Poor Grimmond had been uncomfortable leaving the townhouse. Calliope had almost needed to resort to pushing him out the door and latching it behind him. She had finally hinted he could check on how things were faring at Stephen’s primary residence. Grimmond had never complained about his interim role, but she knew he worried about Stephen.
She couldn’t wait to find out from Stephen how much bullying Grimmond had done in the few hours he’d been back.
The rest of the staff thought her a trifle odd; Betsy’s well-intentioned appreciation had confirmed Calliope’s suspicions. Giving them the night off had only increased their perception of her as peculiar. Peculiar, maybe, but every one of them, bar Grimmond, had disappeared as soon as their shift was complete.
The servants’ perceived notions of hierarchy excluded her from joining them. She had scoffed at how the nobility treated their servants. Yet her servants had not allowed her to treat them any differently. She poked her pen into the inkwell. She’d redouble her efforts to win the servants over. She wasn’t part of the nobility; the servants would eventually relate to her.
She sighed. She missed the camaraderie of the active theater atmosphere. But loneliness could be kept at bay. The endless parties and ideas were what she had wanted. And they were what she had received.
Calliope looked down at her paper. The walls had gotten closer and there were faces in the windows.
Tea. Go get some tea, you ninny .
The floorboard in her room creaked again, and suddenly the kitchen seemed a long way off.
Calliope gathered her remaining courage and descended the stairs to brew a cup and wait for Stephen.
The man gazed at the slim shaft of light coming from the townhouse window. The little filly was probably getting ready for a big night out. He spat on the sidewalk, and a snarl curved his lips. Fancy men and their fancy pieces. He had no use for the first, but the latter might make a fun bit of sport when this assignment was over. A wicked gleam lit his eyes. A fun bit, indeed.
Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. A young lad ran up the path toward the house. The man pulled out a baton and held still. The lad moved just past his hiding spot. Thunk. The boy crumpled lifelessly to the ground. The man stepped over the slight body and rifled through the boy’s pockets.
Picking up an envelope, he ripped it open and scanned the contents.
Cal , leave the house immediately. Take the carriage to the Dalys'. I will explain when I reach you.
Stephen
Good, the man thought. Very good. He looked up at the weak but steady stream of light from the window. No rush here. Nothing to tip the gal off. He could take his time dealing with Chalmers and finish here later. He rifled through the rest of the boy’s clothes, pocketing some loose bills and a most likely stolen pocket watch, and then he lifted the inert body and melted into the shadows.
Stephen backed against the cold railing. He was outnumbered. The rotten stench of the Thames drifted up to the bridge, but couldn’t quite mask the odor of the ruffians surrounding him.
They rushed him, and he managed to lodge a few damaging blows before the sheer number of hands beat him to the ground. Then their feet took over. He felt a heavy object hit the back of his skull and the ground became fuzzy.
"Enough." A tall man advanced to the front. His voice was low and masked like his face and hair. He was obviously in charge.
The attackers backed away, and Stephen gasped for air. He hauled himself up against the bridge railing. The pain in his head was excruciating and his chest seared. His insides felt like collapsed dominoes.
Stephen searched the small, blurred crowd and found no help, only bloodlust.
"Where is the ring?" The tall man asked.
Stephen reached behind him and felt the other side of the railing. He grunted in pain. "Go to hell, traitor."
"Too bad that’s your attitude, Chalmers. I believe we could have done business together had you been willing to be more cooperative. However, under the circumstances…" The man shrugged, and the gesture confirmed his identity. Stephen had spoken with him no more than five hours earlier.
The puzzle was solved. Stephen finally had answers, but it was too late. He coiled his remaining strength.
The tall man gestured to a burly ruffian wielding a club. "Leonard, y0u know what to do."
Stephen waited for the thugs to make a swath large enough for the man called Leonard to advance, and then he launched himself over the railing.
"Bloody hell!" he heard from the street above before he plunged into the cold, dark waters of the Thames. His last thought before all went black was a prayer that Calliope had left the townhouse, and that James had received his hastily scrawled message.
Calliope began to worry. It was growing late, and Stephen hadn’t arrived or sent a note. Normally, he was annoyingly punctual, so when he hadn’t arrived at nine she had to wave off a feeling of unease. When he hadn’t shown by ten she began pacing. When he hadn’t arrived by eleven she was ready to go searching.
The mantel clock struck midnight.
Anxiously, she peered through the front window but could see nothing amiss. The street looked empty. The nearly moonless night made it difficult to see. A prickling on the back of her neck made her close the drapes. If she weren’t feeling so skittish already, she would have sworn she was being watched.
Things hadn’t gone as planned, the man reflected as he watched the pretty face disappear from the window. His employer hadn’t been pleased with the outcome. Who would have thought Chalmers would be crazy enough to jump?
The man shrugged. Let the others search for Chalmers in the filthy waters. He alone would find the ring and be rewarded.
A hard, cold-eyed smile crossed his harsh features.
He would find it right after he found out if the lady knew its location. He hoped she did. The spirit he had glimpsed in her would serve him well. Dragging the information out of her slowly would be quite pleasurable.
They didn’t call him Curdle for nothing.
Calliope walked to her wardrobe, intent on packing her overnight things and heading to the Dalys’. She sensed something was wrong, could almost taste it in the air. She had a number of things out and ready to pack when she heard another squeak. The creak in the front door hadn’t been fixed yet, and she was suddenly glad. Her glance flew around the room and settled on the beautiful gold and mahogany cane she always kept nearby. She grasped it and padded softly to the bedroom door, her stomach clenched tightly. She heard footsteps ascending the stairs. She wiped her cold brow.
A door opened down the hallway and closed half a minute later. Another door was opened and closed. Her door was next.
Calliope raised the heavy rod above her head as the door to her room slowly opened. A man’s boot was thrust into the doorway, and the rest of his body followed.
She pulled the cane down with all the strength she could muster, but the rod was easily caught in his hand. She pulled the cane back to jab the intruder in the side, but he yanked her forward.
Calliope found herself hauled unceremoniously against the hard chest of the Marquess of Angelford. He looked down at her, expressionless. Her mouth hung open, she panted slightly. His eyes turned molten and suddenly she was brilliantly aware of every place where his body pressed against her. He continued to melt her with his eyes and for a wild moment she thought he might kiss her. Instead he roughly picked her up and dumped her on the bed.