He’d learned to trust his instincts and be cautious when he was eighteen and a lass had lured him into an alley where Three-Fingered Bill had introduced him to the ease with which a knife could slide into flesh and the pain it wrought while doing so and afterward. It seemed Bill had not taken kindly to his loss in income. What he hadn’t counted on was that Beast wouldn’t go down easily. When Beast was done fighting for his life, Bill had lost his.
In spite of his victory, he had nearly died that night from the wound the gang boss and pimp so expertly delivered. Fortunately, a surgeon more skilled with a scalpel had seen him spared from dancing with the devil at such a tender age. Rapping on Death’s door was not an experience he cared to repeat before his black hair turned silver. Some were still about who took exception to his prowling the streets to ensure none took advantage of those in need or preyed on the weak and disadvantaged. His fists had served many who hadn’t the strength themselves to ward off the miscreants.
Tonight they’d served her. He’d never been more grateful that his size gave him the advantage in a fight, that he had the skills to protect, that he’d been there when she’d needed him.
He was relieved when he spotted a hansom cab and was able to hail it down because he hadn’t wanted her trudging all the way back to her residence, had decided if her steps slowed any further, he’d carry her. Although she’d no doubt protest.
She didn’t say anything as he assisted her inside the buggy, and he wondered if she needed all her energy to simply move. He should have insisted she wait for the surgeon. Instead, he’d directed a footman to inform the man his services weren’t needed after sending one saying they were. He’d send a generous payment round to the surgeon in the morning for the inconvenience of disturbing his slumber. Knowing Dr. Graves as he did, he suspected he’d probably donate it to a charitable hospital.
He gave the driver her address. She’d shared it with him earlier, because she’d been unfamiliar with her surroundings. New to Whitechapel, she didn’t know her way around all the warrens and alleyways that made up the rookeries. Whereas he was familiar with every nook and cranny, knew she lived in one of the less reputable areas. His mum’s home was on the outskirts of Whitechapel, but as they’d grown up, he and his siblings had spent a good bit of time on these streets because they offered adventure. Often adventure fraught with danger, but excitement all the same.
He didn’t think Althea was searching for adventure, didn’t think she’d be here if she didn’t have to be. She wasn’t here because she’d married a commoner as he’d originally thought.
The cab drew to a halt in front of a residence that had seen better days. He handed up the fare through the opening in the roof. The driver took it and the locked doors sprung open. Beast leapt out and handed her down.
“Thank you.” With a gasp, she widened her eyes, pointed toward the street. “There goes your cab. Why didn’t you stop him? You’re unlikely to find another near here.”
“I’ll walk, once I’ve seen you safely inside.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“The windows are pitch-black. Allow me to go inside and light a lamp for you, ensure all is well.”
With a sigh, no doubt too tired to argue with him, she walked to the door, removed a key from a hidden pocket at her waist, and inserted it into the lock. He heard the scrape, a little clank, before she shoved open the door.
Following her inside, with the dim light from the streetlamps easing in through the windows, he could make out the shape of a lamp on the table. Removing the match safe from his waistcoat pocket, he struck a match, lifted the glass covering, and lit the wick of the oil lamp. The light revealed the only furniture to be the square oaken table and two straight-backed wooden chairs. “It doesn’t appear your brother is here.”
“He could be asleep in his chamber. Thank you for escorting me home.”
“I’ll wait until you’ve checked.”
With a sigh, she picked up the lamp. “You’re quite irritating.”
She wandered toward the hallway. He followed. It was short, hardly a hallway at all. She knocked on the door at one end. “Griffith?”
After another knock, she opened the door and lifted the lamp higher to reveal blankets and clothing strewn over the floor. No furniture at all. How did someone like her come to this?
Turning, she came up short at the sight of him standing there, the slight jerking of her head causing her to grimace with obvious discomfort. “He’s not here. He’s probably out searching for me. Unaware I’ve returned home, he could be gone for ages.” She paled. “Unless something horrible has happened to him, and that’s the reason he didn’t come for me tonight.”
In Whitechapel, something horrible happening was always a possibility, but her brother carried himself with the confidence of someone fully capable of taking care of himself. It was the reason he hadn’t continued to follow her when the man had shown the night before. “I know you’ve taken a dislike to me, but if you’ll let me tend to your wound, I’ll go out and find him.”
Her delicate brow pleated. “How will you manage that?”
“If he’s searching for you, he’ll be on the path between here and the tavern. I daresay he won’t stray far from it, even if he decides to explore alleyways and mews. If another reason is preventing him from being here, I can enlist the help of others to locate him.”
“Then go find him.”
“After I’ve tended to you.”
“It’s not that bad. My head barely hurts.”
“Against my better judgment I allowed you to leave without seeing the surgeon. I’m not going to dismiss my concerns when it comes to tending to your wound.”
“Very well, but be quick about it.” She marched into the kitchen with a little more vigor to her step, which relieved some of his worry.
When she started to pump water into a bowl, he took over. “Have you some scraps of linen about?”
While she went to fetch them, he finished with the task, set the bowl of icy water on the hearth, and crouched. Her footsteps signaled her return.
