Chapter Sixteen
Marie
Her mouth dropped open as Brett took off running, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.
“Miss?” Their hackney driver looked as confused as she felt.
“Wait here.” Marie hitched up her skirts and made chase. Unfortunately, she was wearing slippers today and not boots, and she felt every stone in the road. In only a few moments, Brett turned down another street and disappeared from view.
Marie paused at the corner, pressing her palm into her abdomen. Brett was nowhere in sight. “Blast.”
A man passing by gave her a startled look.
She waved him off and started down the street at a more sedate pace.
She could just hear Lady Mary: A lady’s companion must watch her language.
She mustn’t gallop about like a racehorse.
Being a lady’s companion sounded dreadfully dull, and she thought even Lady Mary would agree with that.
Her mistress might know proper etiquette but she rarely followed it herself.
Marie looked into the shop windows as she passed but didn’t see Brett’s tall figure or his dark-blond head. She had almost come abreast of a side street when he stumbled out, slapping at dirt that caked his trousers.
She hurried up to him. “Are you all right? Why did you go haring off?”
His lips whitened. “I was in pursuit.”
He straightened, and Marie bit back a laugh. The dirt on his trousers was the least of his dishevelment. Stains marred his jacket and an oily substance coated half his cheek and disappeared into his hair, which stuck up at odd angles.
She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and brushed at his sleeve. “What happened? Who were you chasing?”
“I’d felt as though we were being followed, and when I caught sight of the blackguard, I…” He pointed behind him. A pile of refuse filled the narrow alley, a bit flattened and scattered about now.
“You tumbled him down on a garbage heap?” She reached higher and rubbed at his cheek.
He flushed. “I would have done if I’d caught up to him. Instead I slipped on a rotting potato and went down.”
“I see.” Her cheeks ached from fighting her smile. That explained one of the smells that had attached to him. “Are you injured?”
Brett took the handkerchief from her and sighed. “The garbage heap did an admirable job of cushioning my fall.” A couple strolling arm in arm made a wide berth around them.
Marie could no longer control it. She burst out laughing, bending at the waist. “I think there’s an apple peel in your hair.” She pointed, laughing even harder. “You have a full meal represented on your clothes.”
Brett’s lips twitched. He bent, running his hands through his hair and shaking his head free of food scraps. When he straightened he was laughing as hard as she.
“This is not how I wanted to impress you,” he said, wiping his eyes.
Marie sobered. Her heart gave an odd little squeeze. “Do you want to impress me?”
The last of his chuckles tapered off. He looked her square in the eyes. “Very much so.”
She’d never noticed how lovely his eyes were. A soft, light brown, like lightly cooked taffy. And when they looked at her, she felt safe and warm, like being coddled in an extraordinarily large blanket.
She faltered back a step and tried to control her breathing. “We should continue our investigation.” That was what Lady Mary had asked them to do. Not to play at hearts. Catching a killer seemed simpler than trying to understand her own feelings.
Brett nodded. “As you say. This can hold until later.”
Marie pushed thoughts of what “this” might entail out of her mind.
He took her elbow and guided her back down the street. “I need to go home before we continue, however. Which is unfortunate, as that is in the opposite direction from Miss Rogerson.”
“We passed a public bathhouse.” Marie looked both ways before crossing toward their hackney. “You could try to clean up there.”
Their driver blanched when he saw them. “Sir, I had my seats recovered just last year.”
Brett held up his hand to ward off the driver’s protest. A dark trail of sludge oozed down the back of it, and he swiped at it with her now ruined handkerchief. “Calm yourself. We will go to that bathhouse to clean up. It’s only two blocks away.”
The driver shifted his weight. “Yes. It’s only two blocks away. An easy walk.”
Marie didn’t relish being in an enclosed space with Brett and his newfound aroma.
She nudged his side. “Yes, let’s walk. You can tell me who you think it was that was following us.
” She had her doubts on that score. She hadn’t seen anyone lurking about.
But she didn’t have the heart to question his assumption now. His pride was likely already dented.
“Fine.” Brett gave the driver a quelling look. “Please meet us there.” He gave Marie his arm.
She examined it, trying to see if there was a patch of it she wouldn’t mind touching.
There was not. She clasped her reticule with both hands and turned up the street. “So. The man you saw?”
