Whisper To Me of Love Read online

  Her fine mouth thinned, and a determined glint entered the heavily lashed gray eyes. She was going to find a way out of their dilemma. She would not become any man’s mistress and suffer her mother’s grim fate! Precisely how she was going to accomplish this feat escaped her at the moment, but it was not her nature to meekly accept a fate she found abhorrent.

  Jacko came out of the other room just then and grumbled, “Are you two still lying abed? I thought you would have been up by now.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Ben sat up and retorted, “I don’t know why you’re so grumpy about it—you just got up yourself!”

  Jacko mumbled some reply, and Pip smiled slightly. Neither one of her brothers was particularly amiable first thing in the morning. Jumping lithely to her feet, she ran a hand through her mass of tumbled black curls, and momentarily putting aside her gloomy thoughts, she asked brightly, “Are you through with the washstand? I’d like to use it if you don’t mind.”

  Jacko waved his hand, indicating his permission, and Pip scampered through the doorway into what had been Jane’s room. It was almost like entering a different world. The delicately carved mahogany bed was a massive thing, nearly filling the entire little room, the bed curtains a billowy mass of expensive green silk—Jane’s favorite color. Upon the floor lay an Oriental carpet that looked as if it belonged in the home of some nobleman. There was also a tiny satinwood dressing table with a matching mirror above it, and crammed into a corner was a green-marble-topped washing stand. A fine bone china pitcher and bowl sat on it, and Pip felt a pang, as she always did whenever she entered this room. This room held the remnants of Jane’s other life, the elegant life she had lived before her rich lovers had deserted her for younger women, and it was a constant, pitiful reminder of how far Jane had fallen, how very drab and dreary the life of her children was.

  The life she lived never bothered Pip, except when she entered this one room; then for a moment she was struck by a sense of sadness, almost despair, wondering if it were her fate to live the rest of her life in squalor with the threat of danger always hanging over her head. But then, realizing that at present there was no chance of changing things, she would carelessly shrug her slim shoulders and go about her way, just as she did this morning.

  Walking to the washstand, she poured some of the tepid water from the pitcher into the bowl and gave her face and hands a quick wash. Then, stopping in front of the satinwood dressing table, she picked up a beautiful tortoiseshell brush and dragged it through her short curls. She seldom glanced into the mirror, but this morning, perhaps wondering why the dimber-damber wanted her, she was curious about her charms or lack of them.

  Her face was heart-shaped, with a determined chin and delicately molded, high cheekbones, but as far as Pip was concerned, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Neither were her mouth and eyes particularly noteworthy, Pip’s critical gaze completely missing the full, almost sultry beauty of her lips and the impact her smoky gray eyes, with their long, thick lashes and strikingly arched black eyebrows, had on people. The deliberately cut short, black, curly hair rioted over her small head in untidy ringlets that barely brushed the nape of her neck, the blue-blackness of her hair intensifying the almost alabaster hue of her fair skin. To Pip, everything looked completely wrong, her mouth too large, her eyebrows too marked, her hair too dark with her pale skin, and the smoky gray color of her eyes rather dull. Only her nose found favor with her—it was straight and delicately formed, with just the slightest tilt at the end. And as for her body ... Pip grimaced. She was small, scrawny as a starved chicken, Jacko said, and whatever feminine curves she may have possessed were easily hidden beneath the bulky boy’s clothing she wore. She imagined trying to hide Molly, the barmaid’s quivering mounds of plump flesh beneath her own clothes and smiled at the picture that presented itself, the cheeky grin revealing even white teeth. No. She was much better off with the small, firm bosom she did possess than to lay claim to Molly’s obvious charms.

  Annoyed by her introspection this morning, she stuck out her tongue at her image and left the room to join her brothers at the table. Breakfast was a hurried affair, the three Fowlers falling upon the stale bread and cheese like starving animals and washing it down with the dark, bitter ale they had brought home with them the previous evening.

  There was little conversation between them, each one busy with his or her own thoughts, and though nothing was said, Pip knew that her brothers were thinking about last night and how they could escape from the dimber-damber’s control.

