The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [57]
It was another drizzly, fog-bound night and she certainly did not begrudge him his bottle, but she found herself praying that he did not drink himself into oblivion.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and wondered when Mr. Chase would decide that Nesbitt was done with her. They had only known each other for a short while, but already she knew she would miss Mr. Chase’s visits, the way he invited himself to take tea in the back room, how easily he coaxed her to tell him about the business, and the way he told stories about his boys and his own inclination to gamble.
“No more than is wise,” he’d insisted, telling her how he came to be in Birmingham for two more months.
“Of course, little did I know that this hiatus would be such a blessing in disguise. How else would I have met you?”
Was it a bad sign that his flirting no longer embarrassed her? She drifted off to sleep in the chair, wondering if he would stop at flirting and if she should introduce him to Grandmama. No one understood people better than she did.
Lydia was more asleep than awake when the sound came to her.
Wish.
It sounded like a slipper dragged across the floor, but she knew that Grandmama was abed and Delphie asleep on the pallet beside her.
Wish.
Lydia stiffened but kept her eyes closed. Could Alexei’s unquiet soul be haunting her, or was this her brain playing tricks? Finally she opened her eyes and looked around the night-darkened room. There were no apparitions, no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Her imagination, she decided. Indeed, if she was brutally honest with herself, she would have to admit that it was her own heart that was unquiet.
Lydia closed her eyes, thinking she should go to her room and make ready for bed, but she fell asleep before she gathered the energy to move.
SIX
Fog quieted everything and the damp air chilled him to the bone. Chase huddled in his greatcoat and wished he’d worn warmer gloves. Just as he was about to check his timepiece, he heard something other than the creak of old wood and brick buildings, more than the scratching of cats and rodents.
Footsteps.
Heavy footsteps.
Chase had learned over the last few nights that during his short stretch of guard duty, this street was virtually untraveled until first light. He had yet to see one man abroad, so the sound he heard now told him there was trouble on the way.
It came from the mews behind the building that housed Chernov Drapers. With his walking stick at the ready, he moved as quietly as possible down the alley between the bakery and the fabric shop. He leaned around the corner cautiously. And saw no one. Sheathing his half-released sword, he stepped more fully into the mews and went to test the door that was the back entrance to Mrs. Chernov’s flat.
“You’re mine now, you prissy fool!” Nesbitt bellowed.
Since Nesbitt was kind enough to announce his presence, Chase had time to see the heavy cudgel aimed for his head. He raised his left arm to stop the blow and released his sword from its cover.
Chase heard the crack before he felt the break in his arm. In that split second before the pain overwhelmed him, he raised his sword stick and ran it through Nesbitt’s arm. The man jumped back. You would think the fool would have learned the first time how dangerous the sword stick could be.
With his own wounded arm pressed against his chest, Chase dropped his sword and, using his good arm, landed one sound punch on Nesbitt’s jaw. The man collapsed to the ground like a woman in a dead faint.
Just as the altercation ended, the door of the baker’s shop opened, as did Mrs. Chernov’s door.
“What goes on here?” a man shouted.
“It’s all right, Mr. Florencio.” Lydia hurried to Chase.
Even through the haze of pain, Chase noticed that though her hair was tousled, she was still fully dressed, even with shoes on. Had she just risen or never slept?
Looking over her shoulder, she continued her explanation to the baker. “This gentleman has been guarding my place of late from just such an intruder as the man on the ground.”
“Ah, Mrs.