Marigold Chain (32 page)

‘
Damn,’
said Alex. And, grabbing Chloë’s hand, dived headlong down Dowgate
Hill.

Cloak billowing
behind her, Chloë somehow managed to keep pace with him. He swerved
off to the right, then left towards the Skinners Hall and she
realised that they were heading for the river somewhere around
Queenhithe. Then he turned right again, plunging into a labyrinth
of alleyways and finally came to an abrupt halt, pulling her hard
against his side in a doorway. His teeth gleamed in a smile.

‘
We
haven’t lost them for long. They know we have to cross the
river.’

‘
They’re
not footpads,’ gasped Chloë, ‘or they wouldn’t be following us. Do
you think it’s to do with -- ?’

‘
Unlikely.’ It was a lie but he didn’t want to frighten her
unduly. ‘Get rid of the petticoats. You can’t run weighed down by
twenty ells of taffeta. I won’t look.’

‘
Why
not?’ she asked, fumbling with her skirts. A sinuous wriggle got
rid of the discarded garments and, kicking them aside, she looped
her now over-long silk skirt over her arm.

‘
Not
ideal but the best I can do. Now what?’

‘
A boat,
if we can find one. Give me your hand and do exactly what I tell
you.’

This time it
was easier. Without the extra weight and with her feet reasonably
free, she was almost as nimble as Alex. They came to the river at
the Three Cranes and flitted along the waterfront looking for a
barge or small boat. Then, without warning, there were figures
rushing at them from the Steel Yard and Alex dodged back between
the warehouses in the direction of Thames Street.

The next ten
minutes was a sort of wild-goose chase. They climbed stairs and ran
down alleys, circled buildings, zigzagged, then doubled back,
eventually ending up by St Lawrence Poultney from whence they could
hear runners approaching from the direction of All Hallows the
Less. Alex stopped, pulled Chloë close and hissed, ‘Enough of this.
Let’s hide.’

‘
Where?’
she gasped, looking around them wildly.

‘
There.’
He pointed to an aged and over-full laystall, behind which ran a
ledge some five feet off the ground. He grinned suddenly. ‘Oh yes.
That’s perfect.’

For some reason
Chloe couldn’t identify, he tossed the handkerchief from his pocket
down on the ground a few feet in front of the trough. Then, towing
her with him, he ran to one side, briefly eyed the height of the
ledge and, placing his hands on top of it, hauled himself up until
his knee met the surface. Turning, he leaned down and reached
towards Chloe.

‘
Give me
your hands. Quickly!’

With no time to
think, she did as he asked and found herself pulled swiftly upwards
until she arrived, her feet tangled in silk, into the safety of one
steely arm.

Alex slid to
the other side of her and pushed her along the ledge, behind the
steaming pile of ordure-laden rubbish. The stench was
horrendous.

‘
Get
down,’ he whispered. ‘As low as you can.’ And grinned when, having
done so, she smothered her nose and mouth in a handful of skirt. ‘I
know. Don’t cough. They’re coming.’

Crouching down
on one knee beside her, he surveyed the trough and its framework
appraisingly. The thing was already virtually groaning under the
weight of the refuse inside it and the props beneath it were rotten
with age. Alex gave it an experimental push and felt it give just a
little. At the same time, their three would-be attackers ran into
the square and then stopped, presumably looking around for their
quarry.

Hidden from
view up above, Alex dragged the skirt from Chloe’s hands and laid
them silently against the side of the trough. Then, smiling
maliciously, he signalled her to wait.

One of the
fellows below them said, ‘Where did they go?’

‘
Dunno,’
replied another. ‘Bugger. I hope we ain’t lost ‘em or he won’t pay.
Maybe they didn’t come this way.’

‘
Yes,
they did,’ said a third voice, triumphantly. ‘Look!’

There was a
sound of swiftly approaching feet and then, ‘Bastard dropped his
hankie, careless sod. Question is – which way was he running?’

And, hoping for
the best, Alex looked at Chloe and hissed, ‘Now!’

They shoved
with all their might and the laystall simply gave up the fight.
Quicker even than Mr Deveril had hoped, it gave a massive creak and
toppled over with a crash which almost, but not quite drowned the
yells of those below it. For a second, there was silence and,
looking down, Chloe saw that one of the men must have got trapped
directly beneath the trough, while the other two had been knocked
flat by half a ton of horse-dung.

