The Icarus Plot Page 3

  “Dead.” She drew a deep breath and stepped back from him. “Someone shot him in Italy. His family say bandits. I hope it was a woman he attacked. That would have been justice.”

  He put an arm around her waist, as if they were Cockney sweethearts. “So that’s why you go armed and fight bullies.”

  “Yes. Alice’s death changed me.” Her voice steadied. “I couldn’t stand the ugliness of the so-called Polite World any longer. As well, I wanted to do something to make sure other women didn’t suffer Alice’s fate. We’re so powerless. I started the toy shop to redress the balance.”

  “The toy shop? I don’t understand.”

  She ignored his question. “Here’s Hookbone Alley.”

  Chapter 4

  Ivana hadn’t thought she’d rush into the hellhole that was Hookbone Alley, but she did. She was running from the Earl of Somer’s questions, but even more, from the feelings he stirred in her. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel so safe in a man’s arms. Her restless, painful emotions had settled in a rare moment of peace. It was frightening for a woman who’d spent the past five years standing alone.

  “We need to find a place where we can wait and where the Metal Man won’t notice us,” she said.

  The alley was one of those strange spaces the city occasionally threw up. The backs and sides of buildings framed the crooked walkway, but not one fronted it. Yet it was a thoroughfare to the river. Time and shifting centres of activity had altered Hookbone Alley until people had pretty much forgotten it existed. Rubbish lay piled along it and a drainage ditch wandered like a filthy creek. Rustles among the rubbish suggested rats. Cats yowled on the surrounding rooftops.

  “He’ll be making for the river,” the earl said. “I can’t imagine any other reason to come this way. We’d be best picking a spot at that end of the alley.”

  She held her skirts high and bunched to one side as she tried to avoid the drainage ditch. Strong hands settled at her waist and lifted her over it. “Thank you.”

  At the end of the alley, she could just glimpse the Thames and hear the soft lap of its returning tide.

  “I suspect this is as good as it gets.” The earl stopped in front of a gap between a warehouse and a smaller brick building. Someone had roofed the space. “It’s barely conceivable that a floozie might bring a customer here.”

  Ivana grimaced. She wished she’d been able to bring a light with her, but weapons were more important.

  “A moment.” The earl struck a Lucifer. It hissed and flared.

  A rat’s eyes reflected the flame momentarily, glowing red, before the animal fled.

  “Ick.” She couldn’t prevent the sound of disgust as she skipped back out of its path.

  The earl strode forward, kicking at the debris in the small space until the entrance was clear, if not clean. He dropped the third spent Lucifer on the ground. The sulphur of it smelled fresher than the disturbed trash. “Now, we wait.”

  He propped a shoulder against the wall.

  The noises of the city settled around them. They would hear the Metal Man if—when—he entered the alley. Time enough then to act their roles of floozie and customer.

  She would be in his arms. The notion sent a shiver through her. Even if it was only pretending, she would be close enough to feel his heartbeat.

  Perhaps he was thinking of something similar because he said abruptly. “Since we’re sharing an alley, it’s ridiculous for you to call me ‘my lord’. My name’s Andrew.”

  “I’m Ivana. My maternal grandmother was Russian.”

  “So that’s where you got your striking cheekbones. Ivana suits you. Strong. Exotic.”

  “I’m a shopkeeper. Quite ordinary.”

  “No.” His teeth flashed white in a quick grin. “You’re many things, Ivana, but ordinary isn’t one of them.”

  Her stomach tensed at how he said her name; as if he enjoyed it.

  “I intended to visit Russia. Before I inherited the earldom. Siberia is a true wilderness. By all reports, the plants of the tundra are extraordinary in their short growing season.”

  “I would like to see Russia.” She shook off her wistful, restless feeling. “Shouldn’t inheriting the earldom make travel easier for you? Not to be rude, but travel’s expensive and an earldom must provide some income.”

  “Under my cousin, there was outright corruption as well as endemic mismanagement of estates and investments. I’m in constant contact with my new solicitors trying to sort out the mess. I could give them the power to act in my name, but it wouldn’t be the same. Overhauling estate managers, tenancies of farms, upgrading buildings, the list is unending and they all need my personal authority if things are to truly change.”

  Yet busy as he was, he was standing beside her in a disgusting alley, sharing responsibility for a problem that wasn’t his.

  “You’re a good man, my lord.” A pause. “Andrew.”

  He shifted slightly, bending towards her. Then straightened abruptly.

  They both heard it: footsteps at the top of the alley and the rattle of trash.

  Ivana gripped the handle of the electrifier hidden in the pocket of her dress and resisted the urge to stick her head out of the dark shadows of their hiding place and look. They had to wait.

  But what would Sammy’s Metal Man look like? A visor suggested an industrial accident or military action that had left him seriously disfigured. Unless it was worse than that.

  Technology was advancing so fast. Her own friend, Anthea Truitt, nee Farleigh, had designed the electrifier on new, modern principles. She’d designed any number of self-protection devices, and Ivana quietly stocked them in her store. The toy shop made a wonderful screen for its real purpose. No one would question women walking into a toy shop. But when they walked out, they walked taller, more confident of their safety and dignity.

