Chapter Three
Benedict remained hidden in the shadowy alcove of a doorway as he eavesdropped on a conversation between clearly unintelligent criminals. They made no attempt to keep their voices lowered or to be circumspect in plotting out their crime.
He’d been following the big brute for most of the day, until he’d joined up with his colleagues, for lack of a better word. A more sorry lot he couldn’t recall ever laying eyes on. Still there was something about the one seemingly intelligent individual in the sad trio that seemed strangely familiar to him.
“How long you reckon they’ll be in there?” the first one asked.
“Don’t rightly know. Never been to a mystic ’afore.”
“Mystic my eye!” one of the other men replied. “She’s no more talkin’ to spirits than you or me! You know that as well as I do. She’s got her part to play and so do we!”
“What you think she says to all them fancy society birds? What could a fine lady like ’er want with a mystic?”
The first one guffawed, clearly amused at his own thoughts. “Probably wonderin’ which lover’s bed she left ’er jewels in! Either way, she weren’t supposed to be ’ere.”
The third man approached the others from his place of concealment and cuffed the other two on the ears. “We’re not here for her. It’s the other one, the younger woman that should be of interest to you. We’ve been paid to take her and take her we will! Now keep your eyes open and your mouths shut!”
Benedict had arrived after them and not seen the women who entered the mystic’s home. They’d given up following his little brown bird earlier in the day so he had no fear for her safety.
Why did bands of miscreants always seem to run in trios, Benedict wondered? Still, it was of note that the men were waiting outside the very address he’d come to Bath to investigate and that they were speaking of abduction as if it were a commonplace activity for them.
That address, Madame Zula’s, was the last place Mary had been seen, the last place anyone could place her before she’d simply vanished without a trace. And now they were discussing having been paid to take a young woman emerging from that very home. It didn’t bode well. Thinking of the fate that might have befallen his sweet sister, his blood ran cold and a quiet rage filled him. If she’d been harmed, and the miscreants in front of him had been a party to it, he’d see them all pay.
The door opened and a woman emerged. It was too dark and he was too far away, at first, to see her clearly. But as she descended the steps and entered a small pool of light from one of the gas lamps, he bit back a curse. With her dowdy dress and hair, it was impossible to mistake that it was the same young woman he’d met earlier in the day, the one who had piqued his interest so greatly. Fear gripped him as he thought of what might happen to her if the gang of ruffians succeeded.
“That’s her!” the leader of the group of ruffians murmured.
“Why would a toff pay so much for a mousy little thing like ’er?”
“Not our business why he wants her, just that he does,” the man in charge said. “They like virgins, these toffs, and, from the looks of her, I’d reckon her to be one.”
The first man to speak, the one who was so clearly amused by his own wit, chortled again. “If he wants virgins, I can get ’em for ’im. I had two of ’em last night. Was wiv’ the same two the night before. They’re all virgins if it’ll get ’em a bit more coin!”
The woman turned in the direction of the sedan chair house at the end of the street and the three men sprang into action. One of them jumped out, grasping the woman around the waist and hauling her back toward the small alleyway that had housed them.
She might have dressed like a little brown bird, but she fought like a tiger, Benedict thought as he crept forward. With three of them to fight off, he needed the element of surprise. The woman kicked out again, catching her second assailant squarely in the bollocks. Her brief, satisfied smirk showed him that it had not been an accident. She’d meant it and, while he admired her spirit, he knew that was not an insult that would be easily forgiven.
Even as he thought it, the attacker rebounded, rising up from his pained crouch, and drew back his hand. The sharp report as the back of his hand connected with her cheek echoed through the fog-shrouded street and she staggered, clearly rattled by it. She stumbled against the side of the building, sinking down onto her haunches, dazed.
“Do not mark her! You fools!” The third man boxed the ears of the man who’d struck her. “If you damage her, then we do not get paid!”
The largest of the men picked her up easily and tossed her over his dauntingly broad shoulders. She rallied then, beginning her struggles anew. Her kicking feet had no sway over him. The ineffectual beating of her fists on his broad back was equally ignored.
Creeping closer, Benedict lashed out with the sword stick he carried, sending the first man to the ground. Bringing his clasped hands crashing down onto the man’s head, he rendered the thug unconscious and then turned toward the others.
The man in charge eyed Benedict cautiously even as he withdrew a brace of pistols from his cloak. “Take her on! We can’t afford to lose her!” he shouted to his compatriot.
What happened next left Benedict reeling. The man fired one pistol, but not at him. Instead, he shot his unconscious companion in the head and then raised the second pistol to point it at Benedict.
“You’ve no cause to involve yourself in this,” the man warned softly. “Walk away now, let us have the girl, and you can survive the day unscathed.”
“I wouldn’t even if I could,” Benedict replied just as softly. The man fired, and Benedict dove to the side. The bullet grazed him, taking a large furrow out of his shoulder. Even as he tucked and rolled, he retrieved his sword stick. On his feet again, he disarmed the man with relative ease despite his injury. He might have been in charge of the operation and had no doubt committed any manner of crimes in his life, but the man was not a trained swordsman who had what it took to fight someone to the death. That was clearly evident when he turned and ran.
