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The sagging walls of cramped tenements seemed to press in on him with the sheer weight of the misery they contained, and he almost chose flight over intervention. But he continued to linger, casting for the thoughts of the stray dogs that knew each corner of every maze of alleys and crumbling shacks.
Almost at once he found the source of the trouble. He unbuttoned his coat and followed the agitated stream of images that flowed through his mind like water over jagged stones, abandoning the illusory safety of the street for a dank, noisome passage between two dilapidated buildings. Slurred laughter floated out from an open doorway, and a man’s voice uttered a stream of curses in a hopeless monotone. Donal felt the dogs’ excitement increase and broke into a run.
The passage ended in a high stone wall. The sound of coarse, mocking voices reached Donal’s ears. He turned to the right, where the wall and two houses formed a blind alley, a perfect trap for the unwary. And this trap had caught a victim.
A child crouched amid a year’s worth of discarded refuse, her back pressed to the splintered wood of a featureless house. The dress she wore was no more than an assemblage of rags held together with a length of rope, and the color of her long, matted hair was impossible to determine. It concealed all of her thin, dirty face except for a pair of frightened blue eyes.
A trio of nondescript dogs stalked the space directly in front of the girl, facing an equal number of men whose manner was anything but friendly. It was their voices Donal had heard, and they were far too intent on their prey to notice Donal’s arrival.
“’ere, now,” a fair-haired giant said, wiggling his blunt fingers in a gesture of false entreaty. “Don’t be so shy, love. We only wants to show you a good toim. Ain’t that roight, boys?”
“’at’s roight,” said the giant’s companion, a skinny youth whose jutting teeth were black with decay. “Yer first toim should be wiv true gents like us. We won’t disappoint you.”
“Maybe you’ll even be able t’ walk when we’re done,” the third man said, wiping the mucus from his nose with the back of his sleeve. All three broke into raucous laughter, and the girl shrank deeper into the rubbish while the dogs bared their teeth and pressed their tails between skinny flanks.
“You come wiv us now,” the first man said, “and maybe we’ll let yer doggies go. ‘R else—” He nodded to Rotten Teeth, who drew a knife and slashed toward one of the dogs. The animal darted back, shivering in terror but unwilling to abandon the girl.
Donal set down his bag and stepped forward. The dogs pricked their ears, and the girl’s eyes found him through the barrier of her tormenter’s legs. Her cracked lips parted. Fair-Hair’s shoulders hunched, and he began to turn.
With a flurry of silent calls, Donal shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on a slightly less filthy patch of ground.
“I regret to interrupt your sport, gentlemen,” he said softly, “but I fear I must ask you to let the child go.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE THREE BLACKGUARDS spun about, wicked knives flashing in their hands. Fair-Hair lunged, and Donal leaped easily out of his reach.
“Now, now,” he said. “Is this the welcome you give strangers to your fine district? I am sadly disappointed.”
Fair-Hair, Rotten-Teeth and Snot-Sleeve exchanged glances of disbelief. “’oo in ’ell are you?” Snot-Sleeve demanded.
“I’m sure you’re not interested in my name,” Donal said, “and I am certainly not interested in yours. Let the child go, and I won’t report your disreputable behavior to the police.”
Rotten-Teeth snorted. “Will you look at ‘im,” he said. “Some foin toff who finks ‘e can come ‘ere and insult us.”
“Oi remembers the last toim someone did that,” Fair-Hair said. “Not much left o’ ‘im to report to anybody.”
“‘at’s roight,” Rotten-Teeth said. “You lookin’ to ‘ave yer pretty face cut up tonoight, nancy boy?”
“That wasn’t my intention,” Donal said, listening for the scratch and scrabble of tiny feet, “but you are certainly welcome to try … if you have enough strength left after your daily regimen of raping children.”
Snot-Sleeve aimed a wad of spittle at Donal’s chest, which Donal deftly avoided. He glanced past the men to the circling dogs. They heard his request and made themselves very small, waiting for the signal to move. The girl remained utterly still.
“‘e must be crazy,” Fair-Hair muttered, peering into the darkness at Donal’s back. “‘E can’t ‘ave come ‘ere alone.”
“There ain’t no one else,” Rotten-Teeth insisted. “Let me ‘ave ‘im first.”
“Oi got a be’er idea,” Snot-Sleeve said. “‘ooever takes ‘im down gets first crack at the girl.”
“Oi don’t loik this,” Fair-Hair grunted. “Somefin’ ain’t roight….”
Without waiting to hear his friend’s further thoughts on the matter, Rotten-Teeth crouched in a fighter’s stance and advanced on Donal. The stench of his breath was so foul that Donal almost missed the subtle move that telegraphed his intentions. Rotten-Teeth’s hand sliced down at Donal’s arm, and Donal stepped to the side, grasped his attacker’s shoulder and twisted sharply. Rotten-Teeth yelped and fell to one knee.
