The Icarus Plot Page 2

  “It was a magnet,” Ivana muttered to the earl’s wide-eyed stare.

  “And then she got out another gadget and zapped him with a zappitty-zap-crackity spark. Everyone shouted and whistled. No one liked Bruiser Bill. But he’s gone now. He won’t be bothering the girls around here.” Kelly took a huge, triumphant bite from a fruit bun.

  “The Metal Man’s scarier than Bill.” Sammy folded his skinny arms. “I ain’t going with no earl till we get Janey back.”

  Ivana took the bag of buns from Kelly and popped them on the counter. “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I ain’t.”

  “Why’s the earl want Sammy?” Kelly asked.

  “He says I’m his cousin.”

  “Cor.” Kelly choked on his fruit bun.

  “Tell me about the Metal Man.” The earl frowned at Ivana. “Do you believe the little girl you were asking after at the police station was stolen, not lost?”

  “I told you those coppers wouldn’t help.” Sammy stamped a bare foot. “The Metal Man’s been taking kids off the street. He waits till it’s night and—”

  “He took another kid the night before last,” Kelly contributed. “I heard that, too, when I was asking around. A boy named Timmy. Just a nipper, like Janey.”

  “Then he’ll take a third one tonight,” Sammy said. “You know he takes them in threes.”

  “Now, Sammy.” Ivana studied his tense face and sighed. “How much of the stories you’ve been telling me are truth and how much exaggeration, told to make the stories more exciting?”

  “They’re all true!”

  “Nah.” Kelly finished his fruit bun. “The Metal Man don’t shoot sparks like Miss March’s sparky gadget.”

  “Maybe not.” Sammy kicked at the floor. “But everything else is true. He steals kids.”

  “I’d like to hear the whole story,” the earl broke in quietly.

  Ivana blinked and the boys fell silent. There’d been a note of command in the earl’s voice. It made her reassess him. For the first time she wondered what he’d done prior to becoming an earl. He looked thirty, tanned and muscular despite his lanky build. He hadn’t been living off the expectation of inheriting his cousin’s estate. He was a man, not a dandified fool, like so many aristocrats. For the first time she looked at him and saw a possible ally.

  “I’ll make a pot of tea,” she said.

  Andrew studied the small kitchen. It was scrupulously clean with water plumbed in and a small coal stove in a corner. A table and four chairs occupied most of the space. There was a vase of daisies in the centre of it. He found there was scarcely room for his long legs beneath the table, but the tea was excellent and Miss March poured it gracefully.

  “I think I’d best tell you the tale of the Metal Man,” she said. “No, Sammy. I’ll tell the story. Then you and Kelly can add anything I don’t know or have forgotten. We need to be sure we know as much as possible.”

  Sammy subsided, reaching for a fruit bun.

  “Stories of the Metal Man began in spring. They were stories told by other street kids, passing on like Chinese Whispers. I thought they were just tales like those of the bogeyman. Something to scare themselves with. Then gradually the setting of the stories grew closer and closer. I thought that was just Sammy’s storytelling, making things more real and exciting for his audience.”

  She took a sip of tea. “I’m afraid I considered the stories an expression of the horrors of street life. A way to deal with them magically. I’d read Frazer’s ‘Golden Bough’, his collection and analysis of folk belief and stories.”

  “I know it,” Andrew said.

  “I was too theoretical.” She swivelled the cup in its saucer. “Sammy and the other children were telling the literal truth. All the stories describe the Metal Man as having a metal hand, a metal plate over his face and clanking as he ran. I thought the children were merely reflecting the prejudice of adults to those poor souls, the returned soldiers and sailors who have prosthetic limbs.”

  “Such prejudice is common,” Andrew responded to her distress. “It would be a logical deduction. Besides how could a man such as you describe remain hidden in the city?”

