Page 105 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

He hauled Glyde up by his coat before the man could crumple to the ground. “I have half a mind to find some cold water and force you under it for four or five hours,” he growled. “But given our present location, I suppose I’ll have to settle for beating you into unconsciousness.”

An hour after arriving back at the house in Half Moon Street, a boy came to the door with a message for Mr. Finchley. Helena didn’t know what the message said. She only knew it had come from Justin.

“Is he all right?” she asked desperately.

Mr. Finchley thrust the folded note into the pocket of his coat. “Well enough to send for me.” He retrieved his hat and overcoat from Mr. Jarrow and went to the door. “I must leave right away.”

Helena followed after him, Jenny close behind.

“Lock up the house tight, Jarrow,” Mr. Finchley said.

And then he was gone.

“Well!” Jenny exclaimed. “He’s been no help at all.”

Helena didn’t have the heart to be irritated with Mr. Finchley. She was too worried about Justin. He must have seen Mr. Glyde or her uncle. That was the only explanation.

But what had happened next? She didn’t like to think. Justin was a big man, leanly muscled and broad of shoulder. Her uncle could never hope to best him if the two of them came to blows. However, Mr. Glyde—though nowhere near as tall as Justin—was the approximate size of a house.

She wrung her hands as she climbed the stairs back up to the parlor. Jenny called for another pot of tea and then the two of them sat down together in front of the coal fire and waited.

And waited.

When the little clock on the mantel chimed two, Helena insisted that Jenny retire to bed. “There’s no point in both of us staying up until dawn.”

Jenny pursed her lips. “You should retire as well, Helena. You’re burnt to the socket.”

Helena shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

“At least change out of your evening dress. You can’t spend all night in a corset and crinoline.” Jenny caught at her hand. “Come up to your room. I’ll unpin your hair and brush it out for you. You’ll feel better afterward.”

Helena reluctantly did as Jenny bid her. A short while later, she returned to the parlor alone, her flannel dressing gown knotted snugly at her waist and her hair in its evening plait. She curled up on the chintz sofa. The house was quiet, the only sounds the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the rustle of hot coals in the grate. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

The next thing she knew, the clock was chiming three. Her eyes opened blearily. Botheration! She must have fallen asleep. She sat upright on the sofa and listened. There was no sound of anyone else in the house, but outside she could hear the faint rattle and clip-clop of a hansom cab departing.

She ran down the stairs, the voluminous skirts of her robe floating behind her. Mr. Jarrow had been waiting on a straight-backed chair in the hall all night. He was still there, but now he was on his feet, unbolting the front door.

Justin and Mr. Finchley entered. Their hats and coats were gone, their hair disheveled, and their shirts and trousers in a despicable state. Had Helena not known better, she’d have suspected they were intoxicated. But as she swiftly descended the stairs, she saw Justin’s face illuminated in the gaslight.

Her hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling her gasp of horror.

Justin’s gaze shot to hers. “Ah hell,” he muttered.

“What’s happened?” she cried. “Who did this to you?”

“It looks worse than it is,” Justin said as Mr. Jarrow shut the door behind them.

She crossed the hall, reaching out to him with fluttering hands only to draw back in uncertainty. “You’re covered in blood!”

“Head wounds always bleed a great deal,” Mr. Finchley said helpfully.

She cast him a quelling glance. “Don’t pretend it isn’t serious. He’s obviously been severely beaten.”

“Quite severely,” Mr. Finchley agreed. “Only look at the damage Glyde has done to his fists.”

The irony in Mr. Finchley’s voice escaped her. She caught one of Justin’s hands in both of hers. His knuckles were torn and bleeding. “Oh Justin,” she breathed. “Did you fight him?”

“My lady?” Mrs. Jarrow appeared in the hall. She was in her nightcap and slippers, clutching her dressing gown up to her chin. “Do you have need of me?”