  The problem was that the same new knowledge and technologies that Anthea used for good, others could use to create weapons of devastation.

  A man could make himself a monster.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Andrew closed the distance between them, leaning over her.

  She blinked, then realised he was maintaining their pretence. Uncertainly she put her arms around him, splaying her hands on the rough weave of his shirt. His body heat burned her palms.

  From the alley came the unmistakeable sound of a man relieving himself. Not the Metal Man. There was a reason London was so noxious, and it had a lot to do with the people living there.

  The footsteps receded.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Andrew said.

  “Excuse me? I let you tag along.”

  From merely standing too close, his arms went around her and locked tight. “So stubborn. I didn’t think I’d be able to dissuade you and—”

  She put her hand up to cover his mouth, and ignored the tingly feeling of his lips against her skin. “Sssh.” Slowly, she lowered her hand.

  In the silence, their breathing assumed a new importance. The rhythm of it altered till they inhaled and exhaled together, chests rising and falling against one another. Without light in their hidey-hole, the other senses came into play.

  Her sense of touch reminded her that the worn cotton of her gown was as flimsy as if she stood in Andrew’s arms wearing only a petticoat. And he lacked the gentlemanly covering of a jacket. An open-throated shirt was no comparison. He also smelled clean, and in that alley, clean was exciting and appealing.

  He lowered his head till his mouth brushed her ear. “Ivana.”

  No one had ever whispered her name like that, intimate and raw.

  His hand slid from her waist, down over her left hip.

  Footsteps.

  They both looked to the entrance of their hidey-hole. These footsteps weren’t slowing or receding. They were firm footsteps. Unhurried, but somehow, heavy.

  Andrew gripped her chin, turned it firmly back to him and kissed her. His hand on her hip shifted, crumpled her skirt and raise
d it.

  While he arched her back in a pose of abandon, she slipped the electrifier from her pocket and held it by her side, hidden by their bodies.

  If this was the Metal Man, ought she to simply stun him? But what if he refused to talk and lead them to Janey? No, she had to stick with the plan.

  The footsteps continued down Hookbone Alley. There was no hitch in their steady pace, no indication that he’d seen them. The shadows had been their friend.

  Andrew broke off the kiss and leaned out cautiously to study the vanishing figure.

  She felt the jolt of surprise that went through him, but even then, she couldn’t have been prepared for the sight she saw as she looked out.

  The sullen clouds parted momentarily allowing the moon to shine down on London. It stood little chance of filtering into the narrow darkness of Hookbone Alley, but as the Metal Man reached the river end of the alley, moonlight lit the profile of his face and gleamed off his nearest arm.

  His face was silver and grotesque because the metal mask mimicked the lines of a human face, but drew it in exaggerated angles so that the key impression was of sharpness. A face like an axe, and perhaps as deadly as the mind behind it. His hand—in that fleeting glimpse—looked to have talons.

  Then the Metal Man turned the corner of the alley, entering the waterfront, and vanished.

  Worse than all the metal deformities, his silhouette had shown he carried a bundle over his shoulder. Another stolen child.

  Andrew blocked her impulsive move. “Careful.” It was more breath than sound. “He could be waiting for us around the corner.”

  She showed him the electrifier.

  He shook his head and let her see the knife he held. Then he started down the alley.

  Five years ago, she’d wanted a hero. Now she had one, and his protective attitude annoyed her. She kept alert, the electrifier faintly humming with its charge, as she followed him.

  The moonlight vanished, plunging the city into darkness again. That would work for them. Their eyes were adjusted to the dark alley.

  At the corner, Andrew turned to her with a “stay here” gesture. He held the knife low, blade ready to thrust upward.

  Her hand slipped on the butt of the electrifier. She was sweating despite the cool night and thin gown. She watched Andrew vanish around the corner and braced herself for the scuffle of a violent confrontation.

  The soft murmur of the Thames continued uninterrupted.

  Andrew reappeared. “Hurry.”

  She clasped his proffered hand.

  The Metal Man was walking fast along the riverbank. Without the betraying gleam of moonlight, he could have been any man hurrying home from work or going about his nefarious night time trade. The inhabitants of this area would know not to look.

  If he turned around, he would see them.

  They had to risk it, and they had to risk the suspicion of a fast pace. If the man turned into one of the innumerable alleys, they could lose him, the bundle—likely a child—that he carried and their chance to find Janey.

  A cat yowled a sudden challenge.

  Ivana flinched at the sound.

  The Metal Man looked back. In almost the same moment, he darted into an alley.

  “Spotted.” Andrew swore and ran.

  Skirts in one hand, electrifier in the other, Ivan ran after him.

  Behind them, the cat yowled again.

  “It could be a trap.” She called the warning as Andrew reached the mouth of the alley.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  “Darned man.” She ran into the alley after him.

  Luck favoured them. Unlike so many of London’s alleys, this one ran straight and true and without intersection. That meant the Metal Man couldn’t lose himself in a maze—and Andrew was closing on him.

  The Metal Man stopped and turned.

  No time to shout a warning to Andrew.

