They’d made unexpectedly good time down the river, arriving in Mainz at noon. During luncheon, Esme had explained her desire to visit a short list of sights in the town, if Rafe could see his way to accommodating her.
He’d felt obliged to consider it. When consulted, Julius had advised that with the unexpectedly strong currents augering well for their speed, and the fact that Rafe did not wish to reach Rotterdam too soon, it might perhaps be wise to dally now, when it seemed safe to do so.
Although reluctant to spend time ashore where they’d be more exposed than when on board, Rafe had agreed to the excursion. Like Mannheim, Mainz wasn’t on any of the major highways, and they’d yet to sight any cultists anywhere, yet to see any evidence the cult even knew where he was.
They’d already viewed the Marktbrunnen, a large renaissance fountain capping a well in the market square, and the Mainz Dom, the cathedral, then had ambled down to take in the roccoco brilliance of the Augustinekirche.
Esme sighed. “Richard and I stopped in Mainz frequently. I’m so glad to be able to see these sights one last time.”
“This is your trip.” Rafe steadied her down the church steps. “And we haven’t seen any sign of cultists, so …”
Pausing on the pavement while Esme consulted her list and Loretta and Gibson sought direction from the guidebook, he studied Esme’s face, saw the genuine pleasure she drew from her memories reflected in her expression, and decided that, in this instance, capitulation had been the right choice.
“If we continue on,” Loretta said, pointing to a passage in the guidebook, “then we should reach the ruins of the Roman theater, and the Drusus Stone.”
Rafe waved. “Lead on.”
The women turned in the direction Loretta indicated. She and Esme led the way, Gibson and Rose behind them. Rafe and Hassan brought up the rear.
Their stroll was punctuated by pauses to admire various buildings. They eventually reached a parklike area in which they found the remarkably well-preserved remains of a large Roman amphitheater.
Although the day was cool and the light breeze carried a definite chill, the rain clouds held off. They spent some time exploring the stage and the tiers of stone seats, then walked the short distance to the Drusus Stone. The monument erected to the Roman commander by his men had been enclosed within the relatively recently built citadel. Weathered and worn, the monument stood on the edge of an open courtyard, presently deserted.
Rafe and Hassan stood back and watched as the women walked about the stone, reverently touching the ages-old rock.
Studying the large edifice, Rafe murmured, “Either Drusus was a highly respected commander, or …”
Hassan grinned. “Or his men hadn’t yet been paid.”
They exchanged grins, then Rafe folded his arms and settled to wait.
A sound to their right had both of them looking.
Then moving.
With a muttered curse Rafe swung between the five—no,seven—men determinedly approaching the Drusus Stone and the four women clustered at its base. The men had had their sights fixed on the women. When Rafe, with his naked saber in one hand, and Hassan, similarly armed to his right, appeared across their path, the men slowed. Halted.
All seven held knives, mostly short swords, but the man at the rear held a saber.
One glance over the others’ heads at that last man and Rafe recognized him as the man he’d seen in Mannheim. By his stance and that sword, Rafe was willing to wager the man was a Prussian ex-cavalry officer turned mercenary. “Wonderful,” he muttered beneath his breath to Hassan. “If you can, avoid killing.”
The six other men looked like local bully boys, heavy and meaty, yet mean enough and belligerent enough to be dangerous in a fight.
The local who’d been walking at the rear with the Prussian pushed forward. He looked at Rafe and Hassan, then gestured with his knife. “We just want the woman.” He spoke in heavily accented English. When Rafe didn’t react or respond, the man made a dismissive gesture. “She is just one old woman. What do you owe her? You are just her guards. Let us have her, and you can have the young one, and the other two. We will let you go, and you can say we were too many for you.” He paused, his eyes hardening. “Which we are.”
No, they weren’t—not in an open area like the courtyard. Without exchanging so much as a glance, Rafe and Hassan glided apart, affording each other greater space to move. Even while one part of Rafe’s brain absorbed the fact that the gang was after Esme, not Loretta, not him, Reckless was stretching in anticipation.
