Page 49 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
“This morning he came and said the great row that I could hear was about me, but that Frye wouldn’t be fooled. He said that I was going to hang for sure and laughed as he said I would piss myself and lose my bowels in front of the crowd gathered to watch me die.”
The man in front of Niall made a sound of protest.
“But I’d been waiting on my chance,” Yardley continued. “I had the slip from my pillow all ready, folded into a strip, with a long-handled spoon tied into one end. When that damned pest of a constable mocked me, I shouted back. I came right up to the bars and cursed him soundly—and he pressed right up on his side too, spitting at me. I just… reached out and grabbed him. I grabbed his jacket collar and leaned back, pulling him tight and hard against the bars, while I stuck my foot out and hooked it behind his to keep him off balance and unable to pull away.” He looked pale, but went on. “Then I wound that slip around his neck with my other hand. I twisted it tighter and tighter while he fought and grunted and his eyes bulged out—and he eventually went down.”
“Damn, Yardley,” someone said, low.
Yardley shrugged. “Once his lights went out, I grabbed his keys, let myself out, and dragged him inside before I locked it back up again.” He sneered. “Let him yell until his voice goes rough, with everyone ignoringhimfor a change.”
Niall shook his head, then winced at the stab of pain. “This won’t help your case. Every policeman in London will be out for your blood.”
“They were already out for my neck!” Yardley cried.
“We won’t let them hang you, John,” one of the men assured him. “We’ll get you out.”
The cobbler shot Niall an anguished look. “I cannot stay here and wait for them to hang me for a murder I did not commit.”
Niall knew then there was no changing Yardley’s mind. He could see it in the man’s eyes. He nodded. “We’ve found that Glynn believed that a man inside the Waif’s Wardrobe is preying on women and girls associated with the charity. Think, man. Do you have an inkling who it could be?”
Yardley shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Niall sighed in disappointment.
“I’m leaving. Getting out,” Yardley said. “I’ll start over somewhere.”
“Which is more than you’ll be doing, mate,” someone said to Niall.
“No,” Yardley said sternly. “You will not harm him. You cannot. He’s a duke.”
“What? Him?” the closest man scoffed.
“Him. And more than that, he and his lady wife came to my aid when I asked it of them. They cleared me of what charges they could.” Yardley met Niall’s gaze. “And he showed up today, trying to do more.”
“We cannot play nursemaid to a duke,” the same man objected. “We have to move fast, John, if you are to set sail—”
One of the men hissed and the man stopped talking.
“It’s your decision, Yardley. I won’t try to stop you. And there’s a part of me that might do the same, in your shoes,” Niall said, still nauseated and trying not to breathe deeply.
“Well, what do we do with him?” someone asked.
“Toss him over,” one of the oarsmen called.
They all looked to Yardley, who hesitated a long moment before nodding.
Niall was hauled to his feet and boosted up from the hollow interior to the flat, narrow platform at the bow.
“You can swim, can’t you, Your Grace?” Yardley called.
Niall looked at the bank, which seemed very far away. “Not with my hands tied.”
“Cut him loose,” the cobbler said.
Niall was spun around. He felt the blade go through the rope holding his hands. In one smooth motion, someone stripped the rope away and pushed him overboard.
He came up sputtering, but since his hands were free, he did come up. The lighter eased past him, and as the stern came abreast, the mouthy oarsman tried to strike him with the long oar.
Niall dodged it, but in a fit of temper he surged forward, grabbed it, and held on, arresting the long sweep of movement. The sudden cessation surprised the oarsman, and he nearly lost his balance. The man teetered on the narrow stern and almost went into the water himself.