  Ivana’s lungs and muscles burned. The monster could have horrible weapons. She needed to be there. A knife was not enough, not against modern technologies.

  The Metal Man threw the bundle at Andrew, who went on one knee to catch it. The distraction won the monster enough time to round the corner and vanish into the busier street. From there he could vanish into the maze.

  Andrew caught her skirt as she would have run past.

  “Janey,” she gasped.

  He parted the blanket-shrouded bundle.

  A child looked at her with wide, fearful eyes in a pale face. Not Janey.

  “First we save this one,” Andrew said.

  Chapter 5

  Fear was an ugly thing. Andrew had known it a few times in his life. You couldn’t go exploring the world’s wild places without some hair-raising moments. But that was physical fear. Never before had he known the sort of visceral fear as he had when Ivana attempted to run past him and after the abomination that was the Metal Man.

  He’d seen the glint of razor-sharp talons on the man’s hand. Wicked devices like that could tear your face off or disembowel you.

  Andrew shifted the weight of the silent child he carried.

  The interesting point was that the Metal Man hadn’t turned to fight. He’d fled.

  “I’ve already telephoned people, calling in favours, asking them for information about the Metal Man.” Ivana paced beside him, talking fast, her gaze flicking even faster over the other people out in the street. Even in a main street, she was taking no chances.

  He understood. He carried the child in his left arm so his right was free to reach for the knife.

  “But now that I’ve seen that monstrosity, I’m going to do more than call in favours. I’ll offer a reward. He knows we’re after him, now.” Her voice faltered. “He might run. What will he do to Janey if he’s panicked?”

  “We’re doing all we can.” It was a pathetic reassurance—and all that he had to offer. Now that he’d seen the rabbit warren of the city’s poorest streets, he knew that the police wouldn’t have the manpower to flush out the monster. Even the army would struggle. There were too many hiding places.

  “Wait here,” she said suddenly.

  “Pardon?” Then he realised they were outside a brothel. The red light in the window said it all. And Ivana was preparing to enter it. He grabbed her arm. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Mrs Hazel owes me. She’ll find the information if anyone can. Her husband runs a gang of pickpockets. They have eyes everywhere. I should have gone to her first, but she scares me.”

  And Ivana didn’t scare easily.

  He pulled her back against him. “How do you know a brothel keeper?”

  “I’ll explain later.” Her attention was on the shabby front door.

  A large sailor brushed past them and through the doorway, ducking his head to fit. The man reeked of stale sweat and carried an aura of violence.

  “You are not going in there.” As if she’d listen to his orders. He had to present her with another option. “Is this Mrs Hazel on the telephone?”

  The telephone company’s wires ran oddly through the city’s streets, looping and sagging, crazily venturing into some poor areas before skirting others.

  “I think so.”

  “Then telephone her.”

  “I—”

  “Consider this. Is Mrs Hazel going to like you invading her business and business hours?”

  “Oh.”

  Finally.

  He urged her in the direction of the toy shop. “You can telephone her and whoever else for information on the Metal Man as soon as we get home. I’ll settle the child with Samuel and Kelly. Perhaps they can get him—or her—to talk.”

  The frightened child wouldn’t answer any questions, not even to give them a name.

  “Now, are you going to explain how a brothel keeper comes to owe you a favour?”

  “It started with Alice. When she was killed, the way she was killed, it hurt something in me.”

  “Your trust in men,” he said.

  She glanced at him, the til
t of her head suggesting surprise. “Perhaps. I was thinking more about my confidence. I’d never really thought about safety before then. I lived in the bubble of high society with maids and footmen. Real life was meant to happen to other people.”

  “All young people should feel like that,” Andrew said gently. “They should be able to trust that those who love them will keep them safe while they explore the world.”

  She touched his arm. “I like that, Andrew. It’s not true for so many.” They both studied the tiny child he carried. “But it should be.” She sighed. “I wanted to do my part to make women feel safe. I opened the toy shop because I knew I needed to be more subtle than the suffragettes. It wasn’t about challenging anyone. It was about fitting women to cope with the world as it is. No one pays any attention to women walking into a toy shop, but tucked behind the toys are self-protection devices and labour-saving gadgets that free women to live the lives they want, instead of being tied to housework or afraid of bullies in the street or simply beaten down by life.”

  “You want to rescue them.”

  “No, I want to help them rescue themselves. Some women are in desperate situations. It makes me ashamed.”

  “You didn’t put them in those situations.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s me. I don’t want to stay in the toy shop and the truth is, I don’t have to. I have enough family money, enough education and freedom that I can go anywhere, and I want to. That’s what makes me ashamed.”

  “Ivana, I’m an explorer. Was an explorer. I understand the desire for adventure.”

  “No.” She whirled on him. “I opened the toy shop for Alice. I run it in her memory. There are so many, hundreds of thousands of women, trapped in horrible lives. How can I waltz off to enjoy myself? I can’t abandon them.”

  But he could hear in her voice how much she wanted to.

  It was a natural wish. She’d been unbelievably young to start an initiative like the toy shop. She’d run it for five years, probably without a break. She needed time and space to be free, to indulge the spirit of adventure that gave her the courage to go with him into Hookbone Alley after a monster.