He stalked off, shoving his way through the field of laundry, leaving fallen fabric in his wake. As Pippa watched him exit the courtyard, she debated following. Sighing, she acknowledged that she couldn’t risk further action. She was lucky that Hastings hadn’t seen through her cover.
Actually, it wasn’t luck. Why had the children intervened on her behalf?
She turned to thank her diminutive rescuers…only to see them scampering off.
“Wait,” she called. “Why did you help me?”
They didn’t look back and kept running, disappearing down the alleyway from which she’d entered. Her curiosity hooked, she took off after them.
Despite their short legs, the tots ran like the wind. They dodged people and vehicles with seasoned ease. She tried to catch up, but they were too quick. They ran down a pier, leaping onto a docked barge. By the time she reached the dock, the barge had glided off on the black water of the Limehouse Cut, a canal bordered by tenements and manufactories.
Catching her breath, Pippa braced her hands on her hips and stared after the vessel. A lamp at the stern limned a large, cloaked figure. She squinted…it was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by a hood. He lifted his hands, and the mournful notes of a flute stirred the hairs on her nape.
The flute was the signature instrument of the Prince of Larks, a mysterious and powerful figure in the London underworld. The prince ruled the mudlarks, children who scavenged the Thames for second-hand goods, but whose real trade was that of information. It was said that little happened in London without the prince’s knowledge; if one wanted answers, he could provide it…for a price.
The price could be money or something dearer. Part of the prince’s mystique lay in his ruthless and mercurial nature. Rumors swirled about how his enemies disappeared, never to be seen again. Even his face was a mystery, for he ruled from the shadows and behind a mask. Charlie, on occasion, employed his group to discover information. Yet even she, formidable lady that she was, urged caution when using his services.
“The mudlarks are driven by forces beyond the understanding of outsiders,”Charlie had said.“Never underestimate them or take any favors unless you know what is expected in return.”
Pippa’s chest tightened. From personal experience, she knew better than to accept anything from the prince. For swathed in that cloak of mystique was none other than Timothy Cullen, the lad who’d spent a month recovering in her home fourteen years ago. An image flashed in her head of the handsome boy who’d befriended her and given her a kiss…then left.
Without so much as an adieu.
Just another male who has exited my life under mysterious circumstances,Pippa thought darkly.Why did Cullen interfere in my plans tonight? What is his purpose?
She curled her hands. She was no longer a naïve chit, a pawn in any man’s game. After burying Edwin, she’d vowed that she would learn from her mistakes. She, and no one else, would decide her fate.
Scanning the canal, she saw that the barge had come to a stop. The boat ahead of it had gotten stuck beneath the low railway bridge that crossed the canal about a hundred yards ahead. She gauged the distance from the bridge to the deck of the barge and judged it to be less than ten feet.
In a split second, she made her decision. She ran from the dock to the street parallel to the canal, sprinting toward the railway bridge. With a glance to make sure no train was approaching, she dashed onto the bridge and peered over the railing. The previously stuck boat was now sailing under, the mudlarks’ barge approaching.
From here, the drop looked a wee bit farther than she’d calculated. Her blood rushing through her veins, she climbed over the railing and prepared to jump. To discover what, after all these years, Timothy Cullen wanted from her.
2
“What is holding up that bloody lighter ahead of us?” Cull demanded.
“The mast got caught on the bridge, by the looks o’ it,” Long Mikey replied from where he navigated the barge. “Sodding amateurs.”
At eighteen, Long Mikey was one of Cull’s trusted captains, having worked his way up the ranks since joining the mudlarks at the age of six. He’d sprouted in the last year, his moniker no longer ironic now that he was over six feet, nearly seeing eye to eye with Cull. Mikey was an experienced sailor and the man to have at your back during trouble; despite his boyish looks and mop of brown hair, he was an expert with the daggers tucked in his boots.
Of course, Cull’s policy was to avoid violence where possible. He taught this tenet to every mudlark from the day he or she enlisted. As their leader, it was his job to keep them all safe, and he’d found more creative ways of solving problems than bloodshed.
“I’m seein’ movement, Cull,” Fair Molly called from the bow. “They’re off and away!”
At fourteen, the curly-haired girl was another captain and a rising star in the gang. The three other mudlarks who’d participated in the mission tonight—Honest Harvey, Plain Jane, and Keen-Eyed Ollie—were part of the team she headed. The small trio stood around her, snacking on a sack of pork pies.
“About bleeding time,” Cull said. “Let’s get a move on, Mikey.”
“Right-o, Captain.”
Cull felt on edge, and he didn’t fool himself as to the cause. He’d allowed himself to get too close to Pippa tonight. It was one thing to watch over her from the shadows—something he’d done for years—and another to step into the light. Light did no favors for a cove like him. He should have kept out of her sight.
But her reckless behavior had worried him. He’d tracked her down; from the alleyway, he’d seen her struggle with Hastings. Not wanting to foil her mission, he’d sent the larks in to help. It was supposed to be an in-and-out job; once Pippa was safe, he and his charges had raced back to the barge. Instead of going into the cabin, however, he had made the mistake of looking back…and had been arrested by all that was Pippa.
Even dressed like a lad, she’d taken his breath away. With her long, slender legs showcased in trousers, her hands fisted upon her hips, her pose had been defiantly graceful. His memories had stripped away her disguise, and he saw the girl he’d kissed in the bell tower fourteen years ago and who’d haunted his dreams since. While he could never talk to her face-to-face, not with him looking the way he did, he’d craved any kind of connection to her.
So he’d taken out his flute and played her a song.