Laughing, Alex
drew her to her feet and said, ‘Well, that makes up for some of the
running. But we don’t have time to gloat. Let’s go.’

He sat down,
swung his legs over the edge and, using one hand for support,
dropped neatly to the ground. Then he held up his arms to Chloe.
‘Jump, Marigold.’

Without a shred
of hesitation, Chloë sat down, swung her feet over the edge and
propelled herself into his waiting arms.

And,
holding her hard against his chest while meeting the laughter in
her eyes, Alex made a discovery; a discovery that stopped his
breath and set every nerve vibrating with shock. His gaze widened
and his grip on her tightened. Then, because they were still in
danger, he put the knowledge to one side and stepped back,
releasing her. Just one random instant to create a truth from a
myth, hope and purpose where there had been none; to change a life.
‘
And what a stupid time
,’ he
thought, ‘
what a
stupid bloody time for it to happen
.’

He drew a
steadying breath and caught Chloë’s fingers. ‘Come on!’

Once more
zigzagging through alleyways they’d already seen once tonight and
which he hoped never to see again, he led her back towards Thames
Street and the river. If they could just make it on to the bridge,
he reasoned, they might have a chance of out-running their
attackers. If not, he’d have to fight them off yet again – this
time leaving nothing to chance. The alternative didn’t bear
thinking about because the smallest miscalculation on his part
would leave Chloe unprotected. ‘
And if she
gets hurt because of me
,’ he thought,
‘
that will be the last damned
straw
.’

They reached
the Fishmongers Hall, swung round a corner and found themselves
face to face with the fellows they’d left buried under the noxious
contents of the laystall. The smell was overpowering. Alex pulled
Chloë behind him and said, ‘Get ready to run.’

‘
Now,’
said the burlier of the two with gloating anticipation. ‘Now we’ve
got you.’

‘
Not
quite,’ returned Mr Deveril. ‘You still have to take me. If you
can.’

‘
Oh we
can,’ said the bravo. And emitted a loud, piercing
whistle.

Uncomfortably
aware that there was a third man somewhere behind him, Alex hurled
himself at the two in front with a suddenness he hoped would
disconcert them, sent the smaller man hurtling backwards with a
vicious kick to the stomach and whirled on the other with a twist
of his sword arm. It nearly worked but not quite. The blade glanced
off the man’s shoulder and Alex found himself threatened with a
dagger. He parried it just in time and, expecting to be attacked
from the rear at any moment, tried to alter his position so that
the wall was at his back. He wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped
and, realising that there was no time to waste, he lunged at the
fellow with dagger and dropped him with a thrust to the heart.

Meanwhile, the
third man advanced stealthily through the shadows. He stepped past
the posts into the road, the light glimmering palely on his dagger
as he raised it, preparing to strike at Mr Deveril’s unprotected
back. But he never achieved his aim nor knew whose hand held the
knife that plunged deep and true into the base of his neck, cutting
off his life with a surprised gurgle.

Chloë stepped
back and watched him fall to the cobbles, his body twitching and
pumping blood. Her stomach heaved and, turning away, she vomited
helplessly and painfully against the wall.

Aware that the
man he’d kicked was scrambling to his knees, Alex felled him again
with a second kick – this time to the side of the head – and
whirled round to face the third assailant. And saw the fellow on
the ground in a pool of blood, with Chloë a couple of steps beyond
being violently sick.

He had intended
to keep just one of their attackers alive in order to ask a few
pertinent questions. One look at Chloë changed that. All that
mattered now was to make an end – and that meant leaving no
survivors to call up reinforcements. Without wasting any more time,
Alex drove the point of his sword through the fellow’s throat and
ran to his wife.

Shuddering
uncontrollably, Chloë wiped her mouth with one shaking hand and
turned to find Mr Deveril’s arms closing about her.

Her voice raw
and muffled against his shoulder, she said, ‘I’ve killed him.’

‘
Yes.
Don’t look. Just come away.’

‘
He was
c-coming up behind you.’ It hurt to speak and she thought she was
going to be sick again. ‘I had to.’

