Lord Patrick Day stared. For three seconds. Five seconds. Ten. He still couldn't believe it. What...?
"Gwen!" Before he could stop whatever the hell was going on, in fact, before he could do anything, his mother took a step forward. "What is this? What are you doing?"
"What do you think, you stupid bint?" Lady Gwendolyn hissed in a tone Parick had never heard before. "God, I'm so glad I finally don't have to pretend anymore! Do you have any idea how mind-numbingly infuriating it was to spend my time ingratiating myself with an inane, charity-obsessed twat like you? Gwen, will you help me set up this charity auction? Won't you come to the orphanage, Gwen? Why don't we organize a benefit for Christmas, Gwen? I'm. Sick. Of. It!" Breathing hard, the woman Patrick had thought of as an aunt glared at both of them. Then a smile spread over her face. A smile so ugly, so alien, it made Lord Patrick want to take a step back. But he didn't, for one simple reason.
Amy.
She. Had. Amy.
"But you know what?" The woman asked, that sick smile still on her face. "It was worth it! It was all worth it, Lady Chairwoman of the London Society for the Aid of Orphans and the Poor."
That was when it clicked. Lord Patrick felt a sick chill spreading through him. He had to resist the urge not to vomit.
"What a fool I've been," he murmured, staring at the old lady as if he'd never seen her before. Maybe he never had. Not her real self, anyway.
"Ah, little Patrick is finally starting to put two and two together, is he?" The woman gave him a smile that was so cold, so utterly emotionless, that it sent a cold spike of fear right through his chest.
"Orphans," he whispered. "Orphans. How could I have been so stupid?"
"Orphans?" Titus demanded. "What are you babbling about? What the hell is happening?"
"Orphans," Patrick repeated, feeling as if he were having a strange out-of-body experience. Or, rather, out of reality. His entire reality had suddenly shifted. This was his mother's friend! A woman he had known ever since he could remember. And yet...looking at her now, had he ever truly known her? "Orphans. God, it's so obvious! Who is in the best position to find vulnerable children? Who would easily know victims that wouldn't be missed, that would just slip between the cracks and go unnoticed?"
Titus paled. "The board of governors of the London Society for the Aid of Orphans and the Poor," he muttered. "Oh my God."
Lord Patrick Day felt like beating himself over the head with a hammer. No...not quite correct. First, he'd bash the witch's face in, then he'd whack himself over the head.
"I can't believe I didn't realise." His fists clenched. "I was there, dammit! At the very beginning! I saw people trying to snatch those children from an orphanage. From my mother's orphanage, which just happens to have tighter security than Buckingham Palace! I should have seen it! How the heck did they get in there if someone didn't let them in? If someone didn't tell them exactly when and where to go?"
"So..." Lady Gwendolyn's eyes—no. Not lady. No creature like that deserved to be called a lady. The woman's eyes narrowed. "That was you interfering in my business that time? I should have known! You've always been a bloody little goody two shoes!"
"Oh, I've done more than that." Fists clenched, he stared her down without blinking. "Much more."
"You...it was you!" The words came from her mouth like the hiss of a snake. "The one interfering in my business, going after my customers, stealing my wares—it was you!"
He smirked. "You are most welcome, Your Ladyship."
"You! You did this! And it all started because you caught those bloody fools at that orphanage? I should have just burned it to the ground!"
"Orphanage?"
The soft murmur interrupted the two's verbal duel. Both looked over to where it had come from. Or rather, whom.
"Orphanage?" Lady Henrietta repeated. "My orphanage? Children? Snatched?" With every single word, her voice grew colder and colder. It was clear from the expression on her face that she still didn't really understand what was going on. But it was equally clear that she didn't really need to. Someone had endangered her children. That was enough.
Right now, Lord Patrick Day felt really glad she was his mother.
"You...you...!" Eyes blazing, Her Ladyship the Dowager Duchess took a step forward. "You abducted children?"