Fair-Hair and Snot-Sleeve rushed to their companion’s defense, but they had taken only a few steps when the rats spilled from their hiding places. Rotten-Teeth gave a high-pitched whine as half a dozen dark-furred rodents swarmed over his feet. Another fifty rats and a few hundred mice raced in an ever-tightening circle about the other men’s boots, breaking rank only to nip at the humans’ ankles.
Fair-Hair swore and stabbed ineffectually at a bold male who sat on his haunches and mocked the human with a twitch of his whiskers. At the same moment the dogs sprang into action. They darted at the men, seizing sweat-stiffened woollen trousers in their jaws. The hiss of ripping fabric joined the squeaking of the rodents and the villains’ cries of fear and disgust.
The battle was over almost before it began. After failing to reduce the number of rodents by stamping his oversized feet, Fair-Hair chose the better part of valor and stumbled past Donal in a wave of terrified stench. His bare buttocks gleamed through the large hole in his trouser seat. Snot-Sleeve was hot on his heels. Rotten-Teeth came last, frantically dragging his twisted ankle behind him as if he expected to become the rats’ next meal.
A restless silence filled the little space between the walls. Donal gave his thanks to the rodents and sent them scurrying back to their nests. He retrieved his coat and casually shook it out, watching the girl from the corner of his eye. She had scarcely moved since his arrival, and her gaze held the same stark fear with which she had regarded her tormentors.
No, not fear. She had been frightened before, but now those blue eyes held far more complex emotions: suspicion, anger and a glimmer of hope swiftly extinguished. She held out her arms. The dogs wriggled close, licking her face as if she were a pup in need of a good cleaning.
They told Donal all he needed to know. He started cautiously for the girl, holding his hands away from his sides.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She lowered her head between her shoulders and peered at him from beneath her dark brows. “Wot do you want?” she demanded.
Her directness didn’t startle him. A child left alone so young would have been educated in a hard school. She had probably been hurt so often that she regarded pain as a simple fact of life, like hunger and the casual cruelty of strangers.
“I mean you no harm,” he said, settling into a crouch. The dogs grinned at him in apology but remained steadfastly by their charge’s side. “I heard you cry out—”
“Oi never. You ‘eard wrong.”
Donal studied her face more carefully, noting the blue bruise that marked her right eye. “Did those men touch you?” he asked.
She hugged the dogs closer. The spotted, wire-haired male whined anxiously, striving to make her understand. She cocked her head and frowned. “You ain’t no rozzer, is you?”
“I am not a policeman.”
“Did you bring the rats?”
Donal considered the safe answer and immediately discarded it. “Yes,” he said. “They wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“Oi know.” She pushed a hank of hair out of her eyes. “Why didn’t you let ’em eat them nickey bludgers?”
Her hatred was so powerful that he felt the fringes of it as if she were more animal than human. “Rodents are naturally secretive creatures,” he said seriously, “and I already asked them to do something very much against their natures. Would you ask your dogs to eat a man?”
She giggled with an edge of hysteria and wrapped her arms around her thin chest. “They ain’t my curs,” she said. “But sometoims they ‘elps me, and Oi ‘elps them.”
“They’re very brave, and so are you.”
She shrugged, and the gesture seemed to break something loose inside her. “Wot’re you going to do now?” she whispered.
Her bleak question reminded Donal that he hadn’t considered anything beyond rescuing the child from her attackers. The smallest of the dogs, a shaggy terrier mix, crept up to Donal and nudged his hand. The animal’s request was unmistakable.
“What is your name?” Donal asked, stroking the terrier’s rough fur.
“That ain’t none o’ yer business.”
“Mine is Donal,” he said. “Donal Fleming. How old are you?”
“Twelve years,” she said sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Wot’s it to yer?”
Donal’s hand stilled on the terrier’s back, and the dog growled in response to his sudden surge of anger. “Where do you live?” he asked, keeping his voice as level as he could. “Do you have anyone to look after you?”
She concealed a wet sniff behind her hand. “Oi don’t needs nowbody.”
“What if the men return?”
Blinking rapidly, the girl scraped her ragged sleeve across her eyes. “Oi won’t let ’em catch me.”
But her efforts at bravado were hardly convincing, and the dogs knew how truly afraid she was. Donal got to his feet.
“You’d better come with me,” he said.
Her eyes widened, gleaming with moisture in the dim moonlight. “Where?”
“To my hotel. I’ll see that you have decent clothing and a good meal. And then …”
And then. What was he to do with a child? His thoughts flew inexplicably to the woman from the Zoological Gardens and skipped away, winging to his farm in Yorkshire. He hadn’t the resources to take the girl in, but there were a number of solid families in the Dales who owed him payment for his care of their animals. Surely one of them could be convinced to give her a decent home.
Relieved that he had found a solution, Donal smiled. “How would you like to come north with me, to the countryside?”
The dogs burst into a dance of joy, their tails beating the air. The girl pushed to her feet and brushed scraps of refuse from her colorless dress. “Away from Lunnon?” she asked in disbelief.