  Having swallowed the last of the bread, Pip inelegantly and in a fashion that would have gained her an instant reprimand from Jane, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and asked suddenly, “Jacko, if England is not safe for us, couldn’t we go to America? Surely the dimber-damber’s arm is not that long! I’ve heard tell that there is a good life for the common man there—if you’re willing to work, and God knows we are. We might even be able to buy a farm, like you wanted.”

  Jacko and Ben both looked up at her words, and for the first time in many a day, there was a sudden gleam of hope in Jacko’s blue eyes. “By God! Why didn’t I think of that! We could leave all of this behind us ... even take on different names and start a new life entirely.”

  Ben appeared as excited by the prospect as Jacko, but a bit more cautious than his older brother. “Getting passage without the dimber-damber finding out about it will be damned tricky.”

  “And we’d have to leave behind all of Mother’s things—the instant we tried to move anything from here, he would know,” Pip added with a frown.

  “I don’t think that Mum would want us to risk our lives merely to keep her treasures,” Jacko said. “There are a few of her trinkets that we could put in our pockets, but we would have to leave with just the clothes on our backs—and with what gold we have hidden in our shoes.”

  All three nodded solemnly, each one aware that without further discussion, a decision had been made. Her face alight with enthusiasm, Pip leaned forward eagerly. “How soon can we leave?”

  Running his hand over the stubble on his chin, Jacko said slowly, “First we’ll have to find out when the next ship is leaving ... and then somehow we’ll have to secure passage without the dimber-damber discovering what we are about. It’ll be risky... .” He cast a questioning look at the other two. “If we fail ... we’ll be done for; you know that—the dimber-damber will make certain we die or go to Newgate.”

  “We know,” Pip said firmly, “but I’d rather try to escape from him than to remain here at his mercy.”

  Jacko gave her a keen glance. A dangerous note in his voice, he asked, “He hasn’t tried anything with you, has he?” Before Pip could answer, he reached across the battered table and touched her gently on the hand. “I’d kill him, Pip, before I’d let him make you work in his stable.”

  “Aye,” Ben chimed in grimly. “We’ve been anxious about you since Mum died, but you don’t have to worry that he’ll get his filthy paws on you—me and Jacko will take care of him if he dares try to put you on the street.”

  Her voice thick with emotion, Pip said hesitantly, “I didn’t know if you were ...”

  “Aware of his plans for you?” Jacko inserted grimly. “Darling, just because you dress and act like a boy doesn’t mean that Ben or I have ever forgotten that you are our little sister.”

  “Mum explained it to us a long time ago,” Ben chimed in softly. “And while you might have thought you were turned loose on the streets by yourself, we always kept an eye on you.”

  “Aye! And we’ll not ever allow the dimber-damber to hurt you in any way—we’d kill him first and take our chances on riding the three-legged mare,” Jacko finished harshly.

  Jacko’s reference to hanging made Pip shiver with fear for them, even as a wash of relief sped through her. Just knowing they were there, knowing that she was no longer alone with her fears, gave her a sense of comfort. Feeling the unaccustomed sting of tears in her eyes, she sent her two brothers a tremulous sm
ile. Her heart full of love for them, she tried to interject a lighter note. “Well, you see, that settles it! We have to go to America now—I can’t have you two risking your lives for me!”

  They all three smiled at one another, the bond between them very strong, and almost as one, three pairs of hands met in the middle of that scarred table and clasped one another tightly. “We’ll find a way out of this dilemma somehow,” Jacko swore.

  Pip shot him a cheeky grin. “Bloody right we will! But until then, I guess we had better content ourselves with plucking some ripe pigeons today at the sparring match.”

  Ben was on the point of making a teasing comment when there was a sharp rap on the door. Instantly, whatever lightness there had been about them vanished, each one instinctively reaching for the knives they always carried. Swiftly they spread out in the room, Jacko silently approaching nearer the door.

  “Who is it?” Jacko demanded gruffly.

  “Now, who do you think it is?” came back from the other side of the door, the irritation in the cultured voice obvious.

