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Jarvis fell to his knees, pretending to be more hurt than he was, and when the bandit kneeled before him, Jarvis picked up his sword and thrust it up, running it through the bandit.
He stood gingerly, leaning on his sword, then took out his dagger and threw it at the back of the thief-taker’s attacker.
The man fell to the ground, revealing Gunning’s surprised face. Jarvis could see two more silhouettes approaching from another side.
How many of these thugs were there? They seemed to multiply every minute. But he didn’t have time for musings. A few more minutes, and they would be under attack again.
Jarvis put his hand over his injured shoulder. “Take the child and run!” he gritted.
Gunning watched Jarvis as if trying to make out his voice.
Jarvis was masked, and his voice was muffled by the handkerchief over his face, but he was certain his voice must have still sounded familiar. This was not the time for guessing his identity, however. The child’s life depended on him.
So he walked toward the corner where the child still huddled cowering, bent down, and picked him up. Jarvis forgot about his injured shoulder and nearly dropped the child from pain.
“Bloody shoulder!” he cursed, hugging the child with his right arm, then handed him to the thief-taker. He took a step toward the approaching bandit and yelled to the thief-taker, “Go! Now!”
Gunning finally listened and hastened away from the spot. Jarvis took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Two bandits stood before him, grinning.
“You’re done for, Shadow,” one of them said.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that,” Jarvis answered, curling his fists.
Jarvis walked along the dark, dirty streets, bloody and swaying with every step after the fight with the bandits. Considering the odds, he was able to get away from them in a fairly good condition. If it wasn’t for his bloody shoulder, he wouldn’t be as badly hurt either.
Now, unable to climb the roofs again, he made his way back on foot, walking past taverns and bawdy houses.
The loud voices of drunken men shouting and singing echoed through the street. The door of one of the taverns opened, and a few men walked out, swaying heavily.
“Oh, look!” one of them exclaimed. “A shape! I mean… a ghost!”
Jarvis swiftly backed out of the moonlight and hid behind the corner of the nearest building.
“Damn it all to ‘ell, a shadow!” the man continued, but his companions didn’t pay any attention to him.
Jarvis stepped farther into the shadows and disappeared behind the corner. After the steps of the drunken men receded, he hastened his pace and made it out of the rookeries. He didn’t go back to the Hades’ hells, as he was not in the condition to make the trip. He would have to go back for his clothing sometime later.
Ah, curse the clothing. Let them steal it.It’s not like he had left any valuables inside the sack.
Jarvis peered at the moon. He needed to make it back before sunrise.
He kept to the shadows, walking hurriedly but quietly through the streets, praying nobody would notice him. The last thing he needed was another confrontation.
When he finally made it to Grosvenor Square, it was almost dawn. He walked past Olivia’s house and noticed that the light was shining in her room.
She was home.
He wondered when she’d gotten back from the house party. The Kensington wedding was supposed to be the day before yesterday. Had she traveled home right after the wedding ball?
Jarvis leaned his back against the tree across the street from Olivia’s townhouse and watched her window. What was she doing? Probably reading until the dead of the morning. As if in answer to his musings, Olivia’s silhouette appeared in the window.
She looked out into the night, and for a moment, Jarvis was afraid she saw him.
She didn’t.
Olivia carefully shut the drapes, and he imagined she went to bed.
Jarvis heaved a sigh. He had missed her, and this rare glimpse of her wasn’t enough. But she was finally back home. Which meant he could see her tomorrow.
