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Matilda blushed and glanced up.
The villain who’d trapped her young charge lay inert, legs akimbo, while a phoenix-like Mr Finlay was poking a sound nobbler to the breadbasket of another. Her beloved Seth was milling a rather burly brute with a stout sneezer to the conk followed by a rib tickler to the…ribs.
“Do you think we should assist them?”
“Nah, they’ll be fine,” declared Chloe. “Here, I gathered some curtain ties for your cousin.” And they commenced on Astwood’s ankles, snaking it none too gently till he resembled a mast in port.
A lost straggler from one of the other boxes lurched towards them, blinked and paused, parted his lips, closed them, and then peered to his gin bottle. Matilda merely glared and shooed a hand before stuffing a handkerchief in Astwood’s mouth as a precaution.
The agreeable Mr Finlay bust a whiffler to his opponent’s whisker bed, toppling him like a felled oak, and Seth’s assailant, mayhap realising his chances were now slim, turned tail to scarper down the stairs.
She and Chloe dashed to surround the two men, and Matilda tumbled into Seth’s embrace. His cravat had loosened in the fray and a swelling marred his clean jaw, but he felt so very warm and safe.
Strong arms swamped her and she grinned, tilting her chin in pride. “I whiffled him good and proper, Seth.”
“Did you see it, Pa?” Chloe gushed. “Miss Griffin gave him a plumper to the nutmegs. It was amazing. I’ve never been so proud.”
Matilda felt rather proud. And exhausted and jubilant and she desperately wished to return home. To float in the bathhouse pool and let this evening seep away, let freedom saturate.
Seth kissed her knuckles. “Those doubts, my Matilda, are traitors no more. You can do anything.”
“Well done, lass,” Mr Finlay likewise declared with a grin, dusting off his attire. “Remind me not to meet yer in a dark alleyway.” He bundled the remnants of his charred coat under one arm. “Now then, what would yer like to do with yer cousin? I could fetch the magistrate or… I wonder…” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Perhaps we could give the smetchet a choice. If I recall, the Prince has a ship leaving for China in a couple of days. D’yer think he’d be any good at swabbing decks? By the time he gets back from there, all should be settled, aye?”
In the crimson shadowed hall of Astley’s Amphitheatre, with the scent of burned cloth, exotic perfume and magic in the air, Matilda grinned within Seth’s arms. “That sounds perfect, Mr Finlay.”