‘
You had
to.’ Firmly leading her away from the scene of carnage, he wondered
how much more of this hellish night she could stand. Then he said,
‘We should go. Hopefully, there’s no one left to follow – but we
shouldn’t linger. We’re nearly at the bridge so it’s not far now.
Can you manage?’

She nodded and
swallowing her nausea, said, ‘Yes.’

‘
Good
girl. Now!’

They were off
Fish Street Hill and on to the bridge in a flash. By the time they
were half-way across it and with no sign of pursuit, Mr Deveril –
seeing Chloë clutching her side and breathing in painful gasps -
judged it safe to slow their pace a little. She stumbled and he
steadied her with a firm arm about her waist. Then they were
across, past the Bear-at-the-Bridge-Foot and St Mary Overie. Alex
stopped to listen and then, apparently satisfied, looked down at
Chloë, leaning against him and still sobbing for breath. His own
chest was heaving but he managed a weak laugh as he lifted her up
into his arms and set off to carry her home.

The house was
quiet and the only light a single candle on a table beside the
door. Alex left it where it was and trod noiselessly up the stairs
to Chloë’s room. It was only when he laid her on the bed that the
brown eyes, dark with stress, flickered open and followed him while
he lit a candle and crossed the room to close the curtains. Then,
as he turned back to her, she propped herself up on one elbow and
looked at him.

His hair was
wildly disordered, his coat ruined, his hands grazed and filthy,
and the expression in his eyes was one she had never seen. Making a
huge effort, she said, ‘If you look like that, I hate to think what
I must look like.’

Smiling a
little, Alex remained where he was, contemplating her from head to
foot.

‘
Your
face is dirty, your hair is a disaster and you’ll never wear that
gown again. But you’re in one piece – and, thanks to you, so am I.
Consequently, in the only ways that matter, you’ve never looked
better.’

Chloe sat up,
pushed her hair back with shaking hands and, her voice a mere
thread, said, ‘I’ve killed someone.’

The smile
faded. Alex came to sit beside her and took her hands in his.

‘
I know.
I also know it’s pointless asking you to forget it. But try, if you
can, to remember why it was necessary … and what might have
happened if you hadn’t.’

Her fingers
clung to his but she nodded and drew a long, ragged breath.

Alex saw in her
eyes the plea she wouldn’t make but, inwardly cursing, pretended he
didn’t. Even though it was clear that she needed him, he couldn’t
stay with her because he was afraid of what might happen if he
did.

Releasing her
hands, he said, ‘I’m sorry – so very sorry – that this happened.
But if it helps, I know of no other woman who either could or would
do what you did tonight.’ He moved unhurriedly to the door, then
looked back, the blue gaze suddenly intense, and said, ‘You are
quite remarkable. Try to sleep, Marigold.‘ And was gone.

Alex had walked
into his room before he realised that, although aching in every
muscle, he had no intention of sleeping. Absently, he drew off his
coat and washed his face and hands; his shirt was sticking
uncomfortably to his shoulders so he removed it and put on another.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew he ought to be trying to
figure out what had just happened … why and on the orders of whom,
they’d been attacked. Instead, he stood for a time gazing out of
the window, wanting to go back to Chloë and seething with rebellion
because he couldn’t trust himself not to say or do something for
which this was unquestionably not the right time.

He sat down,
gathering and absorbing the night’s other cataclysm before facing
the all-important question. The question of how you convinced the
girl you’d married while magnificently drunk that, after eight
months of a marriage that was not a marriage, you had fallen
irrevocably in love with her; and were afraid that you had left it
too late.

~ * * * ~

Alex sat deep
in thought for perhaps half an hour, then stood up and stretched
his rapidly stiffening muscles. The shoulder that had taken the
cudgel-blow was now a screaming ache. He suspected that, within a
few hours, it would be black and blue and seriously affecting the
use of his left arm. He was just wondering, vaguely, whether the
short time left before dawn justified the trouble of undressing and
going to bed when a sound reached his ears; a faint sound, but loud
in the stillness of the house. Out of the habits of fifteen years
came the conditioned reflex to listen. But that was all for his
mind was still elsewhere. And then he heard it again; the distant
betraying sound of movement downstairs. Alex was abruptly restored
to himself.