Brett fell into step beside her. “Average size, wearing a brown coat.”
She waited for more. “That’s it?” she asked when he remained silent. “The sole description?”
“He made a point not to be seen.” There was a hint of defensiveness in his voice.
She made to pat his arm, thought better of it. “What does it mean? Why would someone trail about after us?”
“Perhaps our questions are making someone nervous.” He bumped his elbow into hers. “Perhaps you have a jealous beau.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” She heated, even more than the warm day warranted.
“Are you saying there is no beau I have to compete with?” He made a show of wiping his brow. “That is quite the relief.”
Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t know how to take his teasing so remained silent. Silence wasn’t her usual state. When they reached the bathhouse, her shoulders relaxed. “We’re here. I’ll wait in the hackney when he arrives.”
The gatekeeper let out a low whistle when he saw Brett. “We can brush out your clothes while you bathe, but I don’t know how clean we can get them.”
Brett handed him the required coin to enter. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He looked at Marie. “Why don’t you dip your feet in the pool while I clean up. You do have a women’s bath, yes?” he asked the man.
The man nodded, and Brett handed him another coin. “It will be more comfortable in there than the hackney.”
Marie needed no encouragement. Dangling her feet in cool water sounded heavenly.
That was one of the things she’d missed since moving to London—easy access to a brook or pond.
“Don’t mind if I do.” She followed Mr. Burton inside, then went left at the doorman’s indication while Burton continued down the stone hallway.
The bath looked old. The ceilings were low and the rocks were cut in inconsistent shapes and sizes.
When she stepped into the bath proper, the temperature dropped a good ten degrees.
A narrow opening in the ceiling let in a soft light that bounced off the surface of the water most invitingly. Marie let out a delighted sigh.
One woman was in the chamber with her, tying up her boot, the ends of her hair wet. “Cor, the water feels good. I’m loath to go back into the heat, but work does call.”
Marie sat near the ledge of the small pool and slid off her slippers. “Unfortunately, I can’t do a full soak, just my feet.”
“More’s the pity. Enjoy yourself,” the woman said before disappearing out the door.
After pulling off her stockings, Marie scooted to the edge and dropped her feet in the water.
It was shockingly cool. The natural springs it proceeded from must have been deep.
As she swirled her feet in a figure eight pattern, she pondered whether the male bath had its own spring or if the water from this one flowed past the wall and fed the other bath.
She stared at the far wall and chewed her bottom lip. Had Mr. Burton disrobed fully or would he just wash his face and hands while keeping his undergarments on? She’d seen her share of bare male backs, and on one shocking occasion the bare bum of a field hand.
She dropped her face in her hands as inappropriate images filled her mind of Mr. Burton in various stages of undress. They had to work together. They were trying to uncover a murderer. It was wrong of her to—
A slight rasp was the only warning Marie had. She started to lift her head, but her reaction came too late. Something crashed into her shoulders, sending her tumbling into the pool. Her shocked gasp ended with a mouth full of water.
Her skirts were heavy, but she kicked for the surface. Her brother had taught her how to swim, and she felt no panic when the waters enveloped her.
Just as she started to break the surface a hand grabbed her head and held it under.
Now she felt panic.
It took everything in her being not to scream. Underwater it would do no good. But she wanted to. Reaching up, she fumbled at the hand on her bonnet, trying to pry the fingers off. She kicked off the wall, pounded on the arm attached to that hand, but still it held her under.
Her lungs began to ache. Trying to force her way up wasn’t working. She tried going down. The bonnet pulled free from her head. Her heart raced. If she could get to the other side, just get her head—
A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her back, keeping her submerged.
Marie could no longer hold back her cry. She was going to die. She looked up, wanting to at least know her murderer but all she saw was a dark form, his silhouette a wavering shadow.
Another voice joined hers, muffled, but just as outraged. The pressure at her shoulder disappeared, but her body was too tired to fight to the surface. She drifted, just below the waterline, the pain in her chest radiating out to fill her limbs.
A hand grabbed her hair and yanked up.
Marie’s face broke the surface. She coughed out water as tears streamed down her face.
“Oh, thank the Lord,” a female voice said. “Grab the ledge.” The woman picked up one of Marie’s arms and laid it on the cold stone. “Hold on.”