Chapter Twelve
Drake
Drake had seenBane in earnest conversation with Cilla during the dance after supper, but it wasn’t until the brothers were walking home together after the ball that he finally had an opportunity to find out what they were talking about.
He was furious, and if Bane hadn’t restrained him with a hand on his arm, he’d have turned around to hunt down Curston and Marple, and teach them a lesson.
“Think, man,” said Bane. “If you attack a pair of aristocrats, who is going to end up in court charged with assault? And you’ll not be able to defend yourself, either. Not without damaging the reputation of our ladies.”
Blast. Bane was right. “We cannot let it sit, though, Bane,” he protested. “You say you’ve warned Cilla and through her Livy, but Marple has the inside track, as the son of their chaperone. It is bad enough that they spend so much time in the house where he lives. But if they move in? Locking their bedchamber doors won’t be enough if he’s determined. Also, he’ll know where they’re going and who with, and will be able to tell his friend.”
Drake couldn’t understand how his brother was so calm. Did the man not have a heart?
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Bane said. “I suggest a counter attack on three fronts. I’ve warned Cilla, and through her, Livy.That’s one. Forewarned is forearmed, and they’ll protect one another. The second won’t work if Wintergreen is in favor of the match with Marple, but I think we must tell their father what we heard. If he objects to the plotting, he’ll be able to insist that the sisters stay under his roof. The third is to tell Garry and Drew. If they enlisted the ladies of their family to look after our ladies, that would keep Livy and Cilla safe at events.”
“Marrying them would keep them safest of all,” Drake commented, “but would they consider it? Would Wintergreen give his permission? Is it too early to ask?”
“Look out!” Bane’s warning shout gave Drake time to duck sideways, and the blow aimed at his head struck a glancing blow to his shoulder, instead. Drake twirled as he came out of his crouch, weaving to avoid his assailant’s second strike, and landing a punch that not only had all his own strength behind it, but was amplified by the attacker’s own forward momentum.
The man fell backward and lay still.
Bane was fighting two more men, but Drake had no sooner turned to help him than Bane managed a buffet to the side of the head of each such that he clapped their heads together, and they, too, sank to ground.
“Dead or out cold?” Bane asked, nodding toward the man Drake had dealt with.
Drake was flexing his hand. It wasn’t broken, but that was an almighty punch. He checked his attacker and reported, “Out cold.”
“This one isn’t,” said Bane, pulling one of the others up by a handful of necktie, so that the man’s eyes were almost level with Bane’s own and his feet dangled, just the toes of his boots scuffing the ground. “Who sent you?” Bane demanded.
The man’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he searched for a way out, but Bane’s grip was firm. He shook the man. “Who sent you? Answer me.” Another shake.
The man squealed, “Don’t know, do I? Some gent. Dressed like you. Plummy voice.” He pointed the way Bane and Drake had come. “Back along there. Said to rough you up bad, and take anything you had on you. Paid us a spangle each.”
Drake was investigating the pockets of the other two men. Another cosh. Several knives. Several coins, including a gold one from each villain. It was the coin known as a “spangle”—a seven-shilling piece or one-third of a guinea. Three villains, three spangles. So, someone who had seen them walking this way had paid these bully boys a guinea to assault him and Bane.
“Hand them over to the Watch?” Drake suggested.
“This man who paid you?” Bane asked the man he was still dangling. “Did he warn you that you’d need more than three of you to take us on?”
“Nah,” the man said. Another of the assailants was groaning his way back into consciousness. Bane cast a glance at him then asked the first man, “The stick pin in the gent’s cravat. Winged, with a blue stone? Or a bird skull?”
“Bird skull,” the man confirmed. Curston, then. That had been his cravat pin of choice tonight. The winged one was Marple’s.
After lowering the man so his feet were firm on the ground again, Bane let go of his necktie and stepped back. The second man was trying to sit up and the third man was stirring. “Let’s not bother with the Watch. Curston will deny paying them, and they’ll hang for assaulting us and probably for stealing the spangles. I don’t want them to hang.”
Bane’s tough exterior hid a soft heart.
“At the very least,” Drake said, “we should take their money. They shouldn’t profit from attempting to ‘rough us up bad,’ as he put it.” He was wasting his breath and he knew it. He sighed. “I suppose you want me to give them back their knives, too.”
He sighed again and made a small pile of the items he’d abstracted from the pockets of the unconscious men.
“I think I’ll have a sword stick made,” he told Bane as the two of them strode away from the recovering attackers. “I can run the next man through before you have a chance to feel sorry for him.”
“We should add a little chat with Curston onto our list of things to do,” Bane commented.
*
Livy