  “Yes, that is what I thought. He would be remarkable even in a place where people carefully mind their own business. And if the metal weren’t necessary, but something he could put on or off, why would he wear it while he stalked the streets at night, stealing children? The stories were simply improbable.” She drew a deep breath. “Then last night, while Sammy and Kelly were away about some clandestine business, Janey was stolen from their hideaway in an abandoned warehouse.”

  “How did the monster even know she was there?” Sammy burst out. “We thought she was safe. We wouldn’t have left her else.”

  “It’s not your fault, Sammy. I should have believed you. I should have insisted you all stay here with me.”

  “Nah, miss. We look after ourselves.” Sammy sniffed. “Though we didn’t look after Janey so good. We have to find her. We have to save her.”

  “Let’s finish telling the earl the story first, and make sure we all know everything there is to know about the Metal Man and how he acts. Kelly, you said the Metal Man takes one child each night for three nights.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “And he’s taken Janey and Paul. Have you heard of a third child?”

  “No, miss.”

  “So he’ll be out again, tonight. How sure are you that it was him carrying Janey down Hookbone Alley?”

  “I never said as it was Janey.”

  But Sammy cut in on his friend’s objection. “Kelly heard dockworkers talking. One said as how he saw a man carrying a bundle of rags over his shoulder at midnight down Hookbone Alley. He said the man was a knight in shining armour. Said as how his face shone like silver in the moonlight. His mates jeered at him.”

  “A helm,” Andrew said.

  Miss March nodded. The boys looked blank.

  “But why would he need a visor?” Andrew frowned, frustrated at the insanity of it. However, in the face of Miss March and the children’s distress, he couldn’t disbelieve. Especially when his own cousin had been proof that monsters existed in the world.

  “Hookbone Alley is down by the river,” Miss March said. “Near enough to here, but not in the neighbourhood. If he was there, it must be because he lives there.”

  “Could he have a rowboat?”

  Her shoulders sagged.

  He could have kicked himself for the question, valid though it was. She needed hope, not a devil’s advocate. “I’ll ask the sergeant for a patrol.”

  “The coppers?” Sammy and Kelly looked shocked.

  Well, they were street kids. As the sergeant had said. They’d see the police as their natural enemy.

  Miss March appeared merely cynically resigned. “My lord, even if you could get the sergeant to act, an influx of coppers into that area would set up such a commotion, the Metal Man would be gone before they got anywhere near him. No, if we want to save Janey, we have to find the monster’s lair.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “I’ll stake out Hookbone Alley, tonight.”

  Chapter 3

  “Are you insane, woman?” The earl demanded, half-rising from his chair.

  “We’ll go with you,” Sammy said.

  The earl turned a ferocious glare on him.

  “You will not,” Ivana answered the boy. “You’ll stay, here. Safe.”

  “Safe. Exactly.” Verbally, the earl pounced. “And that’s what you shall do, too. I’ll stake out Hookbone Alley.”

  She stared at him. “The Earl of Somer can’t lurk in a dirty alley.”

  “Forget the damn earldom. I’m a man, and I’m not letting a lady parade the back streets of London at night.”

  “For your information, I’ll be a darned sight safer than you.”

  “Ha.”

  “She has gadgets,” Kelly told him.

  “And I’ll be with her,” Sammy sai
d.

  “No!” Ivana and the earl said as one.

  Sammy kicked a table leg.

  “No one will look twice at a floozie in an alley.” Ivana collected the empty cups and saucers and stacked them in the sink. “The Metal Man won’t be spooked if he sees me. I’ll follow him back to wherever it is scum like him lives. I’ll find Janey and bring her home.”

  If the girl is still alive. Ivana shivered.

  The earl, who’d had his mouth open to argue, closed it.

  She realised he’d seen her shiver; perhaps heard her grief and despair.

  “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “A floozie with a customer is as unremarkable as a woman on her own. Don’t be stupid, Miss March. You’re in no position to refuse assistance.”

  “Yeah? and what good will you be?” Sammy was rude in his anger at being denied a role in the night’s plans.

  “I can shoot and use a knife and to be blunt, I’m stronger than you or Miss March or the two of you combined.”

