Page 21 of The Thorn and the Rose

“The rat nearly caught him,” Leo replied dryly. “Hence the tattered ear. That was when I stepped in. Not that he thanked me for the stone I threw to scare his quarry away. I think he really believed he could prevail, but the rat was a ferocious devil. I decided to adopt him though—Mau, not the rat—as I admired his fortitude. I have explained to him, however, that whilst his ambitions are to be commended, he has not yet the bulk nor the experience to carry them through.”

Leo offered the kitten the end of a sausage, which it gobbled down in short order. It then proceeded to wash itself thoroughly, still perched atop Leo’s shoulder.

“And who will house train Mau?” Vi asked mildly.

Thorn snorted. “Silly question, Vi. That’s clearly your job, as Leo is incapacitated. You know as well as I do that he’s banking on you doing it.”

“I rather thought he might be,” Vi replied, setting down her knife and fork. “I wonder if I could train Leo at the same time. Perhaps this time it will stick.”

Thorn chuckled as Leo sat back in his chair with a grin. “Well, Vi, you must know you’ll never tame me, but I’m grateful for the offer to teach Mau proper manners. Thank you.”

Vi rolled her eyes and finished her tea. “I hear you’re leaving us this morning, Thorn?”

Thorn nodded. “Yes, I must get back. Everyone has gone to Goshen Court to see what my brother’s been up to. As the place was practically a pile of rubble the last I saw, it ought to have changed somewhat. It better have anyway, or I’ll be staying with Jules and Selina. But I promised I’d follow suit, so I’d best get back to town and sort out a few things before I leave. Thanks for having me, Vi. I said my goodbyes to everyone else last night, so I’ll be off after breakfast.”

“Safe travels then, Thorn. Leo, I have ordered the footmen to put you outside in the stables again. I hope that suits you. It certainly does me.”

Without waiting for a response, she left the breakfast parlour.

Thorn called in on the club on his return to town to see how everything was going and found Larkin still there. He stayed for a drink, which turned into several as he recounted the accident Leo had suffered, the four thugs who they felt certain must have been responsible for it and discussed what to do next. There had been no sign of the four when investigations had been made and, naturally, no one knew the slightest thing about them.

Having been as cautious as he’d promised everyone, he shared a cab with Larkin, which dropped him back at Montagu House late in the early hours of the morning before taking Larkin home.

As he’d decided to wait until Saturday to follow his family to Goshen Court, Thorn left instructions for his valet, Smithers, to pack his bags and not to wake him in the morning. So, it was not until almost midday on Friday morning when Smithers finally dared to venture into Thorn’s room with his breakfast and the post.

Thorn set the letters aside until he’d drunk two cups of coffee and devoured a plate of ham and eggs. Then he sifted through them, finding several invitations to stay with friends in the countryside, a bill from his tailor, and one in a hand he did not recognise, which had been forwarded from the club. His heart gave an uneven thud.

With more haste than care, he broke the seal and tore it open, his eyes flying to the name signed at the bottom of the short missive. Marie.

Help me, sir, I beg you. I do not know where else to turn. I will wait in the gardens of St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden on Friday at midday. Please, do not fail me.

His breath caught, and he sat bolt upright, almost upending the tray with the breakfast things on. Smithers, moving faster than Thorn had ever seen before, snatched it up before it slid to the floor and sent his employer a reproachful glare, which Thorn ignored, too consumed by the letter. His heart was pounding now, and he snatched up his pocket watch and stared at it in horror. It showed eleven forty. It was a good half hour’s walk to St Paul’s. If he ran, he might do it in ten minutes. Certainly, it would be faster than getting stuck in traffic.

“Smithers!” he shouted, almost frightening the poor devil into dropping the tray himself. “I need to be shaved, dressed, and out of this house in ten minutes. If you can do it, I’ll double this month’s wages.”

Smithers, never one to shy away from a challenge, was galvanised into action and the room became a flurry of activity, with the two men intent on the goal of getting him out of the house in time, looking like a gentleman.

By eleven fifty-two, the job was done, and Thorn slapped Smithers on the back so hard he staggered.

“You are a prince among men, Smithers, well done!” he said, running for the door.

“But my lord!” Smithers protested, rushing after him. “Your coat!”

“Oh, damnation. Give it here.” Thorn hurried back and snatched it from the man’s grasp, shrugging it on as he ran down the stairs.

The unwelcome thought drifted to his mind that this could be a trap, but he pushed it away. Even if it was, he couldn’t ignore such a plea from the woman who had consumed his thoughts for so long.

When he got to the front door, he discovered Ashton Anson coming up the steps to the house.

“Ah, Thorn, the very man,” Ash began, only to gape as Thorn shot past him at a run.

“Can’t stop, Ash, old man. Sorry. Late for an appointment. Catch you later,” he added over his shoulder, leaving Ash to stare after him like he’d lost his mind.

Thorn belted down New Bond Street, causing quite a stir as he flew past the wealthy and the fashionable perusing the exclusive shops. Though most of the ton had gone to the countryside, the sunshine seemed to have brought everyone remaining in the city out for an airing. Several people called out to him, witty young fellows with ribald remarks suggesting an irate husband was in pursuit, and an older lady he did not recognise who brandished her umbrella and told him she would be having words with his father. With a muttered curse, he heard the church bells strike midday and picked up his pace, almost breaking his neck as a street sweeper thrust his broom out at an inopportune moment. Thorn went careering into a lamppost, which at least saved him from falling on his face, before running on again.

There were only a handful of passages that led into the piazza, some of them no more than the space between two buildings. With the market sellers forced to come and go via these narrow byways with handcarts, these inevitably became blocked, often ending in altercations as people lost their tempers. Today, only the press of bodies hampered him, but this was bad enough. By the time Thorn reached the piazza, he was sweating and breathless. He pushed through the throngs of flower sellers and the market stalls selling every manner of fruit and vegetable imaginable, their calls overlapping. Costermongers shouted their best prices as ‘barra boys’ hurried about delivering goods. Porters and basketwomen thronged the market, heavy goods hefted on their backs. Some were loaded heavier than the donkeys that also carried goods and left fragrant reminders of their passage that added to the perfume of an overcrowded city on a warm day.

According to his pocket watch, it was five past twelve by the time he reached the temple front of the building. Thorn caught his breath, leaning against one of the portico columns as he scanned the crowd. Was he too late? He could see no one that… but wait…