"Abducted. Caged. Sold." The beast in the form of a woman raised an eyebrow at Lord Patrick. "What, you haven't told her what you've been up to over the last few months? Tut, tut. There should always be perfect trust between mother and son. Especially since, if you'd told her, I would have found out it was you who was ruining my operations so much earlier. Then maybe we could have avoided this..." She shifted the blade of her knife. "...unpleasant situation."
A growl erupted from Patrick's throat. Before he could stop himself, he had taken a step forward, fists raised.
"Ah, ah!" The knife pressed more firmly into Amy's throat. "None of that, or this helpless little lady gets it!"
Instantly, Lord Patrick froze. Although not for the reason most people were probably suspecting.
Helpless little lady?
Unnoticed by anyone, one corner of his mouth twitched.
"Now," the villainess continued her monologue, unaware that Lord Patrick wasn't really paying attention to her anymore. "This girl and I are going to take a little walk outside. When I release her—or rather if—I had better not see a single sign of you following me. Understood?" She gently patted Amy's shoulder. "We wouldn't want any harm to come to this poor, innocent girl."
"You...!" Patrick stared at the woman.
She just cocked an eyebrow. "What? Angry? Helpless? Desperate to save your damsel in distress?"
Not really.
"You'll never get away with this!" he informed her. After all, it was only reasonable to give fair warning to people about to commit suicide. "You will pay!"
Her eyes narrowed. "You are in no position to threaten me."
Me? No. But...
His eyes flicked to where Amy was held by the old lady, knife at her throat.
Amy was smiling.
Lord Patrick dragged in a deep breath. "Let her go."
"What?" His mother exclaimed. "But—"
"No buts!" he cut her off. "Let. Her. Go."
"Smart move." The woman who had been his mother's friend smirked, slowly starting to edge towards the front door. "Now, be good and stay put."
They reached the door.
"You there!" she barked at the pale-as-a-ghost butler. "Open the door!"
"I..." Swallowing, the butler glanced over at Patrick and company. Lady Gwendolyn did not seem to appreciate that.
"Open. That. Door!"
"Do it!" The dowager duchess squeezed out. "But I swear to God, if you hurt so much as a hair on her head..."
"What? You'll find me? Hunt me down?" Lady Gwendolyn snorted. "Get in line."
Then she started moving towards the exit again. The butler leapt into action and pulled open the door. The woman took another step, two, three—and then she was gone.
And Amy with her.
Breathing hard, Lord Patrick clenched his fists and tried his best to restrain himself from rushing after her. Tried his best to stop himself from going berserk. He wanted to. He really, really wanted to. But there was one thing that stopped him.
It wasn't the knife at Amy's throat.
It wasn't the terror in his heart.
It was the expression on Amy's face. The expression just before she was pulled out the door. She was still smiling. The very same smile she had always worn before their sparring sessions.
Reaching out, he stopped his mother from taking a step forward. "Don't. Let them go."
"But..."
"Let. Them. Go. Or didn't you see that knife at Amy's throat?"
Patrick's mother glared at him, the same way she had glared at him the night he'd explained to her he already knew Father Christmas wasn't real—then she rushed forward and threw herself into his arms. Patrick pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. His eyes, though, never moved from the door through which Amy had disappeared into the darkness. And his mind didn't forget her smile.
He grinned.
***
"Well, well, girl..." Amy suppressed the urge to immediately make her move as the saccharine-sweet voice of the old twat who was holding a knife to her throat drifted into her ears. "Abandoned by your lover, in the clutches of a villain...you must be terrified right now, mustn't you?"
"Oh yes. Terrified."
"Ha! Don't worry." Out of the corner of her eye, Amy caught the flash of a smile. It was not a very nice one. "You won't have to be afraid for much longer."
"R-really?"
"But before I, ehem, set you free..." The sarcasm in the woman's voice was thick. "...I do have a question."
"Shoot."
"Well, I was wondering how exactly you're involved in this. I knew that someone was investigating my outfit. I should have guessed it was little Patrick, sticking his far-too-noble nose in things. But...little Patrick's ladyfriend? How the heck would some silly little girl I've never seen before be able to recognize me? How would you recognize that wound?"