With only one of the villains remaining, Benedict turned. The larger man was nearing the street from the small alley they’d dragged the woman into. While she wasn’t a heavy burden, she was a highly uncooperative one and had thus slowed the man down considerably. As Benedict approached him, the man turned, cursed, and without warning, tossed the woman at Benedict, sending them both sprawling to the dirt.
Benedict shuffled her off him. He didn’t take the time to check for injury. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because he needed information and the only source was getting away. The man in charge was long gone, and would likely not have talked anyway. The other underling was dead, no doubt a precaution to keep him from speaking, and the brute strength of the band was all that was left.
Taking a run at his retreating back, Benedict managed to take the man to the ground. Only the blade he held pressed to the man’s beefy neck gave him the advantage, as the man had him in weight by at least three stone and was nearly a head taller than his own six foot frame.
“You took another woman from this address… where is she now?” Benedict demanded.
“Don’t know!” the big man muttered. “Never tells us where he takes them after!”
Them. There was more than just one. “She was blond, very petite… was she injured? Did you hurt her?”
When the larger man was slow to answer, Benedict struck him. “Answer me!”
“We never ’urt ’em. Get less money that way!”
“The people in this house,” Benedict demanded, “are they involved?”
“I ain’t talkin’ to the likes of you!” the man shouted.
The door to the house opened again and a woman screamed in alarm. That distraction cost Benedict. As he turned his head in her direction, the giant reared up and sent him staggering backward with one punch. He was no match for the man, not with his limited reach. The second blow sent him barreling into the steps of a neighboring townhouse, striking the corner of one of the stairs. His last sight, before the world went dark, was of the giant of a man who held the secret of what had happened to his sister running full tilt into the darkness.
*
Elizabeth rushed forward toward Lady Vale. With her dress torn and her hair having pulled free from its chignon, she looked like a wild woman. She was shaking, out of breath, and felt, for the first time in her life, in danger of swooning. Fear had left a sharp metallic taste in her mouth, or perhaps it was blood from where the other man had slapped her. Her mind raced and she couldn’t quite make heads or tails of her own thoughts.
“Are you hurt, dear?” the older woman asked.
“A few bruises but nothing serious, I think,” she answered, hating the tremors that wracked her voice. “Thanks to him. He saved me. I don’t even know where he came from. I exited Madame Zula’s and headed for the sedan chair house and those men accosted me. They dragged me into that alley and I cannot bear to think what might have happened had he not intervened!”
Lady Vale’s expression changed, growing darker. “Did they… that is to say, Miss Masters—Elizabeth, if they violated you, you must tell me. There are steps that can be taken.”
Elizabeth blushed. “No. There wasn’t time for that.”
Lady Vale shook her head. “You’d be surprised how little time it does take for some. What shall we do with him?”
“We cannot simply leave him here, bleeding in the street,” Elizabeth worried. “What if they come back?”
“That’s hardly likely, but I agree. His heroics deserve something more than to be left lying bleeding in the dirt!”
Just then, Madame Zula’s, or Miss Hopkins’ as she’d asked to be addressed, manservant appeared in the doorway. “We heard screams! Are you injured?”
“You mean Madame Zula does not know?” Elizabeth fired back quickly. Calming herself and her temper, she added, “We are not injured but my rescuer is. Can you obtain a hired carriage for us?”
“Madame Zula has a carriage. It will be readied for you,” he said as he disappeared into the house.
Elizabeth dropped to her knees beside the fallen man. Gingerly turning the man onto his back, she gasped in recognition. His perfectly-chiseled features, features that would have set any young woman’s heart to racing, were still emblazoned upon her memory from their earlier encounter. He’d been charming then and now, coupled with his heroic actions, was it any wonder that simply looking at him made her already thundering heart flutter? But they had not introduced themselves earlier as it would have been impossibly forward to do so. He lay there bleeding at her feet and she did not even know his name.
“Sir?” she queried. “Sir, can you hear me?”
He moaned, turned his head and opened his eyes. Behind her, Lady Vale gasped. The sound drew his attention and he looked toward her mistress, but his injuries and the darkness they wrought claimed him again. His long-lashed eyelids fluttered closed again.
“We must get him home. He will be attended by the finest doctors in Bath,” Lady Vale commanded.
While Elizabeth was certainly grateful that her mistress felt so inclined, she could not help but find it curious. “That is most generous, my lady. Thank you.”
“No, my dear. Thank you. Whatever happened to put you in harm’s way has returned my son to me… that man, lying there on the dirty street, wounded in such heroic action, is my Benedict.”
Elizabeth blinked up at Lady Vale. Words escaped her as she tried to envision how on earth she would explain that to her employer, Lady Vale’s brother-in-law. One disaster had bled directly into another it seemed.