Chapter 41
DANGEROUS ALLEYS
The narrow streets of Civitavecchia’s old quarter provided excellent cover for discreet observation, which was why Mrs. Bell had suggested they walk there that evening to compare notes from their separate investigations.
What Richard had not expected was being engaged in a different sort of encounter.
Three men approached them in the opening to an alley between two taverns, their intentions unmistakable despite the failing light. None of the three paid him any attention.
Richard could smell the cheap wine on them from several paces away. They were local ruffians who had mistaken a well-dressed foreign woman for easy prey.
“Come now, signora,” the largest one slurred, reaching for her reticule. “A few coins for poor working men. No need for trouble.”
Mrs. Bell’s posture was alert but not panicked. “Gentlemen, I suggest you reconsider. My escort will not take kindly to any attempts to take what does not belong to you.”
“Your escort?” The second man laughed, swaying. “Him against the three of us, pretty lady? He is nothing to us. Why, let us forget the coins in your purse. How about we go into the dark and entertain each other until sunrise?”
Richard stepped in front of her. Three opponents, drunk but still dangerous, a confined space with limited escape routes, and Mrs. Bell directly in harm’s way. The tactical analysis took about two seconds. His response took considerably less.
The largest of the men turned toward him with drunken bravado. “Walk away, stranger. This is not your concern.”
“This lady is very much my concern,” Richard replied, removing his coat with deliberate care and handing it to Mrs. Bell to hold. The gesture was practical. He would need freedom of movement. It also conveyed a message about his intentions that even drunk brigands could understand.
The first man lunged forward with a wild swing that Richard avoided with minimal effort, using the attacker’s momentum to send him sprawling into a pile of garbage.
The second produced a knife, but his wine-impaired reflexes made him laughably slow.
Richard caught his wrist, applied pressure to a specific point, the blade clattering harmlessly to the cobblestones.
The third man proved marginally more challenging, having apparently consumed less wine than his companions.
He approached with the street-fighting cunning that came from years of tavern brawls.
Richard allowed him to close the distance, then demonstrated the difference between tavern fighting and lessons learned from a full regiment of angry men on the battlefield.
With a series of precise strikes, the man was unconscious beside his groaning fellows.
The entire encounter lasted less than ninety seconds.
“Are you injured?” Richard asked, turning immediately to Mrs. Bell as he retrieved his coat.
“Not at all.”
He noticed her slipping a razor-sharp dagger into a pocket of her skirt. “Such is life in port, is it not?”
“They were drunk enough that a determined shopkeeper could have managed them,” Richard said dismissively, though he looked for any sign of lasting distress.
Finding none, he asked, “More importantly, why did you recommend coming to this particular location? It seems removed from our usual meeting places.”
She hesitated for a moment—so briefly that anyone less observant might have missed it. “I was following a lead about French activities in the old quarter. One of the fishermen mentioned seeing men who might have been agents meeting near the taverns here.”
Admiration and concern poured through Richard. “These streets can be dangerous even without French spies lurking about.”
“I am not helpless, Colonel,” she replied with spirit. “Though I confess having you with me kept me from getting blood on my sleeve. Therefore, I thank you for your rescue, kind sir.”
What a cheeky woman!
Making their way back toward safer streets, Richard realized that she was proving to be far more than the capable widow he had initially assessed her to be.
“Mrs. Bell, might I suggest that in the future, we coordinate our investigations more closely? I would rest easier knowing that someone as…valuable to our mission as you are would not take unnecessary risks,” he said as they reached the main thoroughfare.
The slight catch in his voice made her look at him more closely.
“Of course, Colonel. I should not wish to worry a partner whose assistance has proven so essential.”
The word “partner” hung between them with a weight that neither was quite prepared to examine. But as they walked through Civitavecchia’s ancient streets, Prudence Bell was acutely aware that their relationship had become far more personal and infinitely more complicated.