Constance turned toward the male voice and stopped abruptly. She put a hand to her chest, but she was startled by the man’s appearance. He wore a thick beard, but it grew oddly, in patches, and although he had a lean athletic build, she could tell by his worn, wool clothes that he wasn’t a gentleman. In truth, he looked like the sort of men who would frequent her former gaming hell.
And they were generally not good news.
She ignored him and continued walking. She would have kept heading for the exit to the park, but it was what he said next that gave her pause. “Were ye supposed t’ meet someone a’ th’ Achilles statue this mornin’?”
Constance slowly turned and pinned him with her sharp gaze. Now that she looked closer, she saw that there was something like apprehension in his expression. Suddenly, her stomach dropped into her feet, because she had the feeling she knew why he was here. Even so, she kept her tone light when she replied, “I might have been.”
Relief definitely entered his expression. “Would ye be willin’ t’ come wit’ me?” He held up his hands, palms outward. “I promise I mean ye no ill will. A… friend has been injured an’ one o’ th’ last words ’e spoke was about ye.”
Constance was hot and cold at the same time. She didn’t know what to feel other than the fact she had to see the individual he was speaking of. She could feel the press of cold metal against her thigh and the small dagger she’d carried with her as long as she could remember, and it gave her a sense of comfort. If this was nothing more than a ploy to get her alone, she would have a special surprise for him.
“Lead the way, Mr.…?”
“House.”
She lifted a brow, sure that it was an assumed name, but since he offered no more and stalked past, she had little choice but to follow now and ask questions later.
He waved down a hackney and looked at her expectantly. She climbed inside before he joined her. He gave the driver a nondescript address that led to somewhere in Seven Dials, and she narrowed her gaze on him. “Might you offer any further information on where we’re going? Or continue to keep me unaware?”
“T’ my lodgings.”
Well, that certainly didn’t tell her anything. “Why?”
He eyed her skeptically and shot back, “Are ye goin’ t’ keep askin’ questions, or just wait an’ see?”
She snorted, having always been rather respectful of a worthy rejoinder. “I suppose I can be patient, but just so you are aware, I know my way around a pistol and will use it if necessary.”
He eyed her for a moment and then nodded his head. “Aye, I imagine that’s true. It’s probably why Devin took a likin’ to ye.”
Her pulse picked up speed. “Devin?”
“Did he no’ even tell ye ‘is name?” This time, he snorted with a shake of his head. “No’ tha’ I’m surprised. It was why I’d nicknamed ’im th’ Mysterious Marauder. T’ this day I’m surprised ’e never wore a mask on ’is adventures.”
“The Mysterious Marauder.” Constance echoed, rolling the pseudonym around. It fit quite nicely on her tongue, just as she imagined he would. She quickly tamped down those sorts of thoughts and said, “What is his surname?”
“Blackmore. ’E’s as close t’ a son tha’ I ever had.” He turned to glance out the window. “An’ now I’m afraid I’m goin’ t’ lose him after he was finally restored t’ me.”
Constance tried to keep her own anxiousness at bay. “What happened?” she asked evenly.
“’E was shot last night. Outside o’ th’ Theatre Royal.”
If Constance hadn’t already been sitting, she would have surely collapsed to the floor. Not only was it shocking to learn that he had been shot, but if the morose look on Mr. House’s face could be believed, that would mean he would have met his nemesis shortly after he’d approached her in the auditorium.
She had the sudden urge to retch. “How bad is it?”
He sighed heavily. “Tommy was able t’ get th’ bullet out, but he lost a lot o’ blood. ’E might die jus’ from tha’, an’ that’s if infection don’t set in.”
“You didn’t take him to an actual physician?” she demanded, horrified that Devin’s life might have been spared if he’d only seen an actual doctor of medicine.
Instantly, his expression darkened. “I couldn’t take th’ chance tha’ Granelli would find ’im an’ finish th’ job.” As the hackney slowed, House stared at her intently and withdrew a black cloth. “I’m goin’ t’ have t’ blindfold ye.”
Her lips twisted. “Don’t you trust me?”
He mirrored her expression. “I’m sure ye understand tha’ in my line o’ work, it’s important tha’ I don’t show all o’ my cards.”
“Indeed.” Constance was still a bit leery, but she decided to continue this charade until its conclusion. Either he was telling the truth about this “mysterious marauder,” or she would make sure he found himself with a dagger in his gullet. She waited patiently as he put the cloth around her eyes and tied it firmly in the back.
She heard the carriage creak as he departed, although he took her hand and assisted her down from the carriage while she was enveloped in darkness. The sounds of the city were quickly muffled as they made their way past a creaky door and up some rather rickety stairs. They had to walk slow and watch their footing lest she risk tumbling back down. The air also wasn’t very pleasant with a mixture of foul concoctions that she didn’t care to name. She wasn’t surprised to find that a man like Mr. House lived in such conditions, as she recalled that John Keats had once called the Seven Dials a place ‘where misery clings to misery for a little warmth, and want and disease lie down side-by-side, and groan together.’