"Oh, that?" Turning her head ever so slightly, Amy gifted Lady Gwendolyn with a grin. "Simple. I recognized that wound because I'm the one who gave it to you."
Then she struck!
***
"Patrick, what are you doing?" Lord Patrick Day looked down at his mother who was staring up at him like he had just kicked her favorite puppy. "How can you just be standing there? Why did you hold me back? Amy is in danger! We have to do something!"
He thought about it for a moment. A long moment. Then he shook his head.
"No. No, I don't think we do."
"What? But Patrick, she—"
"Ooomph!"
Crack!
A sound from outside interrupted her. It didn't sound like a gunshot. Not at all. No, it sounded more like a bone breaking. The dowager duchess whirled around to stare at the door.
"You stupid little bitch! I'll kill y—aaagh!"
Wham!
"Ggggh!"
Slam!
"Um...Patrick, Dear?" His mother glanced between him and the door. "You heard that, right? Now shouldn't we go out there and check?"
Patrick stood there, considering the question for a moment—then shook his head. "No, we shouldn't. We definitely shouldn't."
Her Ladyship blinked. "We...shouldn't?"
"No." Settling down in a nearby chair, he reached for a cup of tea and started sipping casually. "Tell me, mother, do you know what is one of the most inconvenient facts about being a gentleman?"
"Err...no?"
A gurgle came from outside, followed by a thud.
"One of the most inconvenient facts about being a gentleman," Lord Patrick explained, "is that you are forbidden from punching women. Why, punching aside, even a little stabbing or throttling is discouraged."
The gurgle from outside faded into a gagging noise, like a rat being choked to death.
"So you see," he informed his lady mother as he put his feet up on the table and reached for a sandwich, "for now I'm just going to sit here and relax. I'm sure that, whatever is going on out there, it's nothing untoward."
"Aaaagh!" a muffled scream echoed through the street outside. "Nng! Rggg..."
Slowly, the sounds of struggle subsided until finally, at long last, it ended with the thud of something hitting the ground. Something that sounded suspiciously like a body. Then...silence.
"Oh, yes," Her Ladyship the dowager duchess agreed, spearing Lord Patrick with a gaze that said, Don't you dare think you're going to get out of explaining this. "Nothing untoward, absolutely."
A wet squelch came from outside, followed by footsteps. The door swung open, revealing the form of a broadly smiling Amy Weston. Stepping towards the dowager duchess, she dropped into a perfect curtsy. "My apologies if I'm a little late, Your Grace. I hope dinner hasn't gone cold yet?"
***
It turned out that, no, apparently dinner had not yet gone cold. However, it also seemed Amy wasn't going to be able to fill her stomach any time soon. Oddly enough, none of the others present seemed to agree with her brilliant plan of throwing the bound and gagged gang leader into the Thames with a large rock tied to her feet. Pritchard especially, who had arrived with ten bobbies in tow soon after Patrick had sent him a message boy, seemed to be stubborn about that for some reason.
"We can't do that," he tried to explain for the twenty-seventh time or so. "People will panic if they hear about that sort of police brutality!"
Amy cocked her head. "Dey will?"
"Yes!"
"Oh, well." She considered for a moment—then nodded. "I guess I understand. All right. Ye probably shouldn't throw 'er into da river, den."
He sagged in relief. "So glad you understand."
"Aye." Reaching out, she patted his shoulder. "I'll take care of it for ye."
Then she stood up and started down the corridor. She was halfway to the door before what she had said registered, and Pritchard leapt up.
"Stop! Stop right there!"
Amy started to walk faster.
In the end, amazingly, it was Hendrickson who convinced her to drop her amazing plan for villain-disposal. "Legalities aside, we can't dispose of her in secret, in the dark." His face was grim as he stared straight into Amy's eyes, surveying his journalists as they snapped pictures of the cursing gang leader, growling and ranting on the ground. "She needs to be dragged out into the light, her crimes revealed for all to see. She deserves all the hate the world has to offer."
