He had been following her, she knew, when she had left the carriage, because she had looked over her shoulder to make sure. But now he was nowhere in sight. Had he lost her after one of the many turns? It must be so. She stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. If she waited for the footman she may lose the man with the loping gait: he could easily slip out of the back door of the house and be on his way again without her being any the wiser. But if she went in alone, she would be putting herself in danger. She felt herself torn in two directions. What should she do?
She crept closer to the house, pressing herself against the wall next to the window. Perhaps she would be able to hear something that would help her decide.
But she could hear nothing.
She thought for a moment, and then decided that she must take the risk of following him into the house. But suddenly the door opened again and he came out.
There was nowhere for her to hide this time, no shadows to shrink back into, no corner to turn.
She was caught.
“What the 'ell are you doing?” demanded the man, his foxy eyes boring into her.
“I lost my way.” It sounded a weak excuse, even to her own ears, but at such short notice she could think of nothing better. “I was trying to find the Exchange Hall. Perhaps you could give me directions?”
As she spoke she busily took in details of the man's appearance, in case she had to identify him at some future date. He was short — only an inch or two taller than she was herself, which put him at about five foot six. He had dark, lank hair and long side whiskers. His eyes were small and set close together. His lips were thin and his chin was pointed. His body, too, was thin — thin and wiry: though small, she guessed he would possess a great deal of strength.
“Lost your way, did you?” he sneered. “Looking for the Exchange 'all?” His tone was menacing. “Pull the other one, it's got bells on.” Then his eyes became sharper and he stood up straight, “'ere, 'aven't I seen you somewhere before?”
“I don't think so.” She began to back away.
He made no move to stop her and she thought he was going to let her go. But suddenly his hand whipped out and caught her arm. His grip was like iron. His fingers bit into her, even through her cloak.
“I know where I’ve seen you before,” he said, as realization dawned on him. “You were at the mill. Thought I didn't see you, didn't you? Slinking back into the shadows. Well you were wrong.” And opening the door behind him he made to drag her into the house.
Knowing that if he managed it she would be lost, Rebecca kicked him hard on the shin. He let out a curse, but the pain only made him clutch onto her more tightly.
“You'll pay for that,” he said menacingly, raising his hand to her.
Rebecca lifted her arm to shield herself from him — and then found herself pulled powerfully backwards, and before she knew what was happening, Joshua was standing in front of her and blocking the man's blow.
Catching the fist that was aiming at his head, Joshua deflected a second blow which was aimed at his mid-section. Not for nothing had he worked out at Gentleman Jackson's gym.
With a few moves he defended himself and then turned the tables on his assailant, twisting the man's arm up behind his back in an unbreakable lock.
At that moment the footman ran up.
“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Joshua, glaring at the footman. “You were supposed to be protecting Miss Fossington. Where were you when she needed you?”
“I lost her —” began the footman.
“Call yourself an ex-Runner?” asked Joshua fiercely. “A blind beggar could have made a better job of protecting her than you've done. What am I paying you for, man?”
“A Bow Street Runner?” asked the wiry man, his small eyes darting from one to the other of his captors.
“That's right,” said Joshua. “A Bow Street Runner. And one who can testify to the fact you attacked a young lady.”
“Lady?” sneered the wiry man. “If she's a lady, what's she doing creeping around the back streets of Manchester on her own. Doesn't seem very ladylike to me.”
Joshua tightened his grip on the man. “I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head,” he said dangerously.
“Oh! So that's the way it is, is it? Sweet on 'er, are you?” he leered. “I wouldn't mind a bit of that myself —”
“Take him in charge,” said Joshua, ignoring the man's taunts and pushing him towards the footman. “He is guilty of attacking Miss Fossington,” he said, unaware that the wiry man was the same person who had daubed the Luddite slogan on the mill wall. “And don't let him get away.”
“Oh, I won't let him get away,” said the footman, looking at the wiry man with a crooked smile. “I've got a bone or two to pick with him.”
Rebecca and Joshua looked at the footman curiously.
“Do you know him?” Joshua asked.
“Oh, yes. He's known to us, is Cyril Dunn,” said the footman.
“Ow do you know my name?” asked the man who had just been identified as Cyril Dunn.
The footman removed his powdered wig.
Dunn's face fell.
“Well, you'll be... Odgers,” he said, going white.
“Yes, my lad. Odgers,” said the footman with relish. Then he turned to Joshua. “This cove's wanted for any number of things. Hell do any amount of dirty work, so long as he's well paid. We'd have got to him sooner or later.”
“It's a pity it wasn't sooner,” said Joshua unrelentingly.
The footman looked abashed. “But if I'm meant to look after Dunn, who's going to look after Miss Fossington?” he said, in an effort to make amends for losing her earlier.
“Miss Fossington,” said Joshua curtly, “is coming with me.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.
“No arguments,” he said brusquely. Then taking her by the arm he steered her through the maze of dark streets and into a more respectable area. “I have rented a house down here until I can find one I want to buy,” he said as he guided her down the broader thoroughfare.
“You can't simply —” began Rebecca, beginning to feel angry at the way he was manhandling her.
“Oh, can't I?” demanded Joshua. His face was set and he spoke between gritted teeth.
Rebecca felt his suppressed anger, and knew he was furious because she had put herself in danger. But she had had no intention of letting Dunn get away from her when she had had the chance to stop him.
In a few minutes they had left the maze of twisting back streets behind them, traversed the more respectable roads and arrived at an impressive residence. Without letting go of her arm Joshua escorted her up the steps.
“I can't go into your house without a chaperon,” Rebecca protested. “Let me go.”
“You can have a chaperon when I've finished with you,” he said darkly, steering her into the house.
He waved away the lackeys who would otherwise have greeted him and guided Rebecca through into the sitting-room. It was furnished in a simple and masculine style. There were no floral curtains or cushions scattered around. Everything was of good quality, but plain.
“Now, why don't you tell me what the hell you were doing, putting yourself in danger like that,” said Joshua, dropping Rebecca's arm and glaring at her as he closed the door.
“Thank you,” retorted Rebecca, annoyed by his high-handed attitude, whatever its cause, and deciding he needed reminding of his manners. “I would like some refreshment. How kind of you to offer it.”
She glared at him defiantly.
“What were you doing in the back streets of Manchester on your own?” demanded Joshua, ignoring her remarks and going straight to the heart of the matter.
“I might well ask you the same question,” she returned.
“I was checking up on a number of properties. There are some houses there for sale at a reasonable price, and although squalid at the moment they could be made clean and comfortable. I was going to tell you about them later, and see if you thought we should invest in them, renting them out to our workers for a reasonable price.”