Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 6

  Angered by the thought, she walked down the street amongst the women who advertised their wares by lifting the hem of their skirts. A watchman rounded the corner in the road and the women melted into the shadows as he passed. He called out the time, as watchmen were wont to do every half hour, and then moved on, whistling under his breath. He had barely closed the door on his wooden kiosk, when a group of young men picked it up and turned it over. Laughing, they disappeared into the night as he yelled all manner of bad words at them. It was a common sport among the young, well-off men to tip a Charley.

  She laughed as the fat watchman emerged from the kiosk with his bum in the air. Straightening himself, he glared around to find the culprits. Catching her glance, he shouted at her, “You there, young scoundrel, come ’ere at once.”

  Georgiana looked behind her to see to whom he was speaking, then realized he meant her. Frightened, she ran and he blew his whistle as he pursued her. She ducked down an alley, finding her way to its end, and walked quickly down Fleet Street toward St. Giles. She glanced back to see if she had lost him in the alley, and saw him emerge from it and turn in her direction. He blew his whistle again and this time it was answered by another. She started running in earnest.

  ***

  White was crowded, and after leaving their coats in the vestibule, Charles and Nicholas crossed the hall and ascended the broad marble staircase to the upper rooms. They bypassed the gaming rooms and brightly lit salon where most others had gathered, and chose instead the library with its quieter environment. Seating themselves near the fire, they ordered a drink.

  “I must thank you, Nick, for your timely retreat from our house the other night, and also apologize that it was necessary.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “I take it you found accommodation then?’

  “Oh, yes. I have taken rooms at the club.”

  “It is a pity your family was forced to sell the town house.”

  “Debts must be settled.”

  “Such a misfortune.”

  “I was myself fortunate in another’s misfortune. Lord Arbury was called home to his estates in Shropshire after his wife’s death in childbirth. I have taken his vacated rooms.”

  “Good God, why was he in London to begin with? One would think with a wife about to give birth he would have remained close.”

  “He is not overly fond of her, I was told.”

  “Still, there is duty to consider.”

  “Perhaps he isn’t overly fond of duty either.”

  Their brandy arrived on a silver tray and, after a short toast to the King, they sat in silence for a while. A gentleman entered the library but seeing it occupied was about to leave again, but changed his mind. ”I say, Wyndham, is that you?”

  Charles stood and bowed. “The very same. How are you, Lord Davenport?”

  A cousin of the King, he was also a long-time friend of Charles’s father. “My condolences on your loss, Charles. I was a great admirer of your father and feel his death greatly.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said, and turned to Nicholas. “May I introduce my good friend Captain Markham.”

  Nicholas bowed.

  “Is it Captain Nicholas Markham?”

  “Then you have heard of him?” Charles said, pleased.

  “Who has not? Your exploits on the sea are legendary, Captain, and have reached even the Court. You captured, I believe, not one but two French ships in the Mediterranean—on the same day. It was said that England is in need of more Navy men like you, so this war can finally be won.”

  “We are not far from it, Lord Davenport.”

  “No, indeed. Now, if we can win the war at home, England may finally know some peace.”

  “War at home?” Charles asked.

  “The war on crime,” Lord Davenport answered. “London has long been the home of thieves, swindlers, pickpockets, prostitutes and murderers. The prisons are overflowing, and with the war we have not been able to transport as many as deserve it. With your father’s recent murder, I understand the subject has been greatly debated in the House of Commons. It has come to the point that a noble and decent man is murdered in this city. Something must be done. The murderer must be brought up on charges and hung. We must make an example of this man. If we do not, we may all soon live in fear of our lives.”

  “What is proposed?” Charles asked.

  “I had hired a former Bow Street Runner, a man by the name of Constable Marsh, who is well known to run down just such characters. However, Lady Wyndham paid me a call and informed me of the man’s impertinence upon his visit to your house and I was forced to remove him from his position. I must apologize sincerely. I had no idea the man was given to such fanciful imagination.”

  “No, indeed,” Charles smiled. “The man was quite raving.”

  “Yes,” Lord Davenport said slowly. “Still, the problem of crime in the city goes far beyond your father’s murder to the general state of policing in this city, or rather the lack of it. A minority of us in the House of Lords is trying to pass a bill to establish a central police office. The watchmen of this city are ineffective and corrupt. Change is necessary but we are unfortunately too few in number to make much progress.”

  “It sounds a worthy fight,” Charles said.

  “Worthy indeed and it could use good men like yourself and your friend here. Tell me, Captain, have you recently been the victim of a crime yourself?” he asked, looking over Nicholas’s bruised and battered face.

  Nicholas smiled and shook his head. “The only injustice committed upon me, I am afraid, is that I was the loser in a boxing match.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Are you missing the battlefield already that you resort to such extreme sporting pleasures?”

  “It is good to keep one’s hand in.”

  “Yes, indeed. Well, I shall leave you gentlemen to it then. Perhaps a hand of faro later, Wyndham?”

  “By all means.”

  “Good. And Charles, please think on my suggestion of joining the fight to stop crime in this city. You would make an excellent MP and you owe it, perhaps, in memory of your father.”

