Chapter Seven.

Anthony's hand jerked to his face in pain from the assault, but it would not be the last of it as the man's fist connected with his nose. He cried out as he felt warm blood trickling down and he tried to shove the man away from him, but he had Anthony pinned as he hissed, "Tell me where the girl is or I'll smash what little brain yeh have against this wall!"

"Hey!"

A sharp voice came from the bar and the barmaid came striding over. She was in her early twenties but there was nothing of the innocence of youth in her rigid demeanour. Her auburn hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few curls escaped down her shoulders. Her hands were firmly on her hips as she stared at them both and her eyes – beautiful brown eyes which should look soft on a woman, looked almost molten at this point. The tavern had at once turned quiet in this sudden and abrupt altercation and Anthony seemed to shrink at this unwanted attention. Lord, all he had wanted to do was to remain anonymous until he could leave London! To blend in and not make too much fuss.

The barmaid looked around her as she noticed the rapid silence and she clapped her hands together – Anthony noticed the odd touch of femininity in this almost Amazonian warrior in her black fingerless gloves of lace she wore – her voice like a blade as she said to her staring patrons, "Alright you lazy buggers, there's nothin' to see here. Go back to your own business," and when she was satisfied they had obeyed her, she turned to Anthony and the stranger, her voice quiet and dangerous, "Alright, what the devil is going on here, frightenin' everybody like this so early in the mornin'? You!" she pointed at Anthony, "You've never given me trouble before, what's this all about?" she then turned to the stranger, "He's a harmless sod, so if you continue giving him trouble you'll be the one thrown out on your rear, you hear? I don't care who started what, who owes who money or who took who's wife to bed, you either sort this out like gentlemen or you take it to the streets. Or if my friend doesn't want to sort this out with you, I'll throw you out myself!"

Mr. Sanders looked at her – a mix of amusement and disparagement in his sharp blue eyes, and with a fancy flourish of his hand he bowed at her, "Forgive me pretty girl, there'll be no more trouble – at least not on my account. How about yeh dish out a nice, hot plate of food for me, hmm?"

The young woman looked at Anthony, raising her brow, "What do you say? Are you alright? I could throw him out if it suits you."

"No, no, that won't be necessary!" Mr. Sanders laughed, clapping Anthony's back heartily, "Unless the lad wants the coppers to come and help resolve this?"

The barmaid looked troubled at this and looked pityingly at Anthony who said quietly, his innards chilled to the core, "No thank you Dora, I'll be fine…"

"Laura," she corrected but nodded her head, "Very well…" she then went back to behind the bar, but watched them as she continued serving the others.

Now that Anthony could get a proper look of the man without being attacked, he looked him over. He was well dressed – with a long dresscoat of sable that boasted shiny silver buttons and reached his knees. Polished boots poked out from under the well fitted trousers, and on his head he wore a top hat, dark curls spilling underneath and shaping around his heart-shaped face. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Most women would find him quite handsome - this perhaps being marred slightly by his most obvious trait - his left eye was covered with a black eyepatch.

"Don't think that because yeh little tart over there decided to come to yeh rescue, yeh're all safe now," he murmured, "Let's find a table and sit down. Yeh're going to tell me where Miss Barker is."

Anthony obeyed silently and sat down at a table, Mr. Sanders sitting opposite himself. In a moment Laura came over with the plate he had ordered and flounced off again. Anthony watched the man eat the bacon and eggs, visibly surprised that the cooking was "half edible" – he called out his commendation to Laura, who ignored him except with a slight nod of the head.

"I don't know who Miss Barker is," Anthony lied calmly, "And since you have assaulted me for no reason, it would be wise of you to take leave the moment you have finished your breakfast or I will go to the police."

It was a daft threat and obviously a bluff because Mr. Sanders sat back in his chair, eyed Anthony for a moment and laughed with gusto, even pounding the table with his fist merrily, "Oh, yeh're an amusin' lad, that's for sure," he said and laughed some more, "Oh, come, come, continue – tell me what yeh'll do when the coppers do come and I am able to tell them just who yeh're hidin' away. And then watch as they rip this place apart, brick by brick to find her and take her from yeh for good. And believe me, they will rip this place apart if there's even the slightest suspicion she's here. This case is one of the most important ones we've had in years. All those top coppers and divine gods of the law – they don' like when a Judge of his standin' is found in his own pool of piss and blood. No, no young man, yeh know why? B'cause they're all corrupt and it reminds them all too painfully of their own humble mortality. So go on, throw some more pretty threats at me. See where it gets yeh! I don' think our fiery little Laura there will be too fond of yeh after her uh – respectable establishment is examined. All taverns around here have secrets."

Anthony stared at him, suddenly feeling sick. The contents of his stomach seemed to suddenly stick to his gut, and he closed his eyes in desperation as he tried to think what to do.

"She's not here," he thought the man would be satisfied by that – by at least acknowledging she was somewhere. This way he could buy time and decide what he should do, "But what do you want?"

"I want to help her," his eyes darkened as Anthony laughed at that, "Shut yeh face yeh insubordinate brat! She needs my help. Do yeh realise how much trouble yeh'll be in if yeh're found? Stupid, stupid boy! Running from the law! This isn't some stupid petty case of stealin' a pretty trinket, this is the murder of bleedin' Judge bleedin' Turpin!"

"But we didn't do anything!" Anthony spluttered in panic, leaning forward, "You have to believe me! We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all!"

"Doesn' bleedin' matter! Don't you understan' yet? Turpin's pretty little ward vanishin' right after somethin' like this happenin'? And yeh – yes, yeh! They found out that yeh're the one who brought such filth to London! Have yeh been readin' the papers? Don' you know what he's done?" he leant forward to Anthony, "And