Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(42)

“You’re going to Jenner’s?” the factotum asked. “You can’t leave with the officers surrounding the club—”

“I’ll get through the police,” Derek said coldly. “And when I find Miss Fielding—” He stopped and stared at Worthy, his green eyes gleaming with a vengeful light that caused the factotum to blanch. “You helped her with this, didn’t you? She couldn’t come to the assembly without you knowing. If anything happens to her…I’ll fire you and ewery employee in this club. The whole bloody lot of you!”

“But Mr. Craven,” Worthy protested, “no one could have known she would behave so recklessly.”

“The hell you couldn’t,” Derek said in a blistering tone. “It was obvious since the day she got here. She’s been itching for a chance to land herself in trouble. And you made it bloody easy for her, didn’t you?”

“Mr. Craven—”

“Enough,” Derek said curtly. “I’m going to find her. And you’d better pray nothing happens to her—or I’ll send you to the devil.”

During the carriage ride through the city, Sara listened patiently as Jenner boasted about his prize-fighting days, his past victories and defeats, and all his life-threatening injuries. Unlike Derek Craven, Ivo Jenner was a simple man who knew exactly where he belonged. He preferred the world he had come from, with its assortment of coarse people and coarser pleasures. It didn’t matter to him if his money was taken from silk purses or greasy pockets. He sneered openly at Derek Craven’s pretensions…“Talkin with those ’igh-kick words, pretending ’e was born a gentleman. All clean an’ dandified…Why, ’e walks through ’is fancy club like the sun shines from ’is arse!”

“You’re jealous of him,” Sara said.

“Jealous?” His face crinkled in distaste. “I’m not jealous ow a man what’s got one foot planted in May-fair an’ the other in the East End. Pox take ’im! Bloody fool doesn’t know who the ’ell ’e is.”

“So you believe he shouldn’t mingle with social superiors? I’d call that reverse snobbery, Mr. Jenner.”

“Call it what you likes,” he said sullenly.

Oh, he was jealous indeed. Now Sara understood the bitter rivalry between the two men. Jenner represented all that Craven had tried to escape from. Every time Craven looked at him, he must see the mocking reflection of his past. And Jenner was clearly annoyed by the way Craven had reinvented himself from a street urchin into a rich and powerful man.

“If you’re so indifferent to Mr. Craven and his success, then why—” Sara began, but she fell silent as the carriage stopped abruptly. Her mouth fell open as she heard a cacophony of sound: shouts and screams, breaking glass, even explosions. “What’s happening?”

Jenner shoved aside the curtain at his window and stared at the tumult outside the carriage. He made a startling sound, something between a howling laugh and a roar of encouragement. Sara shrank back into the corner of her seat. “It’s a mob!” Jenner cried. He opened the door to confer with the pasty-faced driver and footman. “ ’Ow many streets does it cover?” he asked. Another snatch of conversation, and then Sara heard him say, “Try a roundabout way, then.”

The door closed and the carriage started again, turning sharply. Sara gulped with fear. A few rocks pelted against the side of the vehicle, and she jumped in her seat. The shrieking mob sounded like a demon chorus. “What’s going on?”

Jenner continued to gaze out the window, grinning at the carnage that surrounded them. His enjoyment increased with every second that passed. “I likes a good mob, I do. I led one or two in my time. We’re in the middle ow it now.”

“Why are they rioting?”

Jenner kept his eyes on the window as he replied. “Does the name Red Jack ring a bell?”

Sara nodded. Red Jack was a notorious highwayman who had earned his nickname by murdering at least a dozen people on the busy coach route from London to Marlborough. “I’ve heard of him. He’s being held at Newgate, waiting to be executed.”

A bark of laughter escaped him. “Not anymore. Offed ’imself yesterday—cheated the ’angman’s noose. Can’t say as I blame these lively bastards for runnin’ riot.”

“You mean they’re angry because he committed suicide? Why should they care, as long as he’s dead?”

“Why, ’anging’s a good spectacle. Ewen the old women an’ the chiwdren come to watch ’em piss an’ twist in the wind. Would’ve been a good show. Now they want a taste ow ’is blood.” He shrugged and regarded the rioters sympathetically. “They dug ’im up tonight to pull ’is guts out. I say let ’em ’ave a bit ow fun.”

“F-fun to publicly dismember a c-corpse?” Sara gagged at the notion and stared at him in horror. Her disgust was lost on him, however. Jenner cheered lustily for the drunken mob engaged in looting, breaking windows, and setting fires. Several heavy thumps caused the carriage to lurch and rock. The vehicle ground to a halt. As Jenner pushed the curtain aside, Sara saw hands and faces wedged against the window. They pushed and shoved, threatening to turn the carriage over.

“Driver’s gone,” Jenner said. “I wondered ’ow long ’e’d last.”