  “I will indeed think on it, Lord Davenport.”

  They watched him as he left the library, and then sat down again.

  “In memory of your father,” Nicholas said and raised an eyebrow.

  “He didn’t know the bastard as well as I did,” Charles said, frowning. “If it wasn’t for Georgiana and yourself, Nick, I’m not sure I would have survived childhood.”

  “What do you think your father was doing at a flash house?”

  “One well known for its reputation of harboring the worst criminal element, no less. But blasted if I am not bound by duty and honor to bring my father’s killer to justice.”

  “It has long been your downfall, Charles.”

  “Honor is a virtue. How can it be my downfall? And you, Nick, are the most honorable person I know.”

  “I speak of duty. Duty shall be your downfall and honor mine.”

  “Let’s drink to that, to duty and honor.”

  They emptied their glasses.

  “Speaking of duty, I fear I have neglected mine for far too long.”

  Nicholas smiled, which was getting harder to do as his lip swelled. “I gather we are not talking of your father now?”

  “No, I speak of Georgiana.”

  “Ah, yes, the sweet Georgiana.”

  “She has grown into quite a beauty.”

  “She was always beautiful, Charles.”

  “I suppose so, but did you ever think of her as willful?”

  “No, never. She was always headstrong but not at another’s expense. My recollection of her was a wild girl riding over the countryside with greater confidence than I ever had.”

  “Then is it not strange that she should fall from a horse and never walk again?”

  “It is unfortunate but not unlikely. She did spend a good deal of time riding and she always wanted the most spirited horse to
ride.”

  Charles was silent, his eyes on the fire, thinking about something Nicholas could not know. He looked concerned but Nicholas knew not to push for details. Charles would speak of when he had come to a conclusion.

  “It concerns me that I have neglected my sister’s welfare for my own freedom. Having left to fight the war, I escaped my father’s harshness. I knew he was a cruel man, having experienced his wrath firsthand, but I was fortunate in that I could leave his house and make my own way in the world, thanks to you and your kind family. In my desperation to escape, it never occurred to me that Georgiana would be left to withstand the worst of his angry tirades. I thought his evil confined to me and that he would not harm such an innocent. But she is so changed, Nick, I hardly recognize her. She is a stranger to me, but above all she does not trust me.”

  “What has brought this on?”

  Charles sighed. “After you left that day, I removed that ridiculous veil she wore and was horrified to discover bruises on her face that yours will soon resemble. She looked like she had been in a match herself. They were old bruises, Nick, and what I witnessed was the end stage. I do not even wish to contemplate what she looked like the day she received them.”

  The words angered Nicholas and he stood and moved toward the fireplace, trying to keep his emotions under control.

  “Did she say who had done this to her?”

  “That was the worst part of it. My mother accused her of inflicting them herself, called her a willful girl in need of attention.”

  “Did she dispute these allegations?”

  Charles shook his head sadly.

  “Then it is clear. Had she been willful, she would have denied it,” Nicholas said. He picked up the poker and moved a log into better position, and then leaned against the mantle, thinking.

  “You are considering that it was your father?” he asked Charles.

  “What else am I left to think? His punishments were cruel when we were children but I had hoped that he would not treat her so as she grew older. I tried to question Nurse the following morning, but could not locate her. Apparently my mother had her dismissed.”

  “So your mother knows something.”

  “Precisely. I had the misfortune to be the son of a cruel man and a weak mother. I tried to speak to Georgiana alone but she insisted it was all her own fault. She will not talk to me. Do you know she tried to run away not once, but twice, Nick. It was the second time that she fell from her horse and was paralyzed.”

  Nicholas paced in front of the fire, the poker still in his hand. He only wished he could have gone after Lord Wyndham with it.

  “At least there is consolation knowing that if your father were the culprit, his evil is ended.”

  “True enough, but think on the years I have been gone.”

  Nicholas had been thinking about it. He stopped pacing and faced Charles. His friend looked tortured with guilt.

  “Do you remember Georgiana when she was little?” Nicholas asked.

  Charles nodded slowly.

  “Then you must remember that she had more spirit and fight in her than the two of us could ever wish for. Whatever it was your father may have done in your absence, he was not likely to have crushed her spirit.”

  “Do you think so?” Charles asked, uncertain.

  “I’m sure of it. She may just need some time to feel she can be herself again. Come let us leave,” he said, putting the poker back. “Nothing will be accomplished by this endless speculation.”

  They retrieved their coats and walked out into the night as a young boy ran by, pursued by two watchmen. They watched the chase with amusement for a minute, and then walked on down the road.

  “Do you know,” Charles said, “a constable came by the house to question Georgiana.”

  “The man Lord Davenport mentioned?”

  “Yes,” Charles said. “He had the most outlandish notion that Georgiana may have been involved in my father’s death.”

  Nicholas frowned. “But that’s preposterous.”

  Charles laughed as if relieved and Nicholas wondered why his friend had even for a moment considered the idea.

  “Those were my thoughts exactly,” Charles said lifting his walking stick and piercing the dark with it to emphasize his strong feelings.

  They walked on, both lost in their own thoughts. Nicholas looked down the road, but the boy and the pursuing watchmen were long gone.

  ***

  Georgiana bolted down Fleet Street pursued by two men now. The second was younger and faster, so she concentrated on clearing all the hurdles in her way. The sides of the street were crowded with people, who slowed her down, and the road was filled with coaches traveling quickly through one of the worst parts of town. She darted into the road in front of a hackney, causing the horse to startle. She ignored the animal and the driver who cursed her.

  She ran down the middle of the road and slipped in the dirt and muck, finding herself nearly trampled to death under the hooves of horses as they pulled their loads. She jumped between two coaches and into another alley, crying out in pain as her leg hit something hard in the darkness. The smell in the alley was terrible, the stink of human waste making her gag. She could hear the second watchmen behind her, ordering her to stop, so she kept running deeper into its darkness. The buildings crowded close and someone opened a window above and emptied the contents of a chamber pot behind her. She heard the watchman curse.

  She hid among the piles of garbage and old crates, watching the light from the watchman’s lantern retreat. At the entrance to the alley, he conferred with the first watchman, who had caught up. They argued for a minute, and then both left and she sighed in relief.

  Her legs were shaking as she stood up again and looked down the alley behind her to measure the distance to the next road. She put her arm over her nose and walked carefully on, not wanting to take the chance that they were waiting for her to come out. The alley led onto another, the stink worsening. The houses narrowed, rising above the mud and sewage and threatening to fall around her in decay. Broken windows were patched with rags and the walls were crumbling back to dirt. A young girl eyed her with suspicion from where she sat on the back step of a house. Her hair was dirty and matted, her dress filthy, and she wore no shoes. As Georgiana passed her, she bared her black teeth and hissed like a cat.

  The alley was filled with people, she soon realized, people with no place to go. They rooted through the garbage looking for scraps to eat. Most of them were half-naked, barefoot children with huge haunted eyes. They followed her, begging for money. She took some coins from her pockets and pitched them in the air, then walked on, leaving them behind to fight over the spoils, the bigger ones winning.

  A woman slept under a wooden crate, curled around her baby, a bottle of gin empty beside her. Both mother and child wore filthy rags and had nothing to cover themselves. She noticed the baby was awake, watching her as she paused, its face brown with dirt. There were two clean lines down its face from tears cried earlier. The toddler was still now, its eyes moving past her to stare at the sky again. She could leave a coin, knowing the woman would likely use it to buy more gin, but what other comfort did she really have? Didn’t everybody need comfort? Wasn’t it a vital need just as important as food?

  She took the coin from the inside pocket of her jacket and moved forward to place it inside the baby’s blanket. The woman’s eyes opened suddenly and she jumped to her feet, holding a knife to Georgiana’s throat.

  “It’s alright. I mean no harm,” she said, holding up the coin.

  The woman snatched it from her fingers but did not remove the knife.

  “More,” she breathed, her breath putrid and her teeth black.

  Georgiana sighed, defeated by her naiveté, and reached slowly into the front jacket pocket. She took out another coin and dropped it to the stones under them. The woman dove for it quickly, found it and came up with her knife ready. She stopped suddenly, her eyes on the pistol Georgiana held in her hand
.

  “My turn,” Georgiana smiled and the woman shrank back, picking up the baby, who started to cry. She held the child in front of her as a shield to protect herself.

  “Is that even your baby?” Georgiana asked angrily.

  She scowled. “Course it’s my baby. Bought and paid for.”

  “You bought it!”

  “You is gentry. I can tell,” she sneered.

  “Why did you buy the baby?”

  “Course I makes more money is why,” she laughed, incredulous at Georgiana’s ignorance.

  Georgiana wanted to take the baby from her arms and run. “And then what?” a little voice said inside her head.

  She knew poverty and suffering existed, but, growing up in a privileged household, had never known what it looked like. It was so easy to condemn this woman, but she guessed morality was not a luxury easily afforded in the poorer streets of the city. Evil was something she was better acquainted with and evil she knew had many faces.

  She was staring at a form of evil but the question was, what was she going to do about it? Could she help the baby? What about the other children in the alley? There were so many poor. The woman sensed her weakening resolve and backed away slowly, holding the baby close as it cried. She soon disappeared into the darkness and Georgiana was left with the sound of the baby’s crying as it faded into the night.

  She placed the pistol back in her pocket, and walked slowly on, disgusted with herself. She finally emerged from the maze of darkness onto a slightly wider street and followed it down to the river, where she stood watching the ships anchored there.

  There were so many, their masts reaching high into the dark sky, and she wondered about the worlds where they had docked. She longed to see the places she had only read about, the great continents that lay beyond the small world she occupied. She envied her brother his freedom as a man. He had been at sea for five years and been to the Continent and beyond it. Did he so wish it, he could buy passage on any one of those ships and sail for the new world, for Africa, or the East.

  A church bell announced a death, and an old horse pulling a wagon moved slowly along a dark street. She sighed, the baby’s cries still echoing in her mind, and turned onto a little crooked road parallel to the river. Rain began to fall, and the Anchor Inn glowed with warmth between two buildings that leaned inward, threatening to crush it.