Chapter Fourteen
At dawn thefollowing morning, as they left the club, both tired and perhaps not as alert as they might be, the first direct attack came. As they walked down toward the docks, shapes appeared out of alleys on either side, resolving into men as they drew closer, batons raised and knives out.
Without consultation, they moved smoothly into a defensive position, back-to-back. Mel let her knives fall into her hands, trusting to Allan to produce whatever weapon he carried, and prepared to teach these bullies a lesson.
There were so many of them! They might not come out of this in one piece, but if they were to die in this place, on this last day of the year, Mel swore they would not go unaccompanied into the eternal night.
It took her a moment to realize that half those she believed to be opponents were Moriarty’s guards, and they were laying about them with efficient and ruthless accuracy. Mel disabled one of those who managed to evade their allies. She cut his hand to make him drop his weapon, and hit him behind the ear with the hilt of her other knife to knock him to the ground.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Allan spun around to check on her. She had time to notice that he’d left two of the assailants groaning on the ground when he seized her and hugged her, so tightly that she could not get a breath.
“Melody! Are you hurt?” He drew back, gripping her upper arms to examine her, then hugging her again when she shook her head. Over her head, he spoke to one of Moriarty’s men. “Are they all accounted for?”
“All six, Lord Kemble. One dead, five disabled. We shall tie them up and deliver them to the Southwark Watch House.”
“After questioning,” said Allan. “I want to know who told them we’d be here.”
“It would not be hard to figure it out,” Mel commented. “You have been masked, yes, but you’ve not changed your body shapes. Ten brothers work at the Golden Adonis. Eight of the Sheppard brothers appear in the Burlington Arcade and announce the other two have gone overseas. Ten brothers resign from the Golden Adonis, nine of them effective immediately.”
“True,” said the Moriarty man. “But we shall ask, anyway. And we’ll ask who sent them, even if we think we know the answer to that. Be careful, my lord and madam. We cannot know whether this is the only ambush planned for this morning. Half my team shall escort you to the boats, and another team shall pick you up on the other bank of the river.”
The leader of the three who formed their escort questioned the boatman and searched the boat before he would let Allan and Mel leave. “We would be wise to choose another form of transport for tonight’s trip,” said Allan.
Mel agreed. New Year’s Eve. Their last night at the club. But if—as they assumed—the attack had been ordered by the marquess, then he would know where to find them. “We had better send a note to Madam Hera, telling her what happened,” she said. “It might not be safe for her and the club if we put in an appearance tonight.”
“If you will trust me with that message,” said the Moriarty man, “I can let her know what happened.”
“Tell her she can contact us through Lady Cornelius or Lady Ernest,” said Mel.
The guards waiting for them reported no suspicious activity, and the lock on the tunnel gate was intact. They made their way cautiously up to the lower tower without incident, and Allan shut them in and barred the door from the inside.
“Let us try to get a good sleep,” Mel suggested. “We are expected at Clara’s at one o’clock this afternoon, and it must be nearly eight in the morning by now.” Tired as she was, as soon as she put her head on her pillow, she fell asleep.
*
She woke twohours later from a deep sleep, not certain what had alerted her. The sounds were wrong. That was it. Accustomed to the background noise of the upper tower, she now had the deep stillness of the lower tower, with its thicker walls. The door of her chamber was thinner, though. Someone was moving around out in the center space.
When she wrapped herself in a shawl and went to investigate, she found that Allan was up, and was bending over a metal jug-like contraption that was heating over a spirit burner.
“Melody,” he said, when he noticed her. “Did you smell the coffee?”
She did now. The pleasing odor was rising from the jug. “It’s a Rumford percolator,” Allan explained. “Little to no smoke, and we’ll be able to drink fresh coffee in about ten minutes.” After a quick look at her in her nightgown and the loosely-wrapped shawl, he had his eyes fixed on his coffee machine.
That won’t do at all.
Mel dropped the shawl. “What shall we do for ten minutes?” she asked.
His head snapped around and his eyes devoured her for a moment before he said, in a hoarse voice, “My darling woman, if you mean what I think you mean, it shall take much longer than ten minutes.”
He was not rejecting her out of hand. Mel gulped back the lump in her throat and said, boldly though with a quaking stomach, “Then I suggest you turn off the coffee pot until we are ready.”
She watched in fascination but also disappointment as he jerked toward the pot as if moved by strings then stopped the motion, reasserted his iron control and replied to her, though his voice shook as he spoke. “I promised myself I would not take advantage of you when we are here alone.”
Taking heart from the fact that his voice was not fully under his control, and nor was his gaze—it continued to heat her skin as his eyes roved her form—Mel said, “I made myself no such promise. Allan, may I take advantage of you?”
What could she say to persuade him? “We are alone together, and I want to be with you. I warn you. I have little experience. My husband was not much interested in me, and I suspect he was not very accomplished in the arts of the bed chamber.”
That was what one of the women at The Golden Adonis had called them.The arts of the bed chamber.Mel had never seen much “art” in the messy, boring, uncomfortable process, but she was willing to learn.
