We stepped out into the cold rain in the inky dark passageway, but Brewster didn’t give me much time to settle my coat before he herded me back to the main street.
“You believe them?” he asked.
“About knowing nothing about Pickett’s death?” I pulled my coat tighter against the chill. “I think so. There is not much dangerous about wanting to repeal the Corn Laws and improve the safety of the streets.”
“I mean about not harming you now that you know about them.”
I shrugged, to Brewster’s frustration. “I suppose that remains to be seen.”
“They’re following us again, guv,” Brewster said as we moved along Piccadilly. “The ones who were before, I mean. Must have been lying in wait for us to reappear. Should find a hackney.”
There were no hired hacks to be seen in all this rain, of course. I quickened my pace the best I could and turned up Berkeley Street, passing the great pile of Devonshire House.
Our pursuers chose to attack where Curzon Street curved toward the high wall of Chesterfield House, not far from Denis’s home. Here the road was quiet, the tall houses dark, as though their inhabitants had gone piously to bed.
I had my sword out of my walking stick and used its scabbard to smack away a small cudgel that came at me. The assailant ducked from my descending blade, which I could use with deadly precision.
I counted six of them. Four tried to beat down Brewster while only two faced me.
I was growing tired of people who wanted to teach me obedience. I’d left obedience behind the day my regimental colonel had sent me on a scouting mission he believed would lead to my death. While I’d since forgiven Colonel Brandon for his perfidy, I’d not let myself blindly follow orders again.
The second man coming at me grunted and cursed as my sword met his flesh. I’d not murder these two, but I’d give them plenty of stinging cuts to remember me by. Both men danced back, realizing they needed to keep their distance, but they didn’t flee.
Behind me, Brewster was fighting for his life. He’d once been a formidable pugilist, but these men were giving him no quarter. I inched my way to him, preparing to jab a few backs to give them something else to think about.
The moment I turned to help Brewster, my attackers rushed me. I could not assist Brewster until these two were down, but while they bled from my sword blows, they weren’t leaving me be.
Brewster was swearing and grunting, fists meeting his body with gruesome thunks. He needed aid, but the men on me, realizing I wouldn’t kill them outright, were not letting me near him.
A shout sounded beyond our ring of battle, and a light flashed. My two assailants glanced behind them, stiffened with alarm, and faded quickly down the street into the darkness and rain.
Chapter 19
The light proved to be a lantern, carried by the tall, gaunt figure of Gibbons. One of Brewster’s opponents turned, saw him, and abruptly sprinted away after his fellows.
The others were too intent on subduing Brewster to take notice.
“Clear off, you lot.” Gibbons’ angry tones cut through the fracas. His stride was not swift, but he moved with deadly intent.
Mr. Stout and the diminutive Mr. Downie were with him, Mr. Downie also bearing a lantern. Stout had a cudgel in his beefy hand and wore an expression of grim determination.
Brewster struggled out from under his three attackers, who finally noted Gibbons and the others bearing down on them. Stark fear filled the assailants’ hard countenances before they too fled.
I helped Brewster to his feet. He wiped his bloody and sweating face on his sleeve and nodded at Gibbons. “Thank ye for your timely appearance,” he said good-naturedly. “Though it were a good scrap.”
Gibbons gave the pair of us a once-over. “Get inside.” He uttered the command then turned and stalked with the same deliberate pace back toward the house.
Stout scowled at us before he followed, but Downie shot us a grin.
“A timely intervention, indeed,” I said to Downie. “Those fellows certainly seemed afraid of Mr. Stout.”
Downie chuckled. “Oh, they ain’t afraid of Stout. Nor me. It’s Gibbons what put the wind up them.”
“He is certainly menacing,” I conceded. “Though I think you or Stout would have been more adroit combatants.”
“Nay, Mr. Gibbons would kill them as soon as look at them, and they know it.”
“Here in the street?” I asked in surprise. “So close to Denis’s house?”
