Page 28

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On her grandmother’s doorstep, Jane’s breath frosted instantly, and Hazelwood caught her arm as her foot slipped on an icy step. By turning her head, she could look down Conduit Street. Neat townhouses lined the flagstones on either side. No twists or turns offered hiding places for lurking villains. A few doors down, at number thirty-seven, a group of ladies and their attendants waited for admittance where a sign on the building indicated a doctor had his practice. Turning in the other direction, Jane saw only a gentleman’s carriage moving at a brisk pace.

At her side, Hazelwood signaled his groom to bring the horses forward. “I rest my case about families,” he said.

“At least my grandmother was frank about my prospects as a husband hunter.”

“Prospects, which you did nothing to improve by deliberately setting her back up.” He grinned at her.

“I had some excuse. She’s woefully ignorant of the East, and she thinks London is the center of the universe.”

“A bear with a toothache is equally ignorant, but one doesn’t poke him with a stick.”

“You didn’t help the situation any.”

“Didn’t I? Haven’t you heard of drawing the enemy’s fire? And didn’t she agree to go to services with you?”

“I hope she does. It cannot be good for her to spend all day in such heated rooms abusing that sweet woman and mixing draughts of who knows what.” Somewhere behind her grandmother’s peevish voice and medicinal odor was a teta. An outing to church would help Jane find her.

“Dr. Sydenham’s formula, I expect.”

“What?”

“A potent brew of opium, saffron, cloves, and canary wine. It does wonders for a cough apparently.”

“Oh dear.”

“Feeling unlucky in relatives?”

“Not at all. My grandmother just needs to get out in the world.” He was too perceptive. She did feel an unexpected disappointment. No matter what she’d been told about her family, she had expected to feel a more instant connection with her grandmother, but she would not give up yet on Lady Eliza.

He cast her a doubting glance as his groom brought the carriage to her grandmother’s door. Hazelwood helped her up to the high seat, vaulted up after her, arranged a rug over their knees, and set his horses in motion. She tucked her bag between them on the seat. It made a slight barrier between his hip and hers. She stared straight ahead.

Hazelwood was right about Lady Eliza being cross as a bear. Jane might deplore her grandmother’s attitude, but she could not help but notice that it was resentment that drove Lady Eliza. Her son had deserted her for places whose mysterious attractions she could not imagine, and then he’d been so foolish as to die and leave her with no one on whom to vent her displeasure. Jane wasn’t willing to be that person, but she could see that she had to push her grandmother to empty some of those vials and leave her drawing room.

“Taking my grandmother to services will be good for her, but don’t think to use my grandmother to get me to that investiture ceremony.”

Hazelwood cocked one dark brow at her. “Perhaps over a luncheon, we can consult your book again, lest we forget that your aim is to find a husband not to soothe angry bears.”

He turned the carriage into a main thoroughfare, and they found themselves abruptly trapped. A wide cart had lost a rear wheel and spilled its cargo across the road. Heavy bags of grain had split open, spilling fragrant malted barley onto the cobbles. The driver of the cart appeared to consider the situation hopeless, for he had taken a seat on the curb opposite to fortify himself with swigs from a jug. A gentleman in a stalled carriage ahead of theirs stood berating the luckless driver for bringing his cargo up a hill in icy conditions.

As carriages pulled up behind theirs and drivers shouted to clear the road, an elderly crossing sweeper threw down the tools of his trade, and with his hat began scooping up the spilled grain. His action drew the notice of several other passing persons who began using whatever they had handy to collect the grain. At that the driver roused himself, waving his arms and shouting to stop the wholesale plunder of his cargo. He set down his jug and seized a skinny boy who was shoveling barley into a large round wicker basket almost half his size. He tossed the boy aside, and another scavenger swung at him.

For a moment the scramble reminded Jane of Halab, of the jumble and confusion one day in the main souk, when a donkey got stuck between the narrow walls, and a crowd of boys had emptied its baskets of pomegranates.

“I don’t like it.” Hazelwood turned to his groom, who came forward to take the horses’ heads. “We’re getting out of here,” he told Jane.

As he turned to leap down from the carriage, Jane felt a violent tug on her left arm, jerking her sideways, dragging her up over the edge of the seat. A startled cry escaped her. She twisted, clutching her bag, trying to see her assailant.

Hazelwood caught her about her knees and held on. Her assailant dropped his hold, and her shoulder slammed against the sharp upper rim of the wheel. She couldn’t see beyond the brim of her bonnet. Hands clawed at her cloak. Hazelwood shouted for his groom. The man yelled at her attacker. The horses sidled uneasily, jerking her out of her assailant’s reach, and Hazelwood pulled her back up onto the seat.

For a moment he held her in a tight embrace. Her heart raced madly, and her breathing came in gasps. Black dots danced before her eyes as she stared out from the depths of her bonnet. She gave vent to her feelings in the only words that came to her in the moment, pouring out a satisfying curse in the general direction of Hazelwood’s shoulder, heaping indignities on assailants and spies.

After a long moment Hazelwood relaxed his hold. She took a deep breath and straightened, facing forward. A dozen or more persons old and young now swarmed around the spilled grain while a pair of laborers under the direction of the first angry gentleman helped the carter shift his load so that his horses might drag the ruined wagon to the curb.

“Do you have your bag?” Hazelwood asked. She showed him. “Good. Don’t move. I’m going to get us out of this crush.”

She nodded. The carriage tilted as he climbed down and disappeared into the crowd beyond the brim of her bonnet. Her heart had stopped racing. Her vision had cleared, and her breathing slowly steadied. Her left arm and shoulder ached. The cold made her breath a cloud, and the energy of the fight drained from her limbs, so that they trembled. Papa would say it was time to take stock of what she’d learned from the encounter.