‘Hell!’ cursed Alex as he threw his arms in front of Dora to stop her being catapulted off the bench seat.
The rapid, percussive bangs spooked the poor beast. It gave a shrill neigh and bolted, forgetting it had a carriage attached behind it. That became yet another thing to alarm the mare as the cab rattled and clanged as it found every rut and every kerb in their wild career. Dora held on for dear life as people screamed, shouted and dived out of the way. A cart sellingoranges went flying, then a tinker’s barrow loaded with pots and pans.
‘Do we still have a driver?’ she shouted.
Alex glanced behind them through the window in the back of the passenger compartment. ‘Can’t see him. Hold on.’
The jarvey had likely been thrown in the first charge. Piccadilly went by in a blur, pedestrians scattering, vehicles driving up onto the pavement to clear a way. People shouted and cursed, but there was little they could do to stop this.
‘We have to get the horse back under control,’ said Dora. ‘Hold me steady.’
‘Dora—’
‘Just do it, Alex.’ She could see the reins flapping about because they were still attached to the brackets on the roof that fed them to the coachman behind. If she could just get up and reach them, she could pull them down and she might be able then to stop the horse.
‘We’re almost at Haymarket,’ warned Alex. ‘We might have to bail out.’
She knew what he meant. With the Illuminations at the Little Theatre being one of the chief locations of the celebrations, the broad road would be full of revellers. People would die if the hackney carriage mowed into them. She and Alex would likely be killed or seriously injured in a collision if they stayed inside. No more time to think.
‘Brace me.’ She struggled up, feeling his firm grip around her thighs as he used his long legs to push against the compartment walls. The horse swerved and she would’ve been thrown out if it weren’t for Alex. She jerked forward then righted herself.
‘Can you reach?’ he shouted.
‘Almost.’ The reins danced at the end of her fingertips. ‘Damn these blasted things!’ She pushed up another inch, Alex lifting her a little. ‘Got them!’ Hauling them down with her, sheshortened the straps, winding them round and round her hands and sat back on the bench. ‘Steady, girl! Steady, Sally!’
The poor mare, sweat dripping down her flanks, pulled and frisked. Alex put his arms around Dora, doubling his hands over hers, and helped keep the pressure up on the reins. Feeling the familiar tug on her bit, the mare began to slow. Exhausted, she stumbled and almost went down, but recovered to a walk, then staggered to a full stop, lungs going like the blacksmith’s bellows, neck drooping to the cobbles.
Alex leaped out and went to the horse’s head to seize the bridle. With Dora holding the reins, they slowly guided the mare to the side of the road just a few feet short of the junction with the Haymarket.
But the danger wasn’t over yet. Dora clambered out and reached back in for Alex’s swordstick and her reticule. A crowd was gathering, but it was hard to tell if they were the curious or the enemy. Jacob had had his pockets picked by someone pretending to help.
‘Are you all right, dearie?’ asked one buxom lady with a flower-decked straw hat, out for a night enjoying the Illuminations. It was hard to imagine her as part of any conspiracy involving Frenchcomtes. ‘That poor ’oss looks like it’s gonna keel over and die.’
‘It had a scare. Someone let off a firecracker,’ said Dora, her heart still racing like the cab but a moment ago.
‘They should be ’anged, they should, scarin’ the poor ’oss like that!’
‘Let me help you to a chair,’ said a gentleman, a sleek-looking gentleman of fashion with his hair pomaded and primped. He was wearing a dove-grey jacket, but Dora didn’t want strangers of any description near her.
‘No, thank you. I am quite well, I assure you.’ She ducked behind Alex. Past him, she could see two men were runningtowards them from the direction they had come. It could be innocent– friends of the cabdriver come to rescue his vehicle and horse. Or it could be someone with quite different motives. ‘Mr Smith?’ She flicked her gaze behind him. He turned to look, then addressed the man in the grey jacket.
‘My good man, would you mind holding on to the horse while we seek assistance from the Watch? A man might’ve been injured by the idiot throwing firecrackers and my wife should go indoors to recover.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said the man, taking hold of the bridle. ‘See to the lady.’
Alex took a grip on her elbow and they made their escape down Coventry Street, the direction keeping up with the story that they were heading for the nearest Watchhouse.
‘Are we really going for the Charlies, husband?’ asked Dora as they ran.
‘What possible good would that do? Let someone else sort out the hackney; we’ve got to get away before those pursuers catch up with us.’ Alex glanced behind. ‘Bloody hell, they’re still following us. Dark brown jacket. Black jacket.’
‘Any ideas where we can lose them?’ They dodged between the people but with Alex’s height they were difficult to lose in the crowd.
‘I have an idea, but I don’t think you’ll like it.’ Alex grimaced.
‘Go on.’
‘How about Long Acre? No one will question a man taking a woman into one of the bagnios and if we pay the men on the door, they’ll keep others out.’
