––––––––
Stupid man.
Sprawled diagonally across her bed as the sun set heavily in the sky, sending wisps of light dancing across the polished floorboards, Ava took a bite of the apple pie she’d smuggled into her room and savored the sweet flavor of it on her tongue even as her thoughts took a far darker turn.
A blind fool could see the sparks flying between them. Both this morning in the bedroom, and this afternoon in the courtyard. Heath wanted her, and she wanted him, and what was so wrong about that? Except he’d promised her nothing, and having lost her heart twice before she had no intention of losing it a third time.
Perhaps as a young, foolish girl she’d dreamed of being swept off her feet by a charming lord who would carry her away to his grand estate and make her his wife, but now she was a woman grown who knew dreams were no more substantial than smoke and romance was best found between the pages of a book. A book she wouldn’t have been able to read even if she wanted to.
Life wasn’t a fairy tale, Ava reminded herself, she wasn’t a princess, and Heath Mason, though undeniably handsome, was certainly no prince.
Finishing off the apple pie, she set the plate on the floor and rolled over onto her back to contemplate the ceiling. Someone had painted it yellow to the match the walls, which she thought was a rather peculiar thing to do. It made one feel as though they’d stepped into a butter churn. Still, it gave the room a cheerful way about it, and compared to the filthy, rat infested tenement she called home it was no less than a mansion.
Tilting her head towards the window she closed her eyes as the last lingering rays of sunlight bathed her countenance in a warm, soft glow. How wonderful it felt to lie on a bed and not hear babies wailing or women crying. The surly noises of St. Giles had rung in her ears for so long she’d forgotten what silence sounded like.
The idea of returning to the place she’d called home for twenty years filled her with an unmitigated sense of dread. How much longer could she live among thieves and murderers and prostitutes and not become one of them whether she wanted to or not? Already she danced a thin line between right and wrong, balancing on the tip of a knife that grew sharper with every passing day.
Ava was not a righteous woman, but she had her pride. She would not sell her body for coin, nor steal what did not belong to her. Well, she amended with the tiniest hint of a cat-like smile, I do not steal from those who cannot afford it. After all, what was a loaf of bread taken from a rich merchant or a shiny bauble swiped from the front window of a wealthy jeweler?
Except now she was a wanted woman, and such excursions out into the public eye would be forbidden unless she wanted to risk being discovered by the men Collinsworth had sent out to hunt her down.
Had Ava been more ignorant to the harsh cruelties of the world she would have assumed her sudden disappearance would have freed her from Collinsworth and his ilk, but she knew the type of men - if one could even call them that - were like rapid dogs after a fox. Once unleashed they would not give up until they’d found their prey... and ripped it apart limb from limb.
If only she’d stayed away from the wharf that night. But the whispers of fresh food being delivered had been too tempting to resist, and so against her better judgment she’d crept down to the docks and waited to see if the rumors were true.
A boat never came, but three men did, two dressed in black and one wearing the unmistakable attire of a fancy nabob. They held a squirming woman between them, her head bowed so Ava could not make out her face, although she could hear her mewling cries clear enough. What struck her as immediately odd was that although the woman’s accent betrayed her as a member of the lower class she’d been dressed in the fine clothes of a lady. The emerald green gown hung off her bony frame, the neckline listing to the side and one sleeve unbuttoned, as though she were a doll that had been dressed in haste.
“Ye promised me ten shillings if I went with ye,” the woman had cried.
The nabob halted, but nodded for his two henchmen to continue onto the edge of the dock. He watched dispassionately as the woman struggled, jagged slices of moonlight reflecting off a countenance that was hard and uncaring. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and fair skin. He would have been handsome if not for the cruel tilt of his lips and the peculiar glint in his eyes. A glint that Ava, even huddled and hiding, could see was not completely sane. “I lied.”
“But why me?” she wailed. “I never did nothing to ye!”
