“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman said from behind Mungo. “You need to learn that you can’t just take what you want! This man saved me from a fate worse than death. It’s you that should be punished, not us,” she hissed.
“You’ll pay, and I have the power to see it done. I’ll find your name?—”
“Mungo,” he snapped. “I’ll save you the bother of trying to find it. What’s yours?” The man stayed silent, and he snorted. “Not very brave are you?” he taunted.
“You’ll be sorry,” the man said.
He then ran at Mungo, but he was ready and punched him hard in the jaw, sending him backward. He felt the skin of his knuckles split, but he relished the bite of pain.
The man rose and swung. Mungo ducked and ploughed his fist into his stomach. He then jabbed with his right fist into his jaw again. He went down hard.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted to inflict more damage. But the hiccupping sob behind Mungo stopped him. She didn’t need to watch him beat a man senseless. Not when she was already in shock.
He bent to grab the man’s necktie. Hauling him up so their faces were mere inches apart, he said, “Never touch her, nor any other woman, with anything but respect again. Do you understand?”
The man cursed something foul. Mungo shook him, but he didn’t yield.
His fingers itched to punch him again, but instead he dropped him and was rewarded with the sound of his head hitting the ground hard.
Turning, he searched for the woman. He’d see her to safety.
She wasn’t there.
He then heard the sound of running feet, and the words “thank you” floated to him on the air. Turning back, he watched the man slink off into the foggy shadows.
“You’ll pay!” he slurred, and Mungo hoped that was because he’d knocked out a few teeth.
“If I see you again, you’ll come off worse!” Mungo answered, stepping back out onto the street.
There was no way he’d find the woman, so he had to hope she’d reach a safe place. He retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his knuckles and walked away.
He’d not be telling those he lived with about this. They’d fash about it for hours. They were safe in their homes, as they would always be if he had any say in the matter.
CHAPTER TWO
Mungo took a wrong turn twice until he resorted to walking beside the buildings so he could see where he was.
A large figure brushed by him, and he tensed, preparing for the hand that might slip into his pocket.
“Good evening, Mungo.”
“Mavis, you nearly stopped my heart.”
Mavis Johns was a Crabbett Close resident, and some said her personality mirrored his. She had the odd habit of walking the streets of London alone for hours.
“Why would you be out on such a night, woman?”
“I never miss my walk. It helps with aging,” she said, slowing her steps to walk with him. “I’ve no wish to end my days bent like a fishhook.”
He couldn’t disagree with that sentiment.
“Good evening to you, Mungo.”
“Mavis.”
The fog soon swallowed her whole.
After a further twenty minutes’ walk, the soft glow of thetea shop appeared. The small building had a lemon-hued facade and Hatfield’s Tea Shop painted in pink lettering on the window.
