Page 54 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
“We’ll take my gig,” Kara said, smiling as she headed down the stairs. “Just two sober, charitable young women, looking to help.”
Chapter Twelve
It took Niallan unexpectedly long time to reach the shore. The water was cold and his boots were heavy. His arms felt leaden by the time he waded out onto an empty stretch of shore. Falling into the muck, he rolled onto his back, his chest heaving. For a long time, he lay there, staring at the sky, trying to catch his breath, and wondering what he was going to tell Wooten.
Perhaps he’d fallen asleep, even as cold and mud covered as he was. In any event, his eyes were closed when he felt the first poke. He opened them and stared into the filthy visage of a young mud lark.
“Argh!” The boy jumped back, his face falling. “Alive, then.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” Groaning, Niall rolled over and got to his feet. His boots squelched as he covered his eyes and squinted, trying to figure out where he’d landed. Wapping, he’d wager.
“It’s jest… ye woulda been my first dead ’un.”
“I came a mite too close to it for comfort, lad,” Niall said with sympathy. Mud larks were often very young or very old, and among the most destitute in London. Scavenging the riverside was a difficult, foul-smelling occupation, and the bits of coal, iron, and bone they could find and sell barely kept their bellies full. Niall felt in his pockets, but either Yardley’s friends or the river had emptied them. Shaking his head, he looked west. “Isn’t the Red Lion near here?”
“Aye.” The boy still looked forlorn at his loss of a corpse.
“Show me the quickest route there and I’ll spot you a warm meal.”
The lad lit up. “With a sweet at the end?”
“As much as you can hold,” Niall agreed.
“The deal’s struck, then. Follow me.”
Niall did as he was bidden, dripping river water and mud through several alleys he would have missed, and arriving far quicker than he expected. He stood in the courtyard with the mud lark lingering just out of reach and sent one of the grooms inside to fetch the innkeeper.
After several minutes a tall man came out, wiping his hands on a towel tucked at his waist. When he caught a glimpse of Niall, he frowned.
“Edvin,” Niall called, raising a hand.
The innkeeper stepped closer. “Niall?” he asked in astonishment. “What in seven hells happened to you?” He stopped suddenly. “Wait! I thought you were a duke now?”
“It seems even a duke can get tossed into the Thames, if he runs afoul of the wrong people.”
“That’s the Niall Kier I know, always making friends.” Edvin made a face. “Well, I suppose you will be wanting a bath? Just try not to leave a path of filth behind you, eh?”
“No, no. I wouldn’t ask it of you. However, if you would, I’d like you to feed this young whelp a feast of a meal.” He indicated the mud lark. “And if you could have one of your grooms find me a hack that won’t object to the smell? I’ll send payment as soon as I’m… back to myself.”
Edvin raised a hand. “Yes, yes. I know you are good for it.” He eyed the boy. “You. I’ll take you around to the kitchens. You smell near as bad as him, but you can eat your fill in the scullery. And you.” He looked back to Niall. “Any cab willing to take you is already going to stink like hell.”
“I figured as much, but needs must.”
He had to wait a bit, but eventually Niall found himself stretchedout in a cab, heading for Marylebone. Gyda had been right—when one was disheveled or distraught, Donnelly House was the place to go to begin to get your equilibrium restored.
He entered the private bathhouse through the back, leaving dirty, everyday London behind to enter a world of elegance—even at the back entrance. “Good day, Jones.” All the porters were called Jones.
“Good day, Your Grace.” The man made no comment regarding the state Niall was in. “Not the public baths today, I imagine. Shall I prepare a private bathing chamber for you?”
“Yes, thank you,” Niall said with longing. “Hot and scented, if you please. And I’m afraid I will need that change of clothes.” After he had taken his title, he’d paid the extra fee to store a complete change of clothes here, including boots. “I’m afraid all of this is past even Donnelly House’s extraordinary skills.”
“We’ll see what can be salvaged, sir. If you will follow me?”
Mere minutes later, the sturdy, carved door was closing behind the porter and Niall was crawling into a sunken tub. The heat eased his aching limbs, and he just soaked for a few minutes before sitting up to scrub himself top to bottom. He rang for the tub to be emptied, rinsed, and filled again before he stretched out once more in the blessedly hot water. His mind whirled, going over the morning’s adventures.
He could scarcely wait to tell Kara everything, but he would go to Scotland Yard first. Wooten needed to know about Yardley’s plans to leave England. Also, Niall was beyond curious to know what had happened with Jephson this morning.
Once the water cooled, Niall climbed out, dried, and dressed. When he finally left the private chamber, he found Jones waiting in the passage. “I was just coming to tell you, Your Grace, that we may be able to save your boots.”