  Well, that annoyed both of them. Ivana felt her eyes narrow and saw Sammy prepare to spit. “Sammy!”

  He swallowed.

  “I’m an explorer,” the earl concluded.

  “You’re what?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “Or you could say I’m a botanist,” he conceded. “I collect new plant specimens from around the world. I’ve survived the Amazonian jungles and knife fights in Rio. I’ve been charged by elephants and roared at by lions.”

  The two boys’ eyes were wide open and dawning looks of hero worship transformed their faces.

  “I don’t know my way around the stews of London.” He looked directly at her. “But I know enough to engage a local guide wherever I go. Which is why I went to the police in my search for Samuel.”

  “Hey! You told the coppers about me?”

  “I asked them to find you.”

  “Blimey.” Clearly, Sammy was re-thinking his nascent hero worship. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “So I think I’m qualified to accompany Miss March on her suicidal expedition to Hookbone Alley.”

  Ivana scowled. It was inarguable. “Do you have a gun with you.”

  “I’ll have one with me when I return this evening to escort you to the docks, and I have my knife on me now.”

  “Show us. Have you killed anything with it?” Kelly asked.

  The earl produced an ugly knife from an ankle sheath. “I’ve killed and skinned a tiger snake in Australia with it.”

  “Cor.”

  “You’re a man of surprises,” Ivana said.

  He slid the knife back in its sheath. “And you’re an intriguing woman. I believe tonight will be interesting.”

  “He’s here!” Sammy and Kelly had been hanging around outside the toy shop ever since their early supper. Now they thundered through the shop and into her kitchen. “The earl’s here.”

  Ivana dried the teapot, set it on the table and hung the tea towel precisely on its rail. From the toy shop she heard the earl’s low voice acknowledge the boys’ boisterous greeting, then the firm tread of his boots. A moment later he loomed in the doorway.

  The expensively tailored gentleman of hours earlier had vanished. In his place stood a roughly dressed workman in a grey shirt, dark trousers and scuffed boots. The shirt was open at the collar, exposing a tanned throat. He had a lot more presence when he wasn’t imitating an earl.

  No, that wasn’t fair. He was an earl, but he was also this man. A man capable of looking after himself and those around him.

  Sammy and Kelly squeezed past him as he stood in the doorway. “Can’t we go with you? Please?”

  “You promised you’d stay here,” she reminded them. It had been a hard-won promise.

  “Aww.”

  She looked at the earl. “I need ten minutes, then I’m ready to go.”

  He nodded, a faint trace of red over his cheekbones. He’d been studying her breasts.

  She quelled her own incipient blush. Debutantes wore dresses cut every bit as low. It was just that this dress, bought second-hand at the markets to aid her disguise, gave every indication of falling off her shoulders and revealing her completely. Her breasts pressed against the well-worn cotton, seeming oddly excited at the notion. She’d dispensed with a corset tonight for a variety of reasons. One, if she had to run, she needed to be able to breathe freely and two, her own modest underwear would have been revealed by the low neckline. She doubted a floozie wore white linen embroidered with violets.

  “Ten minutes.” She ran upstairs and stowed her various self-defence devices about her person. Finally she snatched up her dark green shawl that would clash with the purple of her gown just enough to look authentic. Floozies wore whatever they could afford and if it drew attention, then that was all the better. For her purposes, the dark colours would blend into the shadows.

  With a quick prayer for courage and good fortune, she returned to the kitchen.

  “We’ll bring Janey home,” she promised the boys. “Be sure to lock the door behind us.”

  They rolled their eyes, but when she and the earl waited on the doorstep, the lock clicked behind them. Ivana drew a deep breath and accepted his proffered arm.

  “Did you really push a man into a horse trough?” Andrew was fascinated by the vibrant woman walking alertly beside him. When they crowded against a wall to let a tricycle pass in a narrow lane, her skirts tangled with his legs. The rose scent of her was delicate, fresh and incongruous in the dirty city.

