Effington could destroy Will’s business, swear out charges against Ash or Cam, toss unsuspecting dogs into the pits, and gossip about Della.
He could not touch Susannah. After the debacle at the hands of the Mannering twins and their friends, Susannah had kept nothing of value for herself, not suitors, not a reputation for cleverness, not a fat dowry, not much of a social life, not even dreams. She’d comforted herself with books, and Effington could not destroy her pleasure in reading if he set fire to all of Mayfair.
Will would come, but first, Susannah, whom Effington could not impugn, would assure herself she’d found the dogs. Though how she’d defend them from whatever plans Effington had for them, she did not know.
A commotion in the stable yard had her slinking behind a gnarled oak that cast much of the alley in shadow. Last year’s acorns were still wedged between cobbles at her feet, and whatever she had stepped in an hour ago was drying on the sole of her half boot.
“Oh, Alexander, you poor dear.”
For that large, skinny dog with the healing gash had to be Alexander. He’d found something to investigate, probably something to eat, and hadn’t taken notice of the men intent on his capture. One went around by way of the street, one had fetched a net, and Effington presumed to direct both on how to catch the doomed beast.
Susannah seized her moment, sidling into the dimly lit stables. The scent of neglected canines was a fetid stench, and Effington’s horse stood with one hip cocked in cross ties at the far end of the aisle.
A dog resembling a very sad Yorick looked up when Susannah dashed into the stables, and his little tail started wagging against the slats of his crate as if he’d seen his dearest friend in the whole world.
“Shhh,” Susannah whispered. “Quiet, Yorick. Be a good boy. I can get you out of that crate but only if you—”
Yorick yipped, and from his end of the stables, came a chorus of much deeper barking.
Susannah had found the dogs, but she could not allow Effington to find her.
She unlatched the door of the nearest stall, ducked inside, and pulled the stall door closed. She could not latch the door from the inside, so she crouched down in a front corner, where somebody walking past would have to look very closely to notice her.
The stink of the straw bedding was unbelievable, enough to make Susannah’s eyes water and her nose run. No dog, with its sensitive faculties, could have tolerated such poor conditions for long. Thank goodness the stall was empty, and thank goodness she was safe.
And then, from the back of the stall, came a low, very unpleasant growl.
*
“We can’t just wait here,” Cam fumed. “Lady Susannah’s in there, they’ve got Alexander, and you might be willing to sit on your arse and let that cretin—”
“Am I too late for the party?”
Ash strolled over from the back of the inn, Casriel on his right, Tresham on his left.
“Sometimes, Sycamore, a moment’s pause can save the day,” Will said. Cam, of course, elbowed him hard in the gut and muttered something about saving the dogs. “Tresham, my thanks for your presence. A ducal heir will lend a certain cachet to the situation. Here’s what’s afoot.”
As the barking went on across the alley, Will took half a minute to sketch the particulars, which were simple enough: several large unhappy dogs, one defenseless woman, a conscienceless scoundrel, and his two bullyboys all needed sorting out.
Immediately.
“Seems straightforward enough,” Tresham said, taking off a signet ring and slipping it into a pocket. “I want him”—he nodded at Cam—“at my back.”
“Because I’m quick?” Cam asked.
“Because you’re so obnoxious, you’ll draw their fire, and my face won’t be the one they rearrange,” Tresham replied. “And you’re quick.”
“That’s all right then,” Ash said. “Will, say when.”
The horse was whinnying, and apparently capering about on the cross ties if clattering hooves were any indication. Effington’s shouts only made the dogs bark more loudly, and the two other men were having difficulty keeping Alexander wrapped in his net.
Will stepped out of the shadows. “Now. Georgette, come. Play, Georgette. Grab any handy villain and teach him to play nicely.”
Seventeen
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Fear paralyzed Susannah as she huddled in the stall. Not three yards away, the largest dog she’d ever seen crouched as if to spring at her and rip her throat out. Its lip was curled back to reveal enormous teeth, and while Yorick yipped and created a ruckus at the far end of the stable, this great mastiff growled so deeply Susannah could feel the menace vibrating in her chest.
Effington could not hurt her, but this dog could kill her.