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“He returned me to Shelby, and we drove straight here,” she said.
The earl nodded and headed toward the door as Camille took her by the arm. “Come along, your bath will grow cold.”
“THERE’S FLORENCE,” PATRICK said cheerfully as they entered the smoky miasma of O’Flannery’s Pub.
Florence Carter, the barmaid, was busy at work behind the taps. She was in her mid-thirties, a woman who had fallen on hard times but found her calling at O’Flannery’s. Here she worked very hard for hours a day, but never found herself reduced to prostitution, a common fate for poor and uneducated women in the East End. She was attractive, with red hair and bright green eyes, and a fierce attitude that warned her customers to have fun but behave. Robert O’Flannery, the big Irishman who owned the place, knew that he had found a gem in Flo. She could move like lightning and easily handle the university students who habituated the pub after classes. Florence could tease, she could jest—but she could also stop a brawl before it ever got started, though she was slim and appeared somewhat delicate. She was possessed of a fierce and wiry strength that had taken many a man by surprise.
“What will it be, boys? A pint apiece?” she called out to them.
“Aye, Flo,” Mark called. “And have you seen—”
“Your partners in crime are in the booth,” she teased back lightly, pointing.
“A bit too close to home, eh?” Patrick murmured.
“Not at all. She merely jests,” Mark said.
The pub was crowded, with most men grouped around the bar. Mark and Patrick wove their way through people—workers, fresh from their jobs in the city; students, some laden with books; soldiers; and a few young members of society, sons who would one day claim their fathers’ titles—and found Geoff and Thomas.
“Any problems?” Geoff asked.
“Not a one,” Mark said, waving at Flo, who was already on her way over, balancing a tray of pints. She dropped off a few en route, easily avoiding the pats that would have fallen upon her posterior, and came to their booth. As she set their pints down, Mark said, “Did you hear? We passed a fellow on the road who heard that the highwayman has been busy again. Apparently he had the audacity to hold up a carriage belonging to the Earl of Carlyle. Luckily, he let the lass within it go her way, unscathed and unrobbed.”
“I heard,” Patrick said, leaning closer, “that he isn’t usually so merciful.”
“The newspapers downplay his exploits. The people are up in arms as it is,” Geoff whispered.
“They can downplay it all they like,” Flo said, whispering as well. “But I’ve heard he’s murdered a victim or two and hidden the bodies, weighted down with bricks, in the lakes and streams.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, too,” Mark said. “If the people in the carriages give him no trouble, he robs them and sends them on their way. But if they protest, fight back…It must be true. You’ve heard it…we’ve heard it. He is savage in response to those who fight back. Flo, you must take care.”
“Well, now, O’Flannery can be a hard taskmaster, but I have the room above the taproom, you know.” Flo shivered. “I need not travel the roads.”
“You should be drinking up and heading home,” Patrick reminded Mark. “Don’t you have a soiree to attend this evening?”
“I do,” Mark murmured. “But with Flo here, I’ve no desire to be heading anywhere.”
“You’re a flatterer, Sir Mark Farrow, you are. And an earl you’ll be one day. You’ll be having your way all the time, so it’s a good thing for you to be learning a bit of humility now. So, you’ll be attending the gala at the Earl of Carlyle’s castle, then, will you?”
He smiled and pressed a sizable coin into Flo’s hand. “It is where I’m supposed to be. But, Flo, be careful, with that highwayman on the loose. Make sure you travel safely. And warn your fellows at the bar.”
“You’re a kind man,” she told him, fingers closing around the coin. “You’ll make a fine earl one day. And yes,” she said, changing her tone, “I will warn them all.”
As she started to turn away, a man burst through the entry. “Murder!” he roared. “There’s been another murder!”
“Who?” someone shouted from the bar area.
“Giles Brandon. The police just found the body. Word is just out on the street. Throat slit, just like the others.”
A roar arose in the room, one voice trying to out-shout another.
Finally the newcomer’s voice rose above the rest. “He had it in his hand, he did. His last fine bit of writing. A blast aimed at the monarchy.”
“It will still make the papers,” someone predicted.
“Aye, words covered in blood,” shouted another man.
“A pox upon Queen Victoria” came another hoarse cry.
Mark started to rise in anger.
Patrick set a hand on his arm. “Let me. I’m a commoner through and through, remember?” he said quietly.
Mark fought to control his temper, lowered his head and nodded.
Patrick rose. “God bless Victoria. The queen will find out who is at this wickedness.”
There was silence. Then someone said from the bar, “She’d have no part in this, God save her.”
And with that the cry of “God save the queen” went up, and the grumbling turned to whispers….
Mark rose then, looking at the others. “It doesn’t appear as if I will be attending that gala this evening after all, gents. We’ll talk soon,” he said.
The others nodded.
With some men grumbling about the murders and others defending Queen Victoria, the pub was alive with conversation as Mark hurried for the door.
ALLY WAS GRATEFUL FOR THE hot bath, in which she spent all the time she could, indulging herself in the warmth—and privacy. At last she emerged, wrapped herself in the soft linen towel Lucy had left for her and stepped back into the bedroom. A large figure of Isis sat on one side of the dressing table, a canopic jar on the other. In between was a set of silver combs and brushes. Reliefs and statues decorated the room, and papyrusi lined the walls, handsomely framed. It was her room; it had always been so, as long as she could remember. Like the rest of the castle, it was stunningly decorated with both ancient and modern Egyptian art and artifacts. The earl’s parents had been explorers, beginning the family fascination, and he had met a passionate proponent in Camille. He knew that the treasures of a poor country could too easily be spirited away by foreigners, and he was a firm proponent of leaving the most valuable in their native land. He was willing, however, to take some of the less valuable pieces for his own pleasure, but he always paid handsomely for his finds. He had told Ally once that for every ancient treasure he purchased, he also looked to the present, hiring artists and artisans to create new pieces for his collection. She remembered when she had been here with the daughter of Lord Wittburg, now a princess in Eastern Europe. Poor Lucinda had been terrified of the mummy cases, and at first Ally had teased her. She had actually hidden in one and jumped out, then been horrified to see how she had frightened the girl. It had taken her hours to calm her down, and she’d been worried that she was going to be barred from the castle forever if her prank was discovered. But Lucinda was kind at heart and never told on her. The episode had made Ally realize that perhaps she was the one who was a bit odd, but she’d grown up around the mummy cases and other artifacts and thought nothing of them. She even knew that in Egypt, mummies were so common they were used for kindling at times, and many people there used the massive stone sarcophagi for planters. Still, she was aware that a passion for all things Egyptian was definitely an acquired taste.