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“You should mind your business, stranger,” Four-Tankards said, his skin mottled red. “This is between me and the wench.”
Mr. Uraiahs turned his head to look at Tarley, his eyebrow arching over one eye. “Wench?” Then he turned to Four-Tankards again. “Is that how you speak with women, sir? It’s no wonder you would have to manhandle one. If that’s your tableside manner, one doesn’t want to imagine what your bedside manner might entail.” He glanced at Tarley and tipped his head. “Please excuse my coarse language.”
Four-Tankards’ face soured even further.
Mr. Uraiahs climbed a few notches in Tarley’s esteem.
“It’s a wonder he would know his way around a woman at all,” Tarley added for good measure, stepping up next to Mr. Uraiahs, willing to fight for herself even if she was greatly at a disadvantage.
Mr. Uraiahs tipped his head back and laughed. It was a loud guffaw of mirth, and though perhaps a bit overdone, seemed to be committed with an intention to hit its mark, an arrow in the bullseye.
“I’m going to show you the way around my fists,” Four-Tankards said to Mr. Uraiahs, his voice a low rumble of words ground through his teeth and a clenched jaw.
“Now that,” Mr. Uraiahs said, his tone as cold as granite with the added bite of winter, “I would love to accommodate.” His mirth was gone, and a menacing look moved over his features that gave even Tarley pause.
“Not in my establishment you don’t,” Credence Crendell, the proprietress of The Copper Pot, yelled from across the room. She moved through the doorway past her brother Horance, who’d made his way around the bar. Credence’s white hair was an explosion of tight coils that framed her brown face, shaped now by the frown. She pointed at the door. “Get out, the lot of you. And anyone getting handsy with my workers isn’t welcome here.”
Mr. Uraiahs took a step back and with the wave of his hand, gestured that Four-Tankards could lead the way outside.
Four-Tankards stalked past Mr. Uraiahs toward the door.
“Nix,” Auri said, blocking Mr. Uraiahs. “Are you sure?”
Nix?Tarley was surprised at the familiarity and wondered if her sister was worried because Mr. Uraiahs was smaller than the dimwit who’d stomped outside. Not significantly shorter, but Four-Tankards had arms the size of small tree trunks. He didn’t seem the sort to shy from a fight or a confrontation, which could put Mr. Uraiahs in physical peril.
But Mr. Uraiahs tipped his head to the side, gave Auri an arrogant grin, and arched that dark eyebrow again. “Now, Auri, are you worried for me?”
Auri?Tarley noted something secret passing between her sister and this man. She knew she would have to interrogate Auri sooner rather than later. If their mother found out about clandestine meetings with a suitor she hadn’t vetted—Tarley shuddered at the thought of Scarlett’s wrath. Her mother was going to know something was up if a suitor suddenly appeared.
Auri smiled sweetly at Nix, stepped out of his way, and watched him go, calling, “Maybe don’t end him.”
“You’re not worried he’s going to get hurt?” Tarley asked.
Auri glanced at Tarley, her cheeks pinking with a blush, then shook her head. “Not at all.”
Tarley narrowed her eyes at her sister. “How welldoyou know him?”
Auri just smiled sublimely without a word, then started after the all-too-handsome suitor.
Tarley followed, stopping with Auri in the open doorway.
But by the time she reached the door along with the rest of the patrons, Four-Tankards was on the ground looking like he’d been through a raging storm, battered, bruised, his clothing rumpled and torn as blood gushed from his nose and mouth.
Shocked, Tarley looked at Mr. Uraiahs. His hands appeared perfectly fine. Not a bruise or cut marred his skin. Not a shred of his dark clothing was in disarray. He rubbed his hands together as if wiping offensive material from his palms and said, “Perhaps, sir, as you recover from these wounds, you’ll take some time to reflect on your treatment of women.”
“Who are you?” Four-Tankards sputtered.
“Your worst nightmare.”
“I’m going to get you.” Four-Tankards spat, the dark soil turning black as it mixed with his blood.
Mr. Uraiahs smiled an unholy smile. “You can certainly try.”
Named after the evil god indeed, Tarley thought.
And with that, Mr. Uraiahs turned and walked away, completely unconcerned as he made his way back into The Copper Pot through the crowd that parted to make way for him. At the door, he turned to Tarley. “Are you alright, Miss Fareview?”
She nodded, speechless. He didn’t have a mark on him, not a speck of dust, no hair out of place. His skin was as flawless as before. No indication of the violence that had taken place.