  There was only one person who talked that way in St. Giles, and all three Fowlers stiffened.

  “The dimber-damber!” Pip whispered urgently. “What can he want? We have our plans for the day.”

  Jacko shrugged and opened the door.

  It was indeed the dimber-damber, and without a word, he stalked through the opened doorway, taking in with a single glance the aggressive stances of Pip and her brothers. A humorless smile curved his thin mouth and he shook his head slightly as if he was amused by their actions.

  The dimber-damber was a well-made man and there was such an air of malevolent power about him that he appeared to dominate the room, dwarfing everybody and everything in it. Today, as usual, he was dressed all in black, from the black hat pulled low to the swirling black velvet cape and the gleaming black boots upon his feet. He carried a long black cane with a silver top, a cane that Pip knew concealed a sword in its slim length, and black leather gloves were on his slender hands. Even his skin was swarthy, and the few strands of hair that showed from beneath his hat were dark. The one eye he still possessed was black, and where the other should have been, he wore a black silk patch, which gave his already sinister appearance an even greater impact.

  An aura of darkness surrounded him, something cold and evil entering the room when he did. He was the uncrowned king of St. Giles, his tentacles everywhere, his wishes carried out instantly and without question.... To disobey was certain death. It was whispered that even various members of the aristocracy feared him, that the dark deeds he committed for those unwise lords and ladies who were desperate enough to request his help became shackles that bound them to him.

  He was a villainous, mysterious figure. Not the members of the aristocracy whom he held in his power, nor the minions of St. Giles who dared not thwart him, knew much about him. Not his past, nor his name, not where he lived, nor where he had come from, nor where or how he had come to lose his eye ... There were ancient thieves and worn-out old harlots who told tales about him stretching back for over thirty years, and yet he did not look to be more than forty-five years of age. Some claimed that he had made a pact with the devil. Because he was fastidious in his dress and manner and his speech was impeccable, even among the members of the knot, there was speculation that he was the bastard child of a great lord but had been raised as befitted the son of a member of the aristocracy. Gossip claimed that, using intricate disguises, he moved freely from the houses of the wellborn and wealthy to the hovels of the wretched and poor. As many people as there were in London, so were there as many stories about the dimber-damber.

  Ignoring the not-precisely-welcoming air of the three inhabitants of the room, the dimber-damber commandeered Jane’s chair, and seating himself, he remarked idly, “Expecting someone else, my dear children?”

  Ben hunched a shoulder and reseated himself at the table. “It’s a dangerous world we live in—how could we know it was only you?”

  “Only me! You know, I almost think that I am insulted,” the dimber-damber remarked cuttingly as he ran his fingers up and down the long, black cane.

  Used to his acerbic manner, the Fowlers were not dismayed by his words; Jacko and Pip slowly seated themselves, side by side, at the table.

  There was an awkward silence as the dimber-damber’s black eye slowly traveled over the three young faces. “Hmm. I can see that Jacko has told you about my plans for you all,” the dimber-damber finally remarked. “And I can see for myself that you are as enthusiastic as your brother.”

  Ben sent him a sullen look. “Don’t tell me you expected us to be pleased?” he said sarcastically.

  The dimber-damber frowned at Ben’s tone of voice and said icily, “It really doesn’t matter to me whether you are pleased or not! What matters is that you do as I say! Is that understood?”

  Three heads nodded resentfully, and the one-eyed man smiled nastily. “Well, I’m glad that we understand each other.” His one eye moved to Pip’s face and wandered over her features. An odd note in his voice, he murmured, “Of course, there is perhaps another way that you could satisfy me... .”

  Everyone knew exactly what he was referring to, and Pip felt her heart skip a beat in her breast. She had known this might happen, but she had not expected it to occur this soon. Her face white, she lifted her chin proudly, and coolly met the stare of that one black eye, silently daring him to make his despicable proposal plain. “I think not!” Jacko growled. “We’ll hang first!”

  “You probably will,” the dimber-damber replied in a bored tone, and then, as if losing interest in that particular subject, went on, “And since you’re not of mind to accommodate me, I suppose we’ll have to talk about today’s plan.”

