A Wedding In Springtime(107)

“What name?” asked Penelope and Thornton together.

“Grant’s tailor!”

***

“Can you pry off the board?” asked Genie.

Grant had stripped off his coat and was now standing precariously on several stacked crates, attempting to remove the boards from the small window. “Could if I had something to pry it with.”

“Could we squeeze out if you got the boards off?”

“Doubt I could, but you might.” Grant jumped down and inspected the crates but rejected them as too flimsy to provide a pry bar.

“What about the chair?” asked Genie, reading his mind.

“Good thought!” Grant took the chair and swung it over his head bashing it on the ground. Genie jumped at the noise but thrilled at watching Grant do something physically rigorous, an activity not generally in his repertoire.

He slammed the chair down again and it broke apart. A few wrenches more and he had one of the chair legs free, a turned piece of solid oak. He tested its weight in his hand. “This may do it.” He scrambled up the crates again, but before he could attempt prying off the boards, voices were heard in the alley.

“Hide!” hissed Grant as he jumped down. “And if you see an opportunity to run, do it!”

Genie crouched in a dark corner and Grant hid behind the wooden stairs leading up to the alley entrance. The door opened, bathing the cellar in light. Genie retreated further into the gloom.

“I do not care to hear your complaints,” said Mr. Blakely, or the Candyman, or whatever he was calling himself today. “You made a convincing wench.”

“Yessir,” moped a lad wearing Genie’s long coat and bonnet.

“They will have their sights on me, but they will not suspect you. That’s why you will fire the fatal shot. Wait until you are close enough to put a bullet through his brain.”

“Yessir,” said the lad in the bonnet.

“Now remember, Marchford will no doubt bring friends, so we must be prepared to take them out as well. Of course, not all his friends will be present, will they Mr. Grant?” Blakely strode down the steps into the cellar and peered into the gloom at the cage where Grant… wasn’t.

Grant jumped at Blakely from behind, knocking him to the ground. Blakely cursed brutally, kicking Grant off and drawing a pistol. Grant lunged for the gun. With an orange flash and a blast, the shot went high, the gunpowder smoke burning Grant’s lungs.

Using the stock of the gun as a weapon, Blakely struck Grant hard across the jaw, but Grant would not be taken down. Grant returned the favor with a facer to Blakely’s nose. Blood spurted and Grant used the distraction to knock the pistol from Blakely’s hand and put him in a headlock, wrestling him to the ground.

“Stop!” cried the boy in the bonnet, pulling his own flintlock pistol from his coat. “Let ’im up,” he said, aiming the gun at Grant.

Behind the boy Genie stepped out of the shadows, her face as white as her gown. All the boys were in a circle looking at him, the door to the alley still open. This was her chance to get away. Grant looked at her and slid his gaze to the cellar door, hoping she would run for it.

“Hallo there, m’lad,” said Grant in a bright tone, not letting go of Blakely. “You look a bright boy. Why have you taken up with this Frenchie?”

“Didn’t know he was French, did I?” defended the lad.

“You do now,” retorted Grant. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, lad, put down the gun.”

“Shoot him,” gasped Blakely, but Grant pressed harder, silencing any commentary from the French spy.

“Sorry, guv’nor, but I gots to do as he says.”

“But that would spoil my surprise, dear lad.”

“What’s that?” asked the lad suspiciously.

“Something you won’t get if I’m dead I assure you.”

“What is it?”

“A home!” conjured Grant. Genie was edging slowly to the door. He just needed to keep them distracted long enough for Genie to make it outside.

“I ain’t going to no workhouse.”

“No, not a workhouse,” said Grant. “A real home in the country.”

“Jus’ for ’im or me too?” asked a small boy.

“For you all,” said Grant.

“Sorry, guv’nor, that horse won’t run. I knows when some flash cull is trying to gammon me.” The boy with the pistol cocked it and aimed for Grant.