Chapter Forty

J oss watched them approach from his position deep under the quay. Crouched in the shadows, he could see Hettie clearly only because the paleness of her face was a perfect foil for the darkness around them. Her skin caught every small fragment of light and reflected it back. Beside her, Simon was less distinct. His face was shadowed with beard and perhaps with dirt, as well. Given the obviously rough state of his dress, barely visible as it was, it seemed that Simon Dagliesh's financial woes had finally caught up to him.

He moved toward the barrel where Annie Foster had been imprisoned, now almost entirely submerged by the rising water of the river. Dagliesh was all but dragging Hettie along with him. Somehow, Joss managed to tamp down his fury at seeing him handle her so roughly. It infuriated him, but precision was key. If he acted too quickly, Simon could flee with Hettie, and they'd be chasing him once more. They needed to wait for him to be in a position where he would be completely surrounded by them before alerting him to their presence. There would be only one chance to catch him truly off guard, and that would be the moment he discovered the barrel was empty.

"What have you done to her?" Hettie asked, her voice rising with panic. "You've murdered her! She could not have survived in there!"

"No," Dagliesh said with smug satisfaction as he began to pry at the lid of the barrel. "And you will not either."

He should have known. That phrase would echo in his mind for the rest of his days, Joss realized. Because Hettie would not simply be docile and cooperate with him. It was not in her nature. Her days of bowing to any man were long over. She wrenched away from him, staggering backwards and sending water splashing in every direction.

Simon cursed and grabbed for her, but she was just out of reach. Still, she stumbled, falling backward into water that, in her seated position, was neck deep. And with the weight of her gown and the soft silt beneath her, Joss knew she'd never be able to get to her feet in time to avoid further attempts to capture her. At that moment, Bates emerged from his position, a pistol trained on Dagliesh.

"Do not move, sir. I mean to take you into custody for the murder of Lord Ernsdale, the abduction and attempted murder of Annie Foster, and now the abduction of Lady Ernsdale. You may never see the inside of a cell and you likely won't swing for it, but I'll make sure all of England knows you for the criminal you are!"

As Bates pontificated, Joss slipped deeper into the water, moving silently. He timed his advances toward Dagliesh with the waves lapping at the pilings. He only moved forward when the cresting water pushed him in that direction. Only when he was close enough to make his move with complete accuracy did he spring up from the icy water and grab Dagliesh from behind. With his arm wrapped around the other man's neck, squeezing with just enough force to subdue him, did Joss speak.

"You will never touch her again. If you ever attempt it, there will not be enough left of you to stand trial," he warned with a low growl.

Other men began to step forward, some lowering themselves from the wharf above where they'd been concealed amidst stacks of unloaded cargo or empty crates. Others still were concealed in the water, hiding behind pilings or buoys. It was Arliss Battson who helped Hettie to her feet as Maurice Bates moved toward them and placed a pair of handcuffs on Simon's wrists.

When he knew Dagliesh was subdued, Joss moved toward Hettie. He wrapped her in his arms and whispered in her ear, "You are the most reckless, willful, obstinate, maddening woman I have ever known. Do you have any idea what might have happened to you?"

"I have a very good idea of it. Is Annie... is she in that barrel?" Hettie asked softly.

"No. Jack Collinsworth found her earlier. He's already returned her to Vincent's house to be cared for. She is frightened, but otherwise well enough."

She sagged against him then, her relief evident. "I couldn't let him harm her because of me. I never imagined that he would have devised something so diabolical as this."

"Desperation creates ingenuity. He's out of funds entirely. There's not a soul in London he can beg, borrow or steal from now... not when he's hunted by Ardmore and his band of cutthroats. With no accomplices, he had to get creative," Joss surmised. He didn't add that he had an inkling it wasn't the first time Simon Dagliesh had tormented a woman. Knowing what he did of the late Lord Ernsdale and the various establishments that had banned him for his treatment of the working girls, it stood to reason that both of the Dagliesh men were poisoned fruit from a very rotten tree. "Let's get you out of the water. I know it's your vision of hell."

*

Hettie allowed him to lead her from the water via the same steps she'd taken down with Simon. The source of her fear had been eliminated, but still her heart raced, and it felt as if she could not breathe in enough air. The chilly night air and her sodden clothes did not help the matter. By the time they reached the quay, Vincent and Honoria were there. From somewhere, a heavy cloak appeared and was draped about her shoulders. It did little to dispel the cold.

"I need to get her back to the house and warm. We haven't time to waste."

"Sally Dawson is waiting to drive you home," Vincent said, clearly nonplussed by it all.

"Sally?" Joss repeated and then looked at her. "What were the three of you planning?"

Hettie looked at her sister and nodded. Honoria then proceeded to pull a brace of pistols from her pockets and also two wicked-looking blades. "We did not come unprepared," she said. "I have a blade of my own. It's tucked into my boot. We did not come here to die. Nor did we intend to leave here with Simon Dagliesh still drawing breath."

The admission, that they'd come there with the intent to do murder, was met with complete silence. Neither Vincent nor Joss spoke a word. But they exchanged a look that seemed to say the pair of them were the banes of their respective existences. For her part, the feeling was quite mutual. The man was maddening. Did he care for her? Sometimes she thought so. He desired her. Had his concern been only for the child she carried, or was there some tenderness in his self-proclaimed hard heart for her? Hettie had no notion. And pride would not let her ask.

In that moment, she found herself weary of it all. So weary, in fact, that she swayed on her feet. Immediately, his arm about her tightened, holding her upright.

"Home. We'll discuss your schemes and desire to resort to a life of crime at a later time when you've had a hot bath, hot tea, and dry clothes," he said.

She might have argued on principal had the things he suggested not sounded so terribly divine to her.