  “Certainly. Bruiser Bill was a nasty piece of work. He terrified the local working girls and he started to intimidate shopkeepers.”

  “But not you?”

  “I’m prepared for men to be violent.”

  That gave him pause.

  She glanced up at him as his step slowed.

  “You don’t trust men, do you? You were scathing at the police station and when I entered your toy shop you were deeply suspicious.” He stopped walking as a chilling thought struck him. “Has a man hurt you?”

  Shadows had already claimed the narrow lane, but enough light remained to reveal the assessing gaze she turned on him.

  He searched her face for signs of fear or pain. He found anger and a grim determination.

  “When I was eighteen, a friend of mine was killed. Violently. She was violated. Her attacker left her dead just outside the consecrated ground of a private cemetery. Outside.”

  “I’m sorry.” But when she went to walk on, he held her still. “Tell me all of it.”

  “How do you know there is more?” Her chin lifted in challenge.

  “The pain in your eyes tells me.”

  Her lashes swept down, veiling her expression for a moment. Then she nodded. “I’ll tell you as we walk.”

  He released her elbow and slid his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with hers. Neither of them wore gloves and there was a disconcerting intimacy in the skin to skin contact. He imagined he could feel the pulse of her blood.

  “Alice was nineteen. We’d been at school together. Miss Olsen’s School for Young Ladies. We were both being introduced to society. Alice by her mother and me by my godmother. My parents are intellectuals and not interested in such things. Foolishly, I didn’t heed their warnings. They said society’s dishonesty would sicken me. But the other girls were giggling and planning their debuts. I wanted to be part of it.”

  They walked past a lighted pub window. From the open door came the sound of rough beery voices and the sharp stink of stale ale.

  “Alice fell in love.”

  In the pub, someone shouted and there was a burst of laughter.

  “Lord Osbert Todd.” She spat the name like a curse. “The third son of the Earl of Nuttingthurst. He looked like a Byronic hero. He courted Alice and I envied her, even though my godmother whispered to Alice’s mother to guard her daughter and look elsewhere for a husband for her. I thought they were star-crossed lovers. So did A
lice.”

  Her tension leaked into her voice and her hand tightened. “He wrote her a note, asking her to meet him secretly. The note included an instruction to burn it, but Alice was a girl in love. She tucked the note under her pillow, then she crept out to meet him. She never returned. She died horribly, terrorised by the man she believed loved her.”

  “How do you know it was Lord Osbert?”

  “He admitted he’d written the note. He could hardly deny his own handwriting. But he said Alice had never shown for her meeting with him, a tryst at the Grecian folly at Lord Keelton’s. We were all there for a house party. Lord Osbert said he waited for hours. He played the heart-broken lover.

  “Then the servants started talking. The maid who went to tidy his room found a thin silver bracelet lying on the floor as if it had fallen from his discarded jacket. If his valet hadn’t taken ill with food poisoning, I expect the secret would have been hidden. But the maid talked. You see, we’d all seen Alice retire to her bedroom wearing that bracelet. There was only one way Lord Osbert could have obtained it—by meeting her in the folly. They found blood there and on his shirt. He beat my poor Alice till she bled.”

  Andrew couldn’t bear the pain in her voice any longer. He pulled her into a tight hug.

  She stood stiff and awkward, then her spine lost its rigidity and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Lord Osbert’s father was too powerful. Everyone conspired to hide his disgrace. All that happened to him was being sent on a world tour. A world tour! when he’d killed my friend.”

  “He was a demon,” Andrew said. “But surely there were some men at the house party ready to call him out?”

  “Not a one. I asked them. I raged at them. I was so naïve. I believed in the old stories of honour and chivalry.”

  “If I’d been there…”

  She pulled back to look up at him.

  “I’d have horsewhipped the bastard.”

  Her face softened before she hid it against his throat. “Thank you.”

  He held her there, ignoring the curious glances of people passing in the filthy street. “Where is Lord Osbert now?”