Page 37 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
Doctor Fowler was about to enter one of these establishments when a large, gruff hand came down on his shoulder, causing him to jump with fright.
“Off to see a doxy, dear?” Nash's slick voice floated into Francis' ears, and he paled in terror. “Take a step into yonder alley, would you, Doctor?”
The large club hands that steered his shoulders took Doctor Fowler to a crooked alleyway, obscured from the bustle of the streets nearby.
“Listen, Nash, I can get the money–”
“Shut it, doc.” Nash snarled, and nodded to the large man beside him.
The thug smashed Francis in the stomach with his huge hand, and he doubled over, the wind cleared from his torso.
“Please!” he cried out, reaching blindly for his glasses which had spiraled from his face. “Don't kill me!” He cried out loud enough for someone to hear, hoping help would suddenly appear, but it didn't. He was alone with the thugs.
“I 'aint going to kill you.” Nash uttered, crouching down in front of Francis. Francis, his vision blurred, felt Nash's bony hand clutch around his flailing wrist.
“What then?” Francis stuttered, terrified in his semi-blindness. “What do you want? You know I don't have the money. That's why I left the note.” he was pleading, at the mercy of these wayward youths.
“It's that note I'm here about.” Nash growled. “You gonna' see her again, 'aint you?”
“Yes, in a week's time.”
“Good. When you go there in a week–” but then Nash stopped talking, as if he were thinking deeply about what he was about to say, as if he didn't want to say it. But then he said it anyway, and Fowler's fate was sealed. “You're gonna kill her.”
“I cannot!” Fowler cried out, astonished by the command. “You cannot ask this of me!”
“I can and I will,” Nash had once again asserted the confidence his voice usually possessed. “or maybe I pay a little visit to your wife? Hmm? She know what you've been up to?”
“I–” Dr. Fowler had no words. He was rattled, confused, full of dread, and in pain. What's more, he struggled to draw breath still from the blow to his stomach.
“You'll do it. Then you won't owe me nothin.” Nash said. Francis could feel the young man prying open his fingers, and into his palm he placed the missing eye glasses. “Or I'll be seeing you.”
Nash released his wrist, and Francis hurried to get his glasses back onto his face. They were vastly expensive, custom made, and invaluable to Dr. Fowler's everyday life.
Once his vision blinked back into focus, he saw that they were gone. He crouched alone in the narrow passage of brick, clutching his stomach. He felt sick at the thought of his assignment, but even sicker at the thought of his secret life revealed to his wife. His entire career would be undone with the rumors of gambling houses. The employment of prostitutes was fairly standard for London's elite, but the sin of losing money to the poor, degenerate lower classes would haunt him.
His wife, on the other hand, would almost certainly take offense to the prostitutes. It was all so muddled inside his head, and he was caught in the midst of despair.
Will I truly kill this woman? Can I, even?
Chapter 11
Kenneth was rolling into London, trying not to think about Leah. Her previous words still batted around in his head, running circles around in his conscious mind.
Ηe tried to force these thoughts away by taking in the scenery, of which there was much. The gentle grass fields and clumps of trees dotted the land beyond the shore-based marshes, and white clouds wafted by with delicate uninterest with the world below.
He was quite looking forward to the distractions London would bring him. If there was one thing the city could offer him – beside the dull worries of the family business – it was a break from all the worries of his estate.
Not that he worried about his estate often; not much there ever perturbed him beyond a slight thought. However as of late, Leah's piercing eyes continued to paint themselves upon his mental canvas.
“Where specifically shall I direct the driver, Your Grace?” Daniel asked him, leaning over the coach's center.
“Sorry?” Kenneth blinked back into the present, washing Leah's water-colored visage from his mind.
“The coach, Your Grace,” Daniel said gently. “to where shall I direct it?”
“Yes, of course.” Kenneth sat forward, tipping up his hat with the end of his cane. He did not need it for walking; it was merely for appearance, although he did find it useful for balancing occasionally when at galas, and when drinking. “Take us by the office.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Daniel bowed his head, stuck his head out the window of the now-stationary carriage, and called out the address to the driver, who then spurred the horse team into London proper, leaving the sprawling shanty towns behind them.
