Susan Krinard - Lord of the Beasts

“You little mongrel,” Inglesham was saying, shaking the girl from side to side. “Thought I’d be easy prey, did you? Once I have you up before a magistrate—” He noticed Cordelia’s approach and set the girl back on her feet. “Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said formally, “perhaps you should escort Miss Shipp to a place of safety while I deal with this cutpurse. I shall summon a constable—”

“Wait,” Cordelia said. She studied the girl’s face more carefully. She appeared to be no more than eleven or twelve years of age, and her eyes—when they flashed defiantly up at Cordelia—were a surprisingly fetching bright blue. But her hair hung in matted hanks about her shoulders, its color indistinguishable, and her feet were bound in rags instead of shoes.

“What is your name, child?” Cordelia asked gently.

“Her name is of no consequence,” Inglesham said. “She is a thief and must be punished.”

“But you have recovered your purse, Lord Inglesham,” she said, matching his cool tone. “The child is obviously poor and desperate, or she would not be driven to such extremes. Where is the harm in letting her go?”

“The harm lies in permitting her to continue her thieving ways. Surely you, of all people, do not approve of flouting the law.”

“Surely the law can occasionally err on the side of mercy.”

“I agree,” Theodora said. “I should hate to think—”

Inglesham shook his head. “Forgive me, ladies, but you know nothing of these things. I—”

“May I be of assistance?”

Cordelia turned to face the speaker and started in surprise. There, dressed in the same rather shabby coat and bristling with a day’s growth of beard, stood Lord Enkidu. His green eyes moved quickly from Cordelia’s face to Inglesham and then to the girl, assessing the situation in an instant.

“We require no assistance,” Inglesham said gruffly, “unless you would be so good as to fetch a constable.”

The girl stared at Lord Enkidu and suddenly dropped her gaze. “Oi’m sorry,” she muttered.

Lord Enkidu doffed his hat and offered a slight bow. “Forgive me for my presumption,” he said to Cordelia, “but it occurs to me that we have not been introduced. I am Donal Fleming.”

Inglesham stiffened at Fleming’s impertinence, but Cordelia spoke before the viscount could issue a scathing set-down. “I am Cordelia Hardcastle,” she said. “My companions are Viscount Inglesham and my cousin, Miss Shipp.”

Mr. Fleming bowed again and met Inglesham’s eyes. “I would be happy to take the child in custody, sir, if you wish to escort the ladies to a more congenial location.”

Inglesham’s immaculately shaven chin shot up. Cordelia again intervened. “As you see, Mr. Fleming, Lord Inglesham is of the opinion that the girl should be given over to the police. Would that also be your intention?”

Fleming held her gaze, and Cordelia lost herself in it just long enough to make the silence uncomfortable.

“I should not like to contradict the viscount,” he said softly, “but it seems that this child has suffered more than enough to atone for any small transgressions she may have committed.”

“Fortunately for the welfare and property of honest English citizens,” Inglesham said, “the matter is not in your hands.” He glanced around and fixed his eyes on some point beyond the opposite stall. “If you ladies will go on to St. Paul’s Church, I shall meet you there when this business is concluded.”

Fleming followed Inglesham’s stare. His eyes narrowed. Without another word to Cordelia he withdrew, neatly losing himself in the crowd. Cordelia was about to argue with Inglesham when a small, scruffy terrier trotted up to the viscount, lifted his hind leg, and relieved himself on Inglesham’s spotless black ankle boot.

Inglesham jumped, kicking out at the dog with a curse. The terrier evaded his foot. The little thief wrenched her arm free of the viscount’s hold. He snatched at her sleeve, and as she struggled a silver pendant at the end of a frayed cord swung out from beneath her torn collar. She shoved it back under her bodice, writhing wildly, and her sleeve gave way in Inglesham’s hand. She was off like a fox before the hounds.

“Oh!” Theodora exclaimed. “Are your boots quite ruined, Lord Inglesham?” But her eyes met Cordelia’s in a flash of almost mischievous satisfaction.

Inglesham took himself in hand, dropped the filthy scrap of cloth and straightened his hat. “I beg your pardon, ladies,” he said. “I have obviously failed in my duty to protect you from such unpleasantness. Perhaps it would be best if I return you to the house.”

“Of course,” Cordelia said. “I believe Theodora has had her fill of the market … haven’t you, cousin?”

Theodora paid the flower seller for the blossoms she had dropped. “Indeed. It has been a most trying day.”

“Then let us put this incident behind us,” Cordelia suggested. “We shall be on our way home tomorrow, and the country air will soon put us to rights.”

Inglesham smiled, offering an arm to each of the women. “A very sensible suggestion, my dear Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said. “What would we do without you?”

His words were light, dismissing their recent quarrel. It seemed impossible for Bennet to hold a grudge; he could be quick to anger, and just as quick to forgive. His sincerity was beyond question.

And yet, as Inglesham hailed a hackney cab to take them back to Russell Street, Cordelia found herself watching for Mr. Donal Fleming, wondering why he had come and gone with such mysterious haste. She thought of the little dog who had appeared so fortuitously after Fleming vanished into the crowd. A very peculiar coincidence indeed. And what an exceedingly trying and vexatious gentleman, with those unwavering green eyes that seemed to judge and challenge her at one and the same time….

As the cab rattled away, Cordelia could have sworn that she saw Fleming with the girl, deep in conversation while the little terrier trotted happily at their heels.

She resolved then and there that Donal Fleming would not remain a mystery much longer.

THE GIRL WAS ALIVE.

Béfind paced across the silver floor of her crystal palace, her slippered feet beating a muted tattoo that shattered the morning’s perfect stillness. It had been many long years since she had felt such blinding rage. Life in Tir-na-Nog provided little cause for the primitive emotions that so consumed the lives of mortalkind; Fane might quarrel over a pretty trinket, or play spiteful tricks upon each other for the sake of an hour’s amusement, but such minor conflicts were as quickly forgotten as one’s latest love affair.

No, Béfind had not felt so since she had left the human world forty mortal years ago. She had never had any desire to return. The passions that ruled mankind—love and hate, joy and sorrow—were like some foul disease, defiling everything they touched.

Even a great lady of the Fane who had lived three thousand years.

With a whispered curse, Béfind went to stand between the fluted columns that framed a flawless view of the emerald lawn. The sun shone like a vast jewel in a cloudless sky, reigning over unblemished meadow and forest, lake and stream. Deer and horses of every hue grazed among the flowers. A sweet, warm wind ruffled the grass with playful fingers.

A female halfling, great with child, wandered among trees heavy with fruit and blossoms. She strolled beside a dark-haired Fane, laughing at his jests as if she enjoyed her pitiful condition. A mortal visitor to Tir-na-Nog might never realize that the girl was little more than a broodmare … an exotic, captive creature pampered and petted for one reason only: to save the Fane race from extinction.