Applying her key to the splintered front door of their lodging’s entrance, a bellow sounded from far above. Not unusual but she tensed, sensing trouble.
Evelyn put shoulder to door – it always stuck – and leaving it wide, dashed up the three floors, her skirts tangling and reticule clattering the bannister. The bellowing grew louder and a female sobbing halted her heart.
The door to their room was closed but a cry came from within, and Evelyn walloped the wood, crashing it wide.
Their landlord loomed, red faced and sweaty, a meaty hand on Artemisia’s shoulder, her face ashen, tears tracking her cheeks in glistening streams.
“Get your vile hands off my sister,” Evelyn shrieked, rushing forward to grab the lout’s arm.
“Don’t touch me, you little witch. You ain’t paid yer extra rent, and then I comes up here and find all yer bags packed. Mr Filgrave warned me sommit like this would happen.” His grip tightened on Artemisia till she winced. “Planning on dodging out, were yer?”
Evelyn clobbered him on the shoulder. “Let go. We’ll pay the rent but are awaiting money.”
“I want sommit for me trouble, so as you don’t disappear on me.” Rotten teeth grinned and ale breath wafted. “Yer tasty wench of a sister can come live with me till I sees me dough.”
Evelyn had thought lascivious villains solely the preserve of Minerva Press novels, but this beast hauled an arm around Artemisia’s waist, bent and licked her cheek.
Eugh.
A temper so fervid and wild overcame her – disgust and rage atmankind, and with all her might, she swung her stuffed reticule.
* * *
“Thatboywishesan audience with Your Grace…Your Grace.”
Casper scowled. Copperhouse had made his announcement at a most inconvenient moment.
Reviewing tenant leases for the estate with his land steward should have taken less than half-hour but various persons had not paid the rent and Rootles knew that Casper would want a say on the situation.
“Tell him to wait in the kitchens. I’ll be another hour.”
But a grubby face peered around Coppers’ legs, panting and pink-cheeked – as far as one could tell. “No time, Guv. There’s gonna be a rumpus at the redhead’s gaff.” The boy wriggled as Copperhouse seized him by the collar. “Oy, gerrofff.”
With a nod to Coppers, the boy was released, and Casper frowned. “Sisterly argument?”
“Nah. I were at the boozer around the corner…er…having a pie, when I heard their landlord prattling. He were crowing that he were gonna sort out them fox-haired sisters. That he quite fancied giving the older one a–”
Casper bounded from his chair, papers scattering, ink pot and brass quill stand crashing, as he hurtled into the hall. “Coppers! Horse readied in the mews. Now.” And he snatched coat, cane and hat. “Boy… What’s your name?”
“Horatio.”
Casper stared askew.
“Wots the matter with that? Mother said me pa were a sailor and she liked to think… Well, yer know…”
“Of course. You be pillion. I’ll need direction.”
“Cor, are we riding yer rum prancer? Smart. Can I holds them reins?”
“No. And Coppers,” he bellowed after the disappearing butler, “send the carriage to follow on with footmen aboard.”
A tide of fury engulfed him as he struggled into his coat. That some oaf would dare raise a hand to Mrs Swift and her kin.
With no time, he rushed back down the hall, through the conservatory and out into the garden. A path led to the mews but even so, the maids shrieked as he took a more direct route via the laundry room.
Tuffers was still bridling Pegasus as he stalked into the stables, so he prowled to the gun cabinet, grabbed a pistol just in case, and then paced whilst the girth was tightened.
“He’s not been ridden yet, Your Grace, so might be a tad frisky.”
