Page 2 of The Secret Word
Chris had recognized her name and he knew the answer to that. Wright was a common enough name, but combined with Clementine? She was the coal heiress, beyond a doubt, and her father was one of the richest mine owners in the United Kingdom.
Something about the way Miss Wright was not quite meeting his eyes hinted that she, too, knew the most likely reason criminals would attack her.
“Option three,” he replied. “You must have thought of it yourself, Miss Wright. I would have mentioned it before, had we been introduced earlier. Option three is ransom, though that doesn’t mean that other criminal groups will not prefer option one or option two.”
Oh-oh.He had grown up in places like this, and knew better than to allow her undoubted charms to keep him from scanning the street, looking for danger. But despite that, he’d been distracted.
Had he been watching, he would have run as soon as the first of the three men arrived at the mouth of the alley that led to Meadow Court. Now that three of them were gathered, he would be hard pushed to make it out of Bleak Street. He certainly could not manage it with Miss Wright in tow.
There was really only one option. “Miss Wright, there is someone I would like you to meet. Step this way, please.” He offered her his arm.
She put both of hers behind her back. “I do not think so, Mr. Satterthwaite. If that is your name. You keep telling me not to trust anyone and then insist I can trust you.”
They were coming. All three of the Brown brothers, and behind them, the rest of the gang. Cautiously, for this was on the borders of Ramping Billy O’Hara’s territory, and he’d not take kindly to the Brown brothers trespassing.
Chris sighed and pointed. “See those men, Miss Wright?”
She caught sight of Basher Brown’s grin and let out a squeak of dismay.Wise girl!She moved closer to Chris.
“This way,” Chris told her. He took her hand, and led her at a run up Bleak Street. To her credit, she ran like a deer, but the Brown gang was in full pursuit behind, and everyone else was turning away, pretending that they saw nothing.
There’d be no help in Bleak Street, butifthey could get down Snitch’s Alley and into Palmist Court, andifthe back door to Fortune’s Fool was open, andifthe doorkeeper would let him bring Clementine inside, they might come out of this with their skins.
There’d be a price to pay, of course. Ramping Billy had to have his due. But at least Miss Wright would be alive.
*
Clem hated itwhen men told her she couldn’t do something, but she had to admit that Mr. Satterthwaite had a point. She’d known as soon as she turned into Bleak Street that she shouldn’t have come. Not alone, anyway. But if she had asked one of the footmen who trailed her when she left the house through theusual exits, they would have told her father, and she would have been locked up for a month.
Besides, one of the footmen might be the cause of the problem—if it was not her father. She leaned toward thinking it was her father, or why would her former maid Amanda not tell her? Had Amanda been part of a plot to kidnap her? Clem could not discount the possibility.
Or there was no such plot, and Mr. Satterthwaite’s first two options were in play. She could certainly believe that the men chasing them would sell her into a brothel if there were a few pounds to be made, but she still wasn’t sure she was any safer with Mr. Satterthwaite.
Certainly, he looked and talked like a gentleman, but since the beginning of the Season, Clem had learned how unreliable surface impressions could be. That he was tall and handsome, with mesmerizing grey eyes, did not mean that he could be trusted.
Especially when he tugged her sideways and led her down a malodorous alley so narrow the buildings that lined the sides nearly met overhead, so they were running into deep shadows. Anyone could reach out from the few doors, but nobody did. The men behind them were whooping with glee, as if they knew Mr. Satterthwaite had led her down a dead end. Was he in league with them?
They broke out of the shadows into a patch of sunlight. A small courtyard between buildings, no more salubrious than the alley behind them. She had worn her best walking shoes for this expedition, thank goodness, for she did not want to think about what might have seeped through less sturdy footwear.
Mr. Satterthwaite looked over his shoulder, then pulled her toward a short flight of stairs. He leapt up them and hammered on the door at the top. “It’s Satterthwaite,” he shouted. “Let me in!”
The men chasing them came bursting out of the alley, one after the other. Mr. Satterthwaite abandoned his knocking and shouting. “Get behind me, Miss Wright. I’ll try to buy us some time.” He produced a knife from somewhere.
The men stopped their slow advance across the courtyard.
“Gi’e ’er to us, Fingers,” shouted one of them.
“Come here and I’ll fillet you, Basher,” Mr. Satterthwaite shouted back.
Then the door behind Clem opened, and Clem was pushed sideways to make way as a whole troop of large, sturdy men emerged. They were easily as big and as mean as the pursuers.
Formerpursuers. Basher and his gang reacted instantly to the new players, turning and running. In moments, they had disappeared down the alley with the men from the door behind them.
A man spoke from the doorway. “Mr. O’Hara requests a moment of your time, Mr. Satterthwaite—and company.”
Clem stared at him. He looked and sounded like a first-class butler, such as could be found in any house in Mayfair.
“This way, Miss…?” he said, stepping to one side and indicating the passage behind him with a subtle wave of the hand.
