Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [173]
But Prosper had heard them and swung around. He could run surprisingly swiftly for a man with such a limp.
They passed the next alley, but went down the one after, dodging rubbish bins, tripping over an old barrow and scrambling up again, out into the street beyond, and then back into a mews, past stables where a single light cast a yellow pool. Startled horses whinnied and snorted.
Gracie and Joe scrambled over a gate, Gracie tripping on the top, banging her legs and getting tied up in her long, wet skirts. Joe half dragged her through a garden, tripping over plants and borders, fighting their way through bushes, branches snapping back in their faces, only just avoiding thick, prickly holly. Gracie still clung to her boots. They ran over a gravel drive which sounded like an avalanche of rocks to their pounding hearts.
Joe stopped suddenly, holding Gracie close to him, but their own breathing was too loud for them to know whether they could hear Prosper’s footsteps behind them or not.
“People,” Gracie gasped. “If we could find a street wif people we’d be safe. ’e wouldn’t dare do nuffink to us in front o’ people.”
“Yeah ’e would,” Joe said bitterly. “ ’E’d yell “Thief!’ an’ tell everyone we’d nicked ’is watch or summink, an’ they’d ’elp ’im.”
She knew immediately that was true.
“C’mon,” he said urgently. “We gotta go east. If we get inter our own patch ’e’ll never find us.” And he set off again, this time walking rapidly with Gracie, breathless, running every now and then to keep up, still clutching her boots under her arm and her skirt bunched up to keep from falling over it. By the time they were back in the street, they realized they had left Prosper behind.
“Bloomsbury,” she said when she could catch her breath. “We gotter get ter Bloomsbury, then we’ll be safe.”
“Why?”
“That’s w’ere me master lives. ’e’ll fix it,” she gasped.
“Yer said before as it were yer mistress.”
“So it is—but the master’s the one ter take care o’ Mr. ’Arrimore. C’mon. Don’t argue wif me. We gotter get an omnibus ter Bloomsbury!”
“Yer got money?” he demanded, stopping and glaring backwards over his shoulder.
“Course I ’ave. An’ I can’t run no further.”
“Never mind, yer won’t ’ave ter,” he said softly. “Yer not bad, fer a girl. C’mon. We’ll get an omnibus at the next place fer stoppin’ one.”
She gave him a huge smile, overwhelmed with relief.
Without warning he leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were cold, but he was very gentle and after a moment the warmth came through with a sweetness that ran inside her like singing and fire, and she kissed him back, dropping the boots on the pavement.
Then suddenly he drew away, blushing furiously, and stalked off, leaving her to pick up the boots and run behind him. She caught up at the corner of the thoroughfare where the omnibuses ran past.
Half an hour later they stood in Charlotte’s kitchen, shivering cold, wet through, scratched, dirty, clothes torn, but safe.
Joe was appalled when he recognized Pitt and realized he was right in the camp of the enemy, but it was too late to retreat, and the blessed warmth removed the last of his instinctive horror.
“Where in the name of heaven have you been?” Charlotte demanded furiously, her voice thick with fear and relief. “I was worried sick about you!”
Pitt put his hand on her shoulder and the pressure of it silenced her.
“What happened, Gracie?” he asked levelly, standing in front of her. “What have you been doing?”
Gracie took a deep breath and looked directly at him. She was overwhelmingly relieved to be safe, she was in awe of Pitt, she knew she would have to face Charlotte some time, and she was also proud of herself.
“Joe and me went to see Mr. ’Arrimore, as killed poor Mr. Blaine, sir. And Joe took a real good look at ’im, an’ ’e knows it were ’im that night, sir, and ’e’ll swear to it in court.”
Joe opened his mouth to argue, then regarded Gracie’s determined little figure and thought better of it.
Pitt looked at him enquiringly. “Is that true? Was it Mr. Harrimore you saw that night?