The Prussian recognized the change in Rafe’s and Hassan’s stances. “Attack!”
As if his order was a prod applied simultaneously to the rears of the other six men, they yelled and charged.
Rafe grinned, swung his saber, and followed it up with his boot. Three-to-one odds required inventive methods. One well-placed kick to the side of an opponent’s knee and the man was writhing on the ground screaming.
Hassan had dealt similarly with another, which left them fighting two men each. Better odds already.
But their attackers were determined. Swearing, they squared off, then in concert came for them again. Rafe met their ferocity with a snarl of his own. As he beat back the knives trying to slash at him, from the corner of his eye he checked on the women standing together at the base of the stone. They were white-faced, but not hysterical.
Snapping his attention back to the threat before him, he caught a glimpse of the Prussian—just his coat as he disappeared around the other side of the monument.
Rafe cursed and redoubled his efforts. Momentarily throwing back the pair facing him, he glanced at the women—saw Loretta, her face set in determined lines, seize Esme’s cane.
The Prussian came around the monument.
Loretta swung the cane.
The heavy silver head caught the Prussian on his temple. He staggered against the monument, and Gibson and Rose were on him like furies.
Rafe saw Loretta raise the cane over her head again, but was forced to swing his attention back to the two men trying to incapacitate him.
They were all trying not to kill. He pressed harder, mind awash with fear over what was going on at his back, by the foot of the monument.
Hassan, too, had seen. The snarl that contorted his dark face was fearsome.
Clash by clash, blow by blow, Rafe and Hassan wore their opponents down, beat them back. When it came down to it, the pair of them were in far better fighting shape. Able at last to risk pushing in closer, Rafe pulled his knife and used the hilt to knock out first one opponent, then, finally, the other.
One glance showed Hassan with only one opponent still standing. Leaving him to it, Rafe whirled and raced toward the melee about the base of the monument.
The Prussian, arms raised to protect his head from the slapping, scratching, cane-wielding women, saw him coming. Abandoning all defense, he lowered his arms, seized both Rose and Gibson. Loretta swung and hit him full in the face. The man roared, then heaved, and flung the two maids—into Loretta.
Knocking her back into Rafe.
He went down beneath a welter of feminine limbs, heavy skirts, and petticoats. Three wriggling bodies held him trapped.
Frantic, he grabbed Loretta and bodily lifted her up and off him—saw the Prussian start for Esme, shocked and clinging to the monument’s worn stone.
Then the Prussian’s gaze lifted; a split second later he glanced at Rafe. Then he turned on his heel and fled.
Still flat on the ground, Rafe looked up and back as Hassan limped up. “Wounded?”
Breathing heavily, Hassan shook his head. “Just twisted.” He stood looking after the Prussian. “He didn’t see. If he’d realized I couldn’t follow …”
Struggling to his feet, Rafe met Hassan’s eyes, then he gave Loretta his hands and hauled her to her feet. Rose had already scrambled up. She helped Gibson up, then rushed to support Hassan.
Loretta bent and swiped up Esme’s cane, then hurried to E
sme, Gibson on her heels. Rafe followed.
Backed against the cold stone of the monument, her slender figure slightly hunched, Esme looked suddenly frail. Her expression was blank. Too blank. The hand she gave Loretta visibly trembled. Loretta took it, curled Esme’s fingers about the cane’s head. She glanced at Rafe. “Back to the boat.”
He was about to nod when a sound drew his attention toward the men he and Hassan had left strewn at the edge of the courtyard. The four they’d knocked unconscious hadrevived, and were quickly assisting the two with wrenched knees away, heading as quickly as they could for the twisting streets of the old town.
Rafe cursed beneath his breath. Hassan sent him an inquiring look. Disgusted, Rafe shook his head. “No—let them go.”
With his twisted knee, an old injury, Hassan couldn’t move fast enough to give chase, and Rafe didn’t trust the Prussian not to still be keeping watch, ready to pounce again if Rafe left the women with only a hobbled Hassan to guard them. Besides …
He glanced again at Esme, then gently took her arm. “Let’s head back to the wharf.”