Amy considered for a moment, gazing down at the woman on the ground in front of her—then reluctantly nodded. "All right." She waved to Pritchard. "Take 'er."
He stepped forward, nodding to his subordinates—then halted as Amy grabbed his arm. When he met her gaze, he jerked at the look in her eyes. "I've seen what she's done with me own two eyes. Make sure she gets what she deserves. Make very sure."
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.
"I will."
And she believed him.
"You can't do this!" The old twat hissed as she was dragged to a police carriage. "I have connections! Influence! I'll have all of your badges, do you hear me? All of you! And you..." Her venomous eyes focused on Amy. "I'll make you pay for this, do you hear? I'll make you pay!"
Amy smirked. "From inside prison? 'ave fun tryin'."
Then the door of the carriage slammed shut behind her. Somewhere above, a whip cracked, and the coach started rolling off into the darkness. Amy stood there for a long moment, watching the shadows, just to make sure.
She heard footsteps approach from behind. A moment later, a familiar, and oh-so-very comforting arm slid around her shoulders.
"It's difficult to believe, isn't it?"
"Aye." Ever so slightly, she leaned into him. It's just because I'm tired, she told herself. Dere's no other reason. Definitely not cause 'e feels so wonderfully warm and comfy. "Aye, it is."
"All those weeks of investigation, and then suddenly...it's over. It's all over."
"Aye. We've done it. We've actually done it."
Amy bit her lips. He was so close. So incredibly, temptingly close. Words hovered on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to speak them. She wanted it so very, very much. But it was so incredibly hard. Particularly with the subject she had in mind.
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, we've done it."
Swallowing, Amy screwed her courage. Not to the sticking place or anything, she just screwed it. Period. Stick to what you know, as Jenny always told her.
"Patrick?"
"Yes?"
She hesitated.
"Dere's bin a lot...'appenin' recently."
He stiffened.
"Yes. Yes, it has."
"Between da both of us."
"True."
"It might 'ave started as a joke, but I...I really feel...I really think dat I want to...dat maybe, just maybe we could..."
The words stuck in her throat. She just couldn't say it. Part of her wanted to slap herself. This was Lord Patrick Day, Heir to the bloody Duchy of Exeter! Sure, they'd shared some...private moments. But the same could be said of her and hundreds of other men, and they'd even had to pay for the privilege. He, on the other hand, would just have to command, and she would obey. Why would a man of his station lower himself to having any true feelings for a lowly pros—
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a hand capturing her chin, turning her around. Coming face-to-face with him, she couldn't escape his bright, sky-blue eyes, staring straight into her soul.
"You feel? You want?" Cupping her chin, he leaned forward until there was barely an inch between them. "You think we could? You're not the only one."
And then he was kissing her! Fiercely, fervently, he was kissing her! In a way she most certainly wasn't going to charge money for.
"Then...maybe," Amy whispered against his lips, "maybe we can talk about what the both of us want, you know? See if maybe it matches?"
Something sparkled in his eyes in a way that made her heart leap. "That would be most convenient. I think I can find the time to compare notes."
She swallowed. "M-me too."
"After all, we've just finished our investigation."
"A-aye. We should 'ave plenty of time."
"True." Gently, his thumb caressed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine. "Now that all the gangsters are behind bars, we've got all the time in the world."
That was the moment when Amy suddenly heard footsteps approaching from behind them. The steps ceased, replaced by the tapping of a foot.
"Oh, you have all the time in the world, do you?" came the voice of Her Grace the Dowager Duchess from right behind them. "I'm so glad you have so much free time. That means you won't mind spending an hour or two explaining to me exactly what you have been up to during the last few weeks, will you?"
-----------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Who else is looking forward to Christmas purchases in the middle of COVID? **Insert sarcasm here** ;)
I wish you all the best!
Yours Truly
Sir Rob