Holding her breath, Ava remained in place and waited for the nabob to answer. She wanted to help the poor woman and she would have if she’d had more to use as a weapon than a flimsy dagger. With nothing to defend herself with there was nothing she could do but stay crouched behind the stack of old rotten ship boards she’d chosen as her hiding place and stay silent, a horrified witness to the unspeakable crime unfolding before her very eyes.
“You look just like her,” the nabob said coldly. “That is enough.” He nodded at the man on the left. “Get on with it. Throw her in.”
Throw her in? Ava barely suppressed a gasp. It may have been early spring but the Thames was still frightfully cold. The woman wouldn’t stand a chance in the icy water, especially weighed down by such a voluminous dress.
“What if she swims out?” the man on the right asked. He had a large, hooked nose and small, squinty eyes. Ava shuddered to look at him, and knew in that moment the poor woman’s fate was sealed.
“Aye,” the other thug agreed. “She’s a strong little piece, Collinsworth.”
Collinsworth.
So that was the nabob’s name. It was unfamiliar to her, not that she’d expected anything less. With the exception of the royal family Ava knew none of the peerage for they did not exactly run in the same social circles and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen a lord in St. Giles. They avoided the place like the plague, and for good reason. It wasn’t for them any more than Grosvenor Square was for the likes of her.
“Clock the wench on her head and then throw her in,” Collinsworth said, sounding bored of the entire affair. “Do I need to tell you how to do everything? I wouldn’t even be down here if I wasn’t certain you two fools would blunder it up without my supervision.”
No, Ava wanted to shout. Let her go! Leave her alone! But instead of crying out she bit down on her knuckles so hard they bled, for she knew the only thing her protests would accomplish would be ensuring her body fell into the water right behind the woman’s.
The thug on the left shrugged. “Good enuff, I suppose. Hold ‘er still, Tommy.”
“Wait! Stop, please. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” The woman was sobbing openly now, her tears glinting on her cheeks like diamonds in the moonlight. “I - I have two wee babes at home who need me and—”
“You are a drunken whore,” Collinsworth interrupted, “who no one will miss or mourn. Do it now,” he ordered harshly. “I’ve grown weary of her caterwauling. And make sure you don’t throw the body in too far. Remember, I need her found.”
The woman’s wails were abruptly silenced as one of the thugs brought his fist crashing down on the side of her head. Holding her unconscious body between them the two brutes tossed her over the side of the dock without a single hint of conscience. There was a loud splash, and then nothing. The deed had been done, and now Ava was a witness to murder.
Not knowing how much longer she could control the trembling that had overtaken her limbs she willed the men to move on but they lingered, their voices muffled so she only heard every third or fourth word.
“...fish her out tomorrow.”
“I will claim her... next day...”
“...find St. Giles...”
St. Giles? Ava’s brow knitted in confusion. What did the Duke have to do with any of this? She bit down hard on her tongue. It didn’t matter because it didn’t concern her. The only thing she needed to concern herself with was escaping without notice and pretending tonight had never happened. These men had murdered without mercy once; they wouldn’t hesitate to do so, again especially if they discovered there was a witness to their crime who could identify two of them by name.
She began to inch backwards... and felt a stone roll beneath her heel. Desperately she tried to grab for it, but her reflexes were slow from being in a cramped position for so long. The rock pinged off a piece of wood, the sound of it deafening in the near silence.
“What was that?” Collinsworth hissed. In unison all three men turned towards the pile of shipboards. Ava froze, not even daring to breathe.
“Probably a cat,” Tommy said with a careless lift of his broad shoulders.
“I can’t take any chances. Go check,” Collinsworth ordered.
Ava waited until the thug was halfway to her hiding place before she sprang to her feet, spun in a circle, and darted into the nearest alley. She heard three angry shouts of surprise, followed by Collinsworth’s furious cry.
“Get the bitch and bring her to me!”
Blood roaring in her ears, Ava fled into the night.