By the time they reached the Loreley Regina Rafe had worked out the basic elements of an effective response.
Although deeply shaken, Esme, he was perfectly certain, possessed a spine of steel. She just needed a few minutes to recover her composure. Leaving her ensconced in an armchair in the salon, with Gibson brewing tea and Loretta chafing Esme’s hands, Rafe went to find Julius. Rose had gone to help Hassan to his bunk. Rafe knew how to fix his friend’s injury, but he suspected Hassan would rather have Rose tend him.
Locating Julius, Rafe spent a few minutes learning about the local authorities, and discovered he held an unexpected ace. Julius’s uncle was the local chief of gendarmes.
Julius and the crew were shocked to hear of the attack. “I and those of us who can be spared will come with you.”
Rafe accepted the offer gladly. In the towns along the river, the captains and crews of the riverboats were largely viewed as locals. “I need to speak with her ladyship first. I’ll come and fetch you once I’ve learned what I can.”
He returned to the salon to find Esme greatly recovered.
Hands wrapped about a deep tea dish, she met his eyes, her own puzzled. “They were after me. Why?”
Pulling up a straight-backed chair, he set it in front of her and sat. “That’s what we need to work out.” He glanced at Loretta, sitting beside her, then met Esme’s gaze. “Who might want to harm you?”
Esme pulled a face. “I have no idea.”
Loretta leaned forward. “Did Richard have any enemies? People who might not know he’s dead?”
Esme sipped, then shook her head. “Not that I ever heard, and Richard used to share everything with me.” After a moment, she added, “I’m sure that when he died he was not at odds with anyone.”
Lifting her head, she looked at Rafe. “But whoever was behind the attack today … do you think they could have been behind all the other attacks, too? Even in Buda, remember? Until today we assumed all the attacks since we met were directed at you, dear boy, but what if, all along, the target was me?”
Horrified, Loretta met Rafe’s gaze, saw that he was wondering the same thing. “All along?”
He grimaced. “There’ve never been any cultists involved in the attacks—we just assumed they were behind them because we had no reason to think anyone else would want to attack our party. But now …” He inclined his head to Esme. “It may well be that all the attacks have been instigated by someone else.”
“But who?” Loretta looked from him to Esme. “Who would want to harm you?”
Esme lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture.
Loretta looked at Rafe. “Ransom? Could that be what they’re after?”
He stared at her for a moment. “If they were locals targeting travelers with a view to ransom …” He shook his head. “If that were so they would be fixed in one town, not following Esme, a single traveler, up the Danube and down the Rhine. They’ve followed us over half of Europe. The Prussian who you struck?” He nodded at her. “He was in Mannheim, watching us outside the cathedral.”
“Has he been following us from Buda?” Esme frowned. “But how could anyone have known I would turn up there?”
Loretta’s blood chilled. “I think they followed us from Trieste.”
Rafe and Esme stared at her. “What makes you think that?” Rafe asked.
Loretta looked at Esme. “The day before we left Trieste, I happened to meet Phillipe in the marketplace.” To Rafe, she said, “He was our courier-guide from Paris to Trieste. He became entangled with a contessa there, and we parted company.” She looked back at Esme. “But that day he told me to beware because he’d heard there were men—not nice men—asking after two English ladies, one old, one young, traveling alone.” She grimaced. “There were quite a few travelers who met that description in Trieste, and as we were leaving the next morning I didn’t give his warning further thought. Looking back … those not-nice men might have been looking for us.”
“If they picked up your trail there …” Rafe frowned. “Why there?”
“Because,” Esme said, “that was the one place at which people knew we’d halt. The rest of our trip, both before Trieste and since, has been more or less impromptu, decided as we’ve gone along. But I was determined to visit Trieste again—other than Paris, it was our only certain stop.”
“And we remained there for nearly two weeks,” Loretta said. “There were letters waiting for us, and others we sent home from there.”
Rafe nodded. “So Trieste was the one place someone in England might have learned you would halt at.”
