Deanna Raybourn - The Dark Enquiry

I clung to Brisbane’s hand as we moved silently through the shadows. His head swung left and then right, carefully assessing the situation at all times. Suddenly, he lifted his head like a pointer and thrust me behind him. An instant later, a villainous fellow materialised in front of us. His accent was so thick I could scarcely understand him, but it was quite apparent that he was demanding our money, and when he brandished his cudgel, he grinned broadly at the pair of us.

Brisbane swore fluently, and I made no attempt to remonstrate with him. I had long since given up on civilising his choice of oaths when he was in a temper.

He gave a deep sigh and slid out of his coat, handing it to me. “Keep it out of the fray, would you? I just this week had it from my tailor.”

He unpinned his cuffs and turned back his sleeves with the same casual grace I saw him use every night when he disrobed. He loosened his neckcloth and folded it tidily into his pocket, and only then did he turn back to the fellow and gave a little gesture of impatience. “Come on then.”

“I do wish you had not done that,” I muttered, for as the fellow came forward I could see he was far larger than I had first anticipated. He was unkempt and had misplaced a few of his teeth. When he smiled, there were noticeable gaps where the teeth ought to have been, and he smiled rather too often for my comfort. The effect was one of a leering jack-o’-lantern, and I shuddered. But I knew better than to say a word, and I simply held Brisbane’s coat, creasing the fabric irreparably in my clammy fingers.

The ruffian came at him quickly, anticipating a hard left to the jaw would take Brisbane by surprise and drop him instantly. But he had seen Brisbane’s clothes and taken him for a creature of the city, a soft, useless gentleman who had never raised his fists except in the boxing ring against another of his own kind.

He did not know Brisbane. Elegant as a matador, Brisbane stepped neatly aside, avoiding the blow, and at the last moment, pivoted and swung his right elbow up sharply into the fellow’s jaw, using the villain’s own momentum to throw him to the ground.

The ruffian rose quickly and threw himself forward, head down like a bull’s, barrelling directly for Brisbane’s torso. He flung his arms out wide, as if to forestall any thought that Brisbane might have of stepping aside again. This time, Brisbane grabbed each of the fellow’s shoulders as he came in and flung himself backwards, hitting the villain squarely upon the chin with the hardest part of his knee. The fellow dropped to his knees, and Brisbane turned hard upon his heel to deliver a nasty right directly behind the ruffian’s ear. He dropped like a stone, instantly unconscious, and bleeding freely from his ear.

Just then another miscreant slithered from the shadows.

“’Ere now, what did you do, Little Ned?”

This fellow was somewhat smaller, but his weapon was significantly more impressive, an Italian stiletto, long of blade and polished to a wicked gleam that shone in the dim light of the alley.

Brisbane sighed. “How considerate of you all to take it in turns.” Before the other fellow had quite got himself prepared, Brisbane moved, slapping the blade of the stiletto between his palms and twisting sharply upwards sending it clattering out of sight. The fellow’s eyes rolled in fright, and I almost felt sorry for him.

He lunged forward and Brisbane countered, clasping him about the neck even as the miscreant’s hands reached for his throat. They remained locked for a short moment, nose to nose, until Brisbane closed one hand about the fellow’s wrist and gave another sharp twist. I heard the bone snap and the scream that came after. I daresay if the fellow had been clever, he would have left it there and the matter would have ended. But he lunged for Brisbane instead, and at that close a distance, he had little chance. He lashed out with his uninjured hand, and Brisbane neatly dodged the blow. Quick as a serpent, he put out his hand and closed it about the fellow’s windpipe. The villain clawed at the air with his free hand, his eyes rolling even more wildly than before, and just as they went completely white, Brisbane dropped him.

“Is he dead?” I demanded.

Brisbane snorted. “Not by half. Merely a touch of asphyxia and a broken wrist. And I will remind you, my dear, he did attempt to stab me.”

Brisbane stepped back over the fallen men to retrieve his coat. He shrugged into it and took a five-pound note from his case, dropped it on the smaller of the pair, and before I could speak, he took my arm and we began to walk, very fast indeed.

“That was not terribly sporting,” I remarked when we had gone a safe distance and were certain we were not being followed.

He stared at me in frank astonishment. “Sporting? Julia, there is nothing sporting about a street fight. The rule is to drop the other fellow as fast as possible and by any means possible.”

“I meant the money. You know he will be robbed before he wakes,” I chided him.

He frowned. “It was strategic. Five pounds was a fair price for getting any lingering villains to quarrel amongst themselves for the money rather than chase us. Now, be quiet. I am trying to deduce precisely where we are.”

I did as he instructed, attempting to bring some order to my hair as he simply stood and closed his eyes. I knew he would not attempt to determine our position by landmarks, but was retracing our journey in his mind, calling forth his excellent sense of direction and his intimate knowledge of the city to establish our whereabouts.

“I have it,” he said after a moment. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, and I thought again that this was a man deeply content with his lot in life.

He took my hand and set off at a rapid pace, almost too rapid, and I had cause then to be grateful that I was wearing a comfortable pair of boots as I scurried in his wake. To my surprise, we plunged even deeper into the shadowy stews of London, nipping in and out of dirty alleys and narrow streets, dodging both the occasional patrolling bobby and importunate prostitute. At last, we emerged into a more respectable street, where I suddenly remembered my hansom.

“Brisbane! We must go back. I haven’t dismissed my driver. He will still be waiting for me,” I said, tugging at his hand. It remained clamped hard upon my wrist.

“I will dismiss him. You are going home, directly home,” he said through clenched teeth, and I knew the easy camaraderie we had shared during our adventure was finished. Now the danger was past, Brisbane was giving way to his temper, and I suspected the ensuing scene would not be a pleasant one.

I sighed and continued to trot along behind until we reached our own garden. We entered through the back gate, cutting through the darkness until we came to the back door. Brisbane rapped sharply, and I was not surprised to find Aquinas standing at the ready, lamp in hand.

He opened the door, bowing low. “Sir, my lady.”

To his credit, he did not so much as blink at my attire.

Brisbane did not turn loose of me yet. “Have Lady Julia’s things arrived?”

“Yes, sir. Morag arrived back less than an hour past, and Lady Bettiscombe has sent along Lady Julia’s carpetbag with her compliments.”

I smothered a sigh. Apparently none of my conspirators could stand against Brisbane.

“Excellent,” Brisbane said. “I will see Lady Julia to her room and then I am going out again. You need not wait up, Aquinas. And I should mention that Lady Julia will not be accompanying me,” he added coldly.

Aquinas bowed again. “Yes, sir. And if she should attempt to?”

I crossed my arms. “Brisbane, really! You’ve no need to talk about me as if I were not here.”