  “What about it?” Jacko asked a little uneasily. “I thought it was all settled.”

  “Hmm, yes, I suppose you did, my dear boy, but there is one little thing that I want you to do for me. There will be several members of the ton attending the match, and it should prove to be a rich day for us, but there is one gentleman in particular that I want to make certain you rob.”

  “Why?” Pip asked, astonished. This was a most unusual request, unless it was well-known that the singled-out individual was carrying something of great worth on his person.

  The dimber-damber smiled coldly. “Let us just say that the gentleman has annoyed me by winning a horse race in which I had wagered against him. As you well know, I dislike losing excessively, and I wish to create a bit of discomfort for him.”

  It didn’t matter to the Fowlers who they robbed or why, and so, after shrugging their shoulders, it was Jacko who asked, “Who is it? How shall we know him?”

  “The gentleman’s name is Royce Manchester. He is a wealthy American and you will be able to identify him both by his accent, which is quite pronounced, and also by his size and coloring. He is a tall man, well over six feet, and quite strongly built. His hair is almost fair, not brown, not blond. He will be accompanied, no doubt, by his cousin, Zachary Seymour, a youth of about twenty, who is just slightly taller than Manchester. Seymour has black hair.” The dimber-damber stopped speaking and cast them a sardonic glance. “Knowing your expertise, I have complete trust that you will find Manchester for me and lift anything of value he may have on him.”

  “And that will satisfy you?” Pip asked dryly.

  The dimber-damber fixed her with a hard stare. “No, my dear, it will not—but it will afford me a little amusement until something else catches my attention... .”

  Pip looked away, her mouth dry. She’d rob the King himself if it meant escaping from the dimber-damber’s bed, and as for robbing Royce Manchester, what did she care? One plumb pigeon was the same as another as far as she was concerned.

  CHAPTER 3

  Skillfully driving his pair of chestnut geldings through the thronged streets of London, Royce Manchester was struck by a sudden longing for the peace and tranquillity of a backcountry lane—Lord knew that only mad
men deliberately subjected themselves to this type of punishment. Having narrowly escaped a collision with a speeding mail coach and a farm wagon filled with vegetables, it was with relief that Royce guided his pair down St. Martin’s Street.

  It soon became apparent from the many horses and vehicles which lined the cobblestone street that the fight was going to be well attended, and after securing the dubious services of one of the several street urchins who vociferously promised to watch the horses and gig for him, Royce strolled with Zachary in the direction of Fives Court. Nodding to several acquaintances, they slowly made their way through the boisterous crowd to join a group of friends gathered near one corner of the ring where the fight would take place.

  “Oh, I say! It’s about time you arrived—the match is about to begin,” exclaimed George Ponteby, the nondescript features above his intricately tied and starched white cravat slightly flushed with excitement. Though Ponteby was distantly related to Royce, there was little resemblance between them. George was just about medium height, rather slender in build, and while his face was considered handsome enough, there was nothing particularly remarkable or memorable about him. Yet Ponteby was extremely well liked, his easygoing nature and amiable personality making him a welcome addition to any gathering. Being a member of a reputable family as well as having his own respectable fortune gave Ponteby entrée anywhere.

  Royce greeted him affably and was instantly absorbed into the group of fashionably attired gentlemen. Zachary hung about for a few moments, speaking politely to several of Royce’s friends before spotting a few cronies of his own. Taking leave of the older group, Zachary quickly made his way through the restlessly surging crowd to join his friends.

  The fight area was outside, and the cobblestone street around the ring was thronged with people from all walks of life. There were, to be sure, members of the ton, like Ponteby and Royce, attending, but there were also a number of lesser folk, businessmen, bankers, and merchants, as well as street vendors, butchers, and fishmongers ... and thieves and pickpockets. The group was predominantly male, although a few tawdry-dressed streetwalkers in stained silks of scarlet and purple flittered hopefully throughout the multitude. Dogs and young boys ran excitedly in and out of the crowd, and snatches of laughter and conversation floated in the warm June air.