“Yes, but …” Esme shook her head. “I can’t imagine why anyone would hire thugs to follow and attack me. To what purpose?”
Silence descended, then Rafe drew in a breath. “Let’s look at this from a different perspective. If not an enemy as such, is there anyone who would benefit from your disappearance, or your death?”
Esme blinked, then opened her eyes wide. “Other than mylegal heirs …” Her voice faded. Her expression stilled, her gaze growing distant.
Loretta and Rafe waited, their gazes fixed on Esme’s face.
But then she shook herself free of her abstraction. Frowning, she looked at Rafe. “I suppose … but I really can’t believe it.” She looked away. “I need to think.”
Following her gaze, Rafe looked out of the window at the town beyond. It was still afternoon, but the light would soon fade. He rose, looked at Esme. “While you think of who might profit from you vanishing or dying, I’m going into the town with some of the crew to see if we can hunt down the man Loretta hit.” He glanced at Loretta. “Your last blow cut his brow. He’ll probably have a black eye.”
“Good.” She sounded quite fierce.
Suppressing a grin, he continued, “Hassan will remain aboard with the rest of the crew. You’ll be safe on the boat.”
Loretta looked up. “Take care of yourself, too.”
He met her gaze, inclined his head. With a last glance at Esme, he turned and left.
An hour later, backed by Julius, two of his crew, and several local gendarmes, as well as their chief, Rafe cornered the Prussian in the back of a smoky tavern in the seediest quarter of the town.
Earlier, they’d tracked down four of the locals Rafe and Hassan had injured. Given sufficient incentive, the four had delivered up the other two locals, including the leader of their pack. The chief of gendarmes was delighted to finally have a reason to throw the man in jail. Angry, surly, but gutterwise, when Rafe had asked, the man had given them the name of the tavern where he was supposed to meet the Prussian.
With gendarmes at every exit, Rafe walked into the tavern, spotted his quarry in the far back corner, and strolled over.
The Prussian had been gazing into a stein of beer. Sensing a change in the atmosphere, he glanced up. Tensed torise, but then, seeing the figures behind Rafe, he eased back, remaining in
his seat.
Rafe drew out the chair facing him and sat. He studied the Prussian, taking in the contusion and swelling around his left eye. Noticed the man’s fingers tightening on the stein’s handle. “If you fling that at me, I’ll make sure your eyes match.”
They’d both been cavalry officers; they were much the same size and build. A fair enough match, except the Prussian was bloodied and bruised, and Rafe was not.
A tense moment ticked by, then the Prussian deflated. He slumped against the grimy wall at his back. “I was hired.”
“So I supposed. Who hired you?”
“You think I know his name?”
Rafe considered that. Considered the man before him. He had good features, clean cut, a trifle harsh. And getting into the Prussian cavalry hadn’t ever been simply a matter of putting down one’s name. “Yes. You’re too intelligent to work for someone you can’t identify. What if they decided not to pay?”
The Prussian’s lips twisted. He inclined his head. “True.”
“So who was it?”
The Prussian sighed. “An Englishman. His name is Sir Charles Manning. I met him years ago in Vienna, at the Congress. He knew … that once the wars were over, I would need … employment. Recently he contacted me.”
“He told you Lady Congreve was in Trieste.”
The Prussian nodded.
“And he asked you to … what?”
“Dispose of her. He did not care what was done as long as she did not return to England—as long as nothing more was ever heard of her.”
Rafe held the man’s gaze. He was tempted to ask if he’d made other people vanish, too … but what he saw in the man’s gray eyes made him suspect the answer was one he wouldn’t want to hear. As it was …
He pushed back from the table and rose. With one handindicated the man who stood just behind him, close enough to have heard every word. “Allow me to introduce the chief of gendarmes.”
Another benefit of Julius’s uncle being the chief of gendarmes was that he understood the imperatives of river travel. They’d lost time enough in Mainz; Julius wanted to put back onto the river as soon as possible.
He left Rafe with his uncle and returned to the boat.