Julia Justiss - A Most Unconventional Match

Meanwhile, the reinforcements Mason had recruited for him jumped from their positions all around the room to head off Smith’s other three accomplices.

Men didn’t survive Seven Dials by being stupid either. With his leader inert on the floor and the blade-wielding Hal grinning at him like a demon, the tough facing Hal backed away, then broke and ran for the door. The other three, cut off from escape, slinked back to their chairs.

Hal strode to the bar and dropped several coins on it. ‘When Smith wakes up, tend him,’ he told the innkeeper. ‘Goes to Green Street again, finish him. Tell him that.’

Rapidly bobbing his head, the man gathered up the money. ‘Certainly, yer honour. I’ll surely tell him.’

‘Right pretty work,’ the barmaid murmured, brushing her full breasts against his sleeve. ‘If’n you ever git back here, remember me.’

Though his hand hurt and his knuckles were bleeding, Hal made her an elaborate bow. ‘Pleasure, ma’am.’

Feeling much more cheerful than when he’d entered, Hal strode out of the tavern, his confederates filing out after him. ‘Appreciate help,’ he told Mason’s assistants, who nodded before melting away down the alley.

Hal crossed the dim street to the corner where Mason awaited him, passing him a purse of coins under the guise of shaking his hand. ‘All my thanks.’

Surreptitiously pocketing it, Mason said, ‘I trust Mr Smith learned his lesson?’

‘Studying it now,’ Hal replied.

‘No need to call a constable, I suppose?’

‘Come here if needed one?’ Hal asked.

Mason chuckled. ‘Probably not. Nor should we linger with night starting to fall.’

Nodding at that truth, Hal followed the Bow Street man through the warren of alleyways until they reached an area where the buildings looked like they might survive the next windstorm and the pedestrians no longer passed by with a huddled, furtive air.

‘Hopefully you’ve discouraged the enforcer, but I’m afraid nothing can be done to inhibit the moneylender. Blackmen is still entitled to the return of his principal and could bring a motion against Mrs Lowery.’

‘Won’t come to that,’ Hal assured him. ‘Worked out repayment. Thanks for help.’

‘Always a pleasure to contribute to the education of a gentlemen like Mr Smith,’ Mason said before heading off.

His hand throbbed and Jeffers would likely go into apoplexy when he saw the bloodstained coat, but otherwise Hal felt clear-headed and confident. Normally he avoided violence; as a small boy set upon by bullies when he first came to school, he had a sharp dislike for larger, stronger individuals who attacked the smaller and weaker.

’Twas Nicky who’d come to his defence all those years ago, Hal recalled, thereby earning Hal’s immediate gratitude and respect. ’Twas Nicky as well who’d taught Hal the rudiments of self-defence and looked after him until Hal found his feet, earning him his eternal devotion and friendship.

Conscious of his potential to injure opponents who lacked his size and strength, when he grew older Hal abandoned pugilism for the intricacies of the foil, where the need for quickness and dexterity neutralised his advantages of height and reach. Only once before had he deliberately set out to pound a man unconscious—when Nicky’s Sarah had been pursued by a baronet of vicious reputation who’d tried to hurt her.

In that case, as in this, the punishment he’d allotted had been well deserved, though today he’d needed Mason’s kind assistance. Without reinforcements at his back, the confrontation at the tavern might have ended differently.

It helped to have friends in low places, he thought with a grin. If Mama considered his colleagues on the Stock Exchange vulgar, she would have fainted dead away had she seen his confederates this afternoon.

Hal had almost reached the respectable part of Covent Garden when the sound of jeering caught his ear. Down an alleyway, he spied several boys laughing as they pelted rocks toward something hidden behind a stack of rubbish.

Immediately transported back twenty years, Hal turned and charged down the alleyway at them, roaring. Within seconds the startled boys scattered.

Hal halted by the pile of rubbish, but instead of the skinny child he expected to find, a thin, mangy dog cowered under the shreds of some old playbills. Just a puppy, he quickly ascertained, mayhap the runt of some litter.

An intelligent animal, it appeared, for though Hal was almost three times the size of its erstwhile attackers, sensing a rescuer, the little dog immediately limped over to him. Whining and wagging its skimpy brush of a tail, the dog tried to wind itself around his ankles.

‘Down!’ Hal commanded before the animal could jump up and plant its filthy paws on his knee. Recognising the voice of authority, the mutt flattened himself on to the alleyway beside Hal, his tail still wagging.

With a sigh of exasperation, Hal looked down at the muddy prints already marring the shine of his boots. Probably Jeffers would find claw marks gouged in the leather as well. As he gazed down at his footgear, dark canine eyes gazed back up at him hopefully.

What did the silly dog expect him to do? Hal wondered. Though he’d scared off the animal’s attackers, there would be nothing to prevent them from tormenting the animal again later. In the fading light he could see several cuts on the dog’s ears and face where the rocks had nicked him.

If the animal escaped these assailants, he’d likely only encounter others. Or starve.

Hell, Hal thought, sighing again. His coat was probably ruined already and as for his breeches, he could always fall back on the Wellington pantaloons Mama had sent him. Kneeling down, Hal picked up the little dog and cradled him against his coat. Yipping excitedly, the animal tried to crawl up and lick his chin.

‘Still!’ Hal commanded, holding the dog motionless. With a canine sigh, the dog settled against his chest, that pathetic tail still wagging against Hal’s arm.

What would he do with this little dog? Hal wondered. Even washed up and with a bit more meat on his bones, the animal would never win any prizes for beauty. He supposed he could have the dog sent down to his country estate.

But as he reached the hackney stand, another thought occurred and he smiled. Homely or not, once the animal had been fed and groomed, Hal wagered he knew someone who would be thrilled to welcome the little dog as his new best friend.

Late the next morning in her studio, with a welcome feeling of accomplishment, Elizabeth put down her brushes and took off her apron. Glancing in the little mirror over her workbench as she tidied her hair, she smiled at her reflection, more cheerful than she’d felt since the awful evening of Everitt’s demise.

Perhaps it was knowing she need not fear a return call by Mr Smith or the reassurance of having turned her financial matters over to hands much more competent than her own, but, whatever the reason, Mr Waterman’s visit had energised her. She’d spent a delightful evening with David, reading to him, playing with his soldiers, even teasing him into laughter. As she tucked him in that night, they’d hugged each other tightly and, despite shedding a few tears, for the first time since Everitt’s death she’d felt with deep certainty that somehow they were going to be all right.

Then, when she’d checked on Miss Lowery this morning, she’d found the older woman sitting in a chair. After a month during which her husband’s cousin had scarcely left her bed, her continuing weakness and lethargy such a contrast to her normal cheerful energy that Elizabeth had begun to fear she might lose dear Amelia, too, she’d been thankful almost to tears at that lady’s improvement. They’d shared a cup of chocolate, after which she’d had to command Miss Lowery most insistently to remain in her room and make no attempt to resume her household duties until the doctor certified she was fully recovered.