“Far away. Where no one can hurt you again.”
She stared at the ground, chewing her lower lip as she watched the dogs gambol around her rag-bound feet. At last she looked up, brows drawn in a menacing frown. “You won’t try nuffin’?”
His smile faded. “I have no interest in abusing children,” he said. “Your dogs know that you can trust me.”
“Oi told you, they ain’t my—” She broke off with an explosive sigh. “Can Oi takes ’em wiv me?”
Donal briefly considered the obstacles involved. “Perhaps we can sneak them in. I already have a dog there. His name is Sir Reginald.”
The girl snorted. “‘At’s a flash name for a cur.”
“But he isn’t puffed-up in the least. You’ll like him.”
“Well …” She kicked an empty tin and sent it spinning across the alley. “Awroight. Me name’s Ivy.”
Donal bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Ivy.”
She made a rude sound, but her eyes were very bright. “Come on, then,” she said to the dogs. “Oi’m ready for a spot o’ supper, even if you ain’t.”
THEY ARRIVED AT HUMMUMS after midnight. The market was quiet, awaiting the arrival of the next day’s wagons, though a few coffee stalls accommodated fast gentlemen and women of the street trolling for their night’s business. There were no “rozzers” present to complicate Donal’s scheme.
He left Ivy and the dogs in a quiet niche around the corner from the hotel and retrieved his greatcoat and a blanket from his rooms. He threw the coat over Ivy and gave her the smallest dog to hold while he wrapped the other two in the blanket and bid them keep absolutely still. Ivy proved adept at moving quietly, and they passed through the lobby without attracting more than an indifferent glance from the night clerk.
Sir Reginald greeted them at the door to Donal’s rooms. He stiffened when he smelled the strange dogs and retreated to a safe place under the sitting-room sofa. Ivy set down the terrier, gazing about the room in silent appraisal as Donal released the other dogs from the blanket. He crouched near the sofa and coaxed Sir Reginald into his arms.
“Sir Reginald,” he said, “this is our guest, Ivy. Ivy, Sir Reginald.”
The spaniel wagged his tail but continued to regard the canine interlopers with suspicion. The three street dogs were on their best behavior, as if they recognized that they had been granted a privilege they must not abuse.
Ivy sat down on the carpet beside them and sniffed loudly. “It’s flash enough,” she conceded. “You said we could ‘ave some food?”
Donal set Sir Reginald on the sofa and brought out the basket of bread and fruit he had bought before he left for the Zoological Gardens. “I’ll purchase more when the market opens in the morning,” he said, “and I’ll find you a dress.” He surveyed her slight form, reflecting on how little he knew of women’s garments. Surely anything would be an improvement on her current wardrobe. “I think it best that you remain here when I go out.”
Ivy snatched the bread from the basket and broke it in half, dividing one part among the dogs and sinking strong, surprisingly white teeth into the other. “You ashamed o’ me?” she asked with studied indifference.
“Not in the least. But you will have to take a bath—”
Ivy shot to her feet, crumbs showering from her patched bodice. “I ain’t takin’ off me clothes!”
“I’ll have them send up a hip bath and hot water while you hide behind the bed,” he said patiently. “Then I’ll leave you alone. Only the dogs will see you.”
She thumped back down and reached for an apple. “I scarcely remember what it feels like to be clean.”
Donal glanced at her sharply, aware of a sudden change in her voice. Gone was the thick rookery accent; she had pronounced every word with the perfect diction of the educated class.
“Who were your parents, Ivy?” he asked.
She noticed his intent look and hunched protectively around the basket. “Oi don’t remember nuffin’.”
“Nothing at all?”
“You sayin’ Oi’m a liar?”
Donal sighed and sat on the nearest chair. “You’ve had a difficult day. I suggest you try to get some sleep.”
She glanced toward the door that separated the two rooms. “Only if you stay in there.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have the bed?”
“Ain’t used to ’em.” She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The dogs snuggled close. “Go on.”
Donal picked up Sir Reginald and started for the bedchamber. “You will still be here in the morning?”
“‘Course Oi will. You promised me a new dress.”
There was nothing else to be done but obey the girl’s command. Donal entered the bedchamber and closed the door, sending a last request to Ivy’s canine friends. If the girl attempted to leave, the dogs would warn him. In any case, he had no intention of sleeping until he and Ivy were safely on the train to York.
He stretched out on the bed fully-clothed, Sir Reginald tucked in the crook of his arm, and let the intoxicating scents and shrouded mysteries of the jungle close in around him. He stalked with the tigress, his ears twitching as he caught the movement of deer in the bush. She paused to meet his gaze, inviting him to join in the hunt, and her golden eyes turned the somber gray of a winter-bound lake.
“Can it be, sir,” she purred, “that in spite of your intimate acquaintance with tigers, you have never observed a female of the species Homo sapiens?”
