Elyse Mady by The White Swan Affair Page A

If his shortness of breath was any indication, he must have run the distance between the shop and the office without pause.
    “Are you trying to tell me there is a riot? At Mr. Aspinall’s shop?” At the young man’s frightened nod, he stood, his chair falling back with a crash. “Damn. Larkin, send for the constables. If they’re quick, they’ll get there before the whole place is torn to pieces. Thank God at least, the shop is empty.”
    He dropped to a crouch behind the massive desk and unlocked the lowest drawer, sliding it open to reveal a slim, mahogany case. He should have foreseen such an event, understood the likely outcome the news of the Vere Street arrests would have on a populace long burdened by war and shortages.
    A riot against king and country would be stamped out with brutal immediacy but a crowd seeking “justice” against a man accused of engaging in an unnatural crime? It did not take a judge’s perruque to guess the outcome, or the fact that the law would be very apt to look the other way.
    “Not empty…” the boy wheezed. “Miss Aspinall…”
    The loaded pistols were in his hands before Thomas even realized his own intentions. Hester is in the building . That was what the boy was trying to say. Hester, alone and vulnerable, facing an angry crowd seeking who knew what sort of vengeance on the shop of a purported sodomite.
    “Fetch the constabulary,” he ordered the dismayed manager, striding with single minded focus out of the offices. “You are to stay here,” he commanded the apprentice.
    “No, sir. I will not.”
    Thomas thought of arguing but from the ferocious look on the apprentice’s face, he knew it would be pointless. And did not the lad deserve some credit? He’d had the wits to fetch him. Thomas gripped the firearms and made a lightening decision.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Jeremy Hutt. I work for—”
    “I know who you work for. We have no time for this. Come. But do not delay me or I will leave you behind,” he warned.
    They darted into the street, which teemed with early morning shoppers and conveyances. It took no more than five minutes to make the harrowing journey, yet it seemed as though every inch of progress could be measured in hours, not seconds.
    They could make out the cries and jeers of the crowd long before they could see it. There were at least one hundred people, maybe more, outside the shop. The rabble-rousers hurled rocks and bits of rubble and whatever else they could lay hands on at the shop’s façade. The neatly painted sign listed precariously, hanging from a single chain. The panes of glass had all been shattered and the door bore the signs of having been kicked by vengeful feet.
    And Hester, a small, fallen body on the ground. His heart caught in his chest. If she were dead, he would tear these creatures apart with his own hands. The anger and fear were potent and visceral. Hester could not be harmed. He would not allow it.
    The sharp report of Thomas’s pistol brought the crowd to an eerie halt.
    “Disperse,” he ordered, not daring to glance at Hester’s vulnerable form for an instant. “Or the next soul to act will find themselves my gun’s mark.” Something in his voice must have convinced them, and slowly the rowdy passersbys began to dissipate, amidst dark muttering and deprecations. He watched them warily, his eyes searching the crowd, until the street had resumed its usual course and only Jeremy and himself remained standing in front of the shop.
    “She breathes!” The boy knelt beside Hester’s prone figure, his features knitted with worry. He held up his fingertips; they were wet with fresh blood. “We cannot leave her here, sir. She needs an apothecary. Should we carry her to one?”
    “No,” Thomas answered. “She should be moved as little as possible.” It took all of his considerable reserve not to let his anguish show as he gathered her up in his arms. She felt so light and insubstantial. Jeremy led him to the