“My name is Miss Eliza Downing, and I was employed by Mr. Parson to work as a governess for his two daughters. He was abusive toward me and the staff constantly while I was in his employment, so much so that I hid whenever he wasnear. When I left on my last day of work, Mr. Parson was awaiting me outside.” She looked at Lord Seddon, and he gave her a gentle smile of encouragement.
“You are safe,” he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “He won’t touch you again.”
The words had her exhaling slowly before continuing.
“He grabbed me and threw me to the ground.”
Where Sergeant Haversham’s face was flushed with color before, it was now pale.
“I had no doubt of his intentions toward me, and he would have succeeded were it not for Mr. Fraser.”
“I think we need to pay Parson a visit,” Mr. Alexander Nightingale said.
“Agreed,” the other men said.
Eliza felt their support wrap around her. She didn’t know these men, but they believed her and were willing to stand by her while she said what she must. It was humbling. Yes, they were here for Mr. Mungo Fraser, but still, it felt good to be believed. To feel as if her word meant something.
“Now, I want Mr. Fraser released at once,” Bramstone Nightingale said, “or we will put our words into action, Sergeant. Clearly someone had a word in another’s ear, which is why Mungo has been arrested, but for now, his release will appease us. If you make us wait, it may not, and we will be digging deeper into this injustice.”
Sergeant Haversham fled.
“‘Allow me to intervene. I am Viscount Seddon.’” The tone was mocking, and came from Alexander Nightingale.
“Even without a title, I’ll always be better than you, Alex.”
“That will do,” Bramstone Nightingale said with what Eliza thought was practiced ease.
“It’s like I’m standing in the parlor of one of our houses,” Captain Sinclair said. “That’s exactly how we speak to eachother. Do you think Ellington has the magistrate in his pocket, or is the pocket his son’s?” he then asked.
“My money’s on Ellington. Sniveling weasel has friends in high places who are equally corrupt,” Bramstone Nightingale said. “His son is following in his footsteps, but I’ve not heard a great deal about him.”
“There are three men, including Haversham, in a room,” Captain Sinclair said, looking at a wall. “One has the same colors as Ellington. I always know the colors of my enemies’, as well as those of my friends. He’s a nasty shade of sludge brown.”
No one questioned this odd statement, but Bramstone Nightingale stepped into the doorway through which Sergeant Haversham had fled. He then cupped his hands around his mouth and roared, “I know you’re there, Ellington, and my advice to you is run, because when I’m done with you, there will be nothing left. I’ll destroy you!”
“I’m always really impressed when he’s mean because he’s so soft with all of us usually,” Mr. Alexander Nightingale said as if conversing over the dinner table.
“Ellington’s leaving. Running,” Captain Sinclair said.
Eliza wondered what she’d strayed into, but she would think about that later. Right now, she needed to ensure that the man who had saved her was freed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mungo fought the need to drop to his knees and rock.
“I’m strong,” he rasped, striding across the cell and back again. Just six steps both ways.
No exit. The walls were too close. This was his hell. A hell he’d lived only once in his life before and, when he’d escaped, vowed never to again. He blamed his brother for this fear like he blamed him for many things.
He focused on that. His brother stuffing him into that wooden bin with the dirty coal, and leaving him there for too long. He’d come out whimpering, and Calder had realized the damage his simple prank had done. A fear had been born that would not die, no matter how much he fought it.
“But this is different,” he reminded himself. This was in a watchhouse in London, and Bram was coming.He had to come.
Sweat trickled down his back and slicked the palms of his hands as he paced. Movement helped. Movement meant he was free, no restraints, no one holding him down.
He heard the roar then but couldn’t make out the words. Even so, he’d bet his life on those words coming from Bram.
The thud of boots minutes later had him reaching for his jacket and shoving his hands into his sleeves. He would not meet whoever stood outside in a shirt drenched with sweat. He pulled out his handkerchief, rubbed his face with it, and then smoothed his hair as best he could.
