m alarmed at how fond I am becoming of you,” Georgina declared, nursing her sore throat. She picked up Joshua’s food and handed it to him. “Goodnight, Joshua. And thank you.”
She watched him scamper up the stairs and hoped he would not be too distressed to enjoy his snack. She suspected his young eyes had seen plenty of violence during his short life. He would take this in stride, like everything else, and sleep easily in his warm bed. Georgina hoped so, at any rate.
Retreating to her library, she roughly poured herself a brandy, careless that her shaking hand spilled several drops on the table. She sat down beside the dying embers of the fire and sipped the fortifying liquid, cradling the glass between both hands.
What exactly had she got herself into? In stealing the faro box, she had hoped to taunt Mrs Gardner into returning Arthur’s vowels. She had expected it would resolve matters quickly. Arthur could then propose to Lady Maggie, and his father would be none the wiser about his indiscretions.
Moreover, Mrs Gardner would have learned not to exploit the vulnerability of young people like Arthur. She should have been thanking Georgina for showing her the error of her ways and teaching her some morals.
Instead, Georgina found herself stuck in the devil’s own scrape, with no clear way out. Georgina reached up and touched the sensitive part of her throat where the fiend’s fingers had gripped her. She suspected a bruise might already be forming.
Perhaps she should have been more focused from the beginning. Elizabeth had distracted her along the way, but Georgina could not truly blame her. She sniffled and took a slow sip of brandy. In any case, that dalliance had concluded before it began.
Despite all she had encountered thus far, she could not afford to surrender. Colt, with all his insinuations, was correct. Her desire to assist Arthur stemmed from more than mere benevolence. She was fighting for Arthur because the person she truly wanted to protect was no longer alive.
Not only was Henry gone, but she was more convinced now than ever that his death was her fault.
She gazed into her glass, tears blurring her vision.
The night he died, Henry had asked her to join him at a new underground gaming hell he had been frequenting of late.
He had mentioned he needed her help with something.
However, Georgina had arranged an assignation that evening from which she had no intention of crying off.
Georgina remembered the slump of his rounded shoulders and the little worried frown that marred his face when she’d declined him.
She had quickly reassured him that they might go together another night.
Unusually pensive, he’d pushed his glasses up on his nose, referred to the time on his fob watch and wandered upstairs to his room.
Georgina would give anything to go back in time and agree to accompany Henry.
Her stupidity, her selfishness, and her utter negligence had been the cause of his death.
For all these years, she blanketed herself in blame, never able to acquit herself of the crime of not being there to protect him, but neither able to look directly at the truth.
For eight years, she’d hid behind her life of alcohol and hedonism—anything to numb the pain.
This had suited her well until Edmund dragged her into this matter with dear Arthur.
And then Elizabeth had dredged up the subject of Henry. And tonight… .
Georgina swallowed hard and allowed the tears to flow. She would keep Arthur safe. Giving up was simply not an option.