Page 21 of The Rum and The Fox

Bath was busy with the great and the good, the drunk and the down-at-heel. Avoiding the busier thoroughfares, he hugged the shadows, barging anyone who was foolish enough to delay him out of his way without a backwards glance. He strode by the Abbey, wondering if God was watching his progress and if he would be damned to hell for his actions. The idea did not trouble him unduly, so long as he sent Todd ahead of him.

By the time he reached Abbey Green, his heart was thudding, his breathing coming fast but with a feeling of certainty that he must do this. He kept his head down, hardly seeing where he was going, and he started in shock as a small boy ploughed into him, the two of them colliding with some force.

“Sorry mister!” the lad called, righting himself and hurrying on. Ash grunted and moved on, too distracted to care in the least. Finally the house was in front of him, and he made his way to the door of the building he’d visited such a short time ago. Hurrying up to the house, he paused as he realised the front door hung open. As it opened directly onto the street, this seemed rather odd, and Ash pushed it a little.

The door swung open with no protest to reveal the interior of the house shrouded in darkness. Ash swallowed; his skin was clammy, sweaty, and prickly, and his chest tight as he took a breath, laying his hand on one of the pistols, before stepping inside.

The house was quiet, the dark absolute, and Ash put his other hand out in front of him to search for obstacles as he withdrew the pistol from his pocket. Pausing once more he listened for any sound, but heard nothing past the pounding of his own blood in his veins. He fully cocked the gun, the quiet sound of the sear engaging the tumbler sounding like a gunshot itself in the unnerving silence of the still house.

Ash held his breath, but still nothing stirred.

He moved a little farther into the darkness, wishing he had the stealth of a cat, and, as he didn’t, praying he wouldn’t walk in anything, at least. He froze as a sound at the end of the corridor rooted him to the spot, and only breathed again as a real cat ran down the stairs to the lower floor.

Closing his eyes in silent prayer for a moment, Ash moved on, sliding along the corridor wall until an open door presented itself. This was the parlour where he had first laid eyes on Lady Todd, what seemed a lifetime ago in this moment.

Moving with caution, he stepped into the room and felt his heart explode in his chest as a white flash lit the room, briefly illuminating a shadowy figure by the fireplace with an explosion of sound, before the room was plunged once more into darkness.

For that brief second, Ash felt that time had slowed. The report of the pistol, the thud of the bullet burying itself into the door jamb beside his shoulder, far too close, and the prick of a splinter as it stabbed at his neck, all of these things were registered and inventoried. At the same moment, his hand raised his own pistol and pulled back the trigger, and this time the sound was deafening, ringing in his ears as his heart sped in his chest.

As the sound faded away, he heard the figure stumble and crash to the floor, and Ash knew he’d hit his mark.

Horror and shock and relief, he wasn’t sure which was most prevalent but he thought he heard shouts in the distance, and knew he must run before he was discovered. Stumbling and crashing into the furniture he’d so carefully avoided on arrival, he ran through the front door, pulling it shut behind him and taking care to pull his hat over his eyes as he went, keeping his head well down.

The next, sickening moments were a blur as he retraced his steps, walking fast now and trying not to run when all he wanted to do was take to his heels. But he must do nothing to provoke undue attention. It might be harder to hang a duke than a common man, but that wasn’t to say it couldn’t happen, and he was damned if he’d make it easy for them.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t regret it.

Lady Todd was safe and so was his mother; that was worth any price to keep a monster like Viscount Rennard from their doors.

***

Keziah submitted to the doctor’s examination, too exhausted to protest. Her mind seemed hazy, her thoughts a jumble of violent images and fear, and Ash’s green eyes wide with concern and yet with that flash of fury that had made her heart jump with anxiety. She tried to protest as the doctor made her drink some strange-tasting concoction, and realised too late that it was a sleeping draught. While she was still conscious enough to do so, she caught at the doctor’s sleeve, begging that his grace be sent to her immediately. The disapproval in the doctor’s face was clear enough at the impropriety of her demand, and her garbled explanations of her fears for him fell on deaf ears.

She was told that she must rest now, that her maid had been cared for likewise. Her poor abigail had suffered a broken wrist, which should heal with no problems, at least, and was well and in good spirits, despite a number of nasty bruises.

With this, Keziah had to be satisfied as the drug tugged her anxious thoughts into the dark and away from all of her troubles.