Lucy Ashford - Unbuttoning Miss Matilda

‘Then help me,’ he stated calmly, ‘why don’t you? Get everything here priced and dated correctly and I’ll pay you a wage that’s pretty generous for a lad like you. How about it?’

So he hadn’t guessed her secret . Relief flooded her, but she shook her head decisively. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that you should find yourself an occupation more suited to your talents.’

‘The trouble is, I’m not exactly sure what my talents are.’

‘How about smooth talking? Pulling the wool over people’s eyes?’ Oh, Matty. She silently groaned at her rashness. Stop talking so much, will you?

He was still smiling, but his blue eyes had narrowed again and she found that her blood was pounding rather hard. She needed to get out through that door right now but there was one slight problem. This man, nearly six foot of muscle and sinew, was still blocking her way.

Just when she was considering how best to make a run for it, she heard the sound of men’s raised voices from outside. ‘Here we are, lads,’ someone shouted. ‘ Mr Percival’s Antiques —let’s give this one a go, shall we?’

And in marched four roughly dressed men. When Jack Rutherford turned in surprise, one of the new arrivals pulled out a nasty-looking knife. ‘Careful now,’ the man growled. Another of them pounced on Matty and pinned her hands behind her back. ‘Keep still, young ’un,’ he hissed in her ear, ‘or you’ll find yourself at the bottom of the canal.’

She kept very, very still and she saw that Jack Rutherford was motionless, too—he didn’t have much choice, with that man’s knife pointed at his neck.

‘Now, then,’ said the man with the knife, who was clearly their leader. ‘I didn’t realise Mr Percy’s place had a new owner. And you , my friend—’ he leered at Jack ‘—perhaps didn’t realise you owe us a fee for the privilege of running the place.’

‘A fee? What the hell for ?’ Jack lunged forward, but two of the men grabbed his arms while the man with the knife waved his blade tauntingly. ‘That was a bit silly, wasn’t it? Now, listen. The money’s for your own safety—you pay us ten shillings a week and in return we protect you from thieves and robbers. Simple, right? All the businesses round here pay up ’cos they’re smart. So don’t you try playing silly games with us.’

Matty had already guessed what they were up to. Most of the London districts had gangs like this who frightened the business owners into paying them a regular fee— protection , they called it. But Jack Rutherford didn’t appear to quite understand.

‘You say that everyone pays you?’ Scorn etched his voice. ‘Not me, my friend. The hell not me.’

Even as he spoke, Jack lashed out to free himself, then lunged at the man with the knife and chopped at his arm so hard that the knife went flying. At exactly that moment, Matty kicked the man who held her and darted sideways to heave over a display case full of vases. It fell with an enormous crash, bringing the other ruffians to their knees under an onslaught of heavy pottery.

Next Matty picked up the barge pole— an Egyptian oar? I don’t think so , Mr Rutherford —and swung it against the legs of the man who was fighting with Jack. The man howled and fell to the floor. The others were getting to their feet, but Jack grabbed the pole off Matty. ‘Great idea,’ he said. ‘Thanks. Keep well clear.’ Then he swung the pole round with far more force than she could manage, catching the ribs, arms and knees of their attackers.

Soon all four were stumbling out through the door and limping off down the street. Matty heard their final words. ‘A madhouse in there,’ they were muttering as they glanced back. ‘A damned madhouse...’

Jack, who’d put the pole down, rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. ‘Well done,’ he said to Matty. ‘My thanks.’

She was assessing the wreckage of the room. ‘Mr Percival should have warned you.’

‘Warned me of what?’

‘That there’s a protection racket in this area. They’re dangerous.’

‘But this time they met rather more than they bargained for. Didn’t they?’ He grinned. ‘You and me together, youngster. What a team!’ He put his hand on her shoulder.

She pulled away quickly. By now he, too, was surveying the mess on the floor—he’d lost interest in her— but she was still unnerved, because when he’d touched her just now, she’d felt that touch ricochet all through her body. Matty spent her time avoiding men, not encouraging them. She didn’t even like anyone to come near her. But something about this man made her wonder what it might be like if he touched her again... Ridiculous.

He was shaking his head as he looked round the room. ‘I suppose,’ he was saying rather regretfully, ‘that I’d better start clearing up this mess.’

Matty shoved at the pieces of shattered pottery with her booted foot. ‘You could look on the bright side, Mr Rutherford.’ In control again, thank goodness. ‘At least you know now that your pottery wasn’t worth the shelf space you gave it.’

He put his hands on his hips and laughed outright. ‘You’ve certainly received quite an education from somewhere.’

‘I had an excellent tutor.’

‘And did this tutor of yours teach you how to fight, too?’

‘That? Oh, that comes naturally.’

Again he laughed, but this time she refused to allow herself to be distracted by his sparkling blue eyes or his merry grin; instead she straightened her hat and headed directly for the door. Come on, girl. Get out of here while you can.

‘Wait.’ His voice from behind stopped her in her tracks. ‘Wait,’ he repeated. ‘Those brooches you were telling me about. I would be quite interested in seeing them, you know.’

She almost gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Too late.’ Her hand was already on the door.

‘Very well. Though could it be—’ and his voice softly pursued her ‘—that your so-called treasures are fakes? Just as you say mine are?’

This was a challenge she couldn’t refuse, so she swung round and headed towards him once more, already extracting her silk purse from her pocket. ‘I don’t imagine,’ she said with a fresh edge to her voice, ‘that you’ve actually come across genuine objects like these. But here—’ and she laid them on the counter ‘—are two Celtic brooches.’

He whistled under his breath. ‘Even I can see these are quite something. So you weren’t joking when you told me they’re valuable?’

‘I don’t joke about matters that are important, Mr Rutherford.’ She gathered up the brooches to slip them in her purse again. ‘And I came here because I wanted an expert opinion on their value. A pity I came to the wrong person.’

‘You certainly did.’ He looked mildly regretful. ‘But what’s that ?’

Because as she was putting away her brooches, the Roman coin fell from her purse. And before she could stop him, he’d picked it up and held it to the light. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes.’ Her eyes never left the coin as it winked between his fingertips. ‘It dates back to the first century, when Tiberius was emperor of Rome. You can tell by the image—do you see?—which changed in the year of—’

‘Stop. Stop!’ He was almost laughing again. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘My father was a historian.’

‘And where did he find this coin?’

‘He dug it up in a field.’

‘Dug it up in a field? But—’

Just at that moment the door opened again and they both turned quickly. This time, though, it wasn’t ruffians, but two women with aprons over their plain brown gowns and merry smiles on their faces. And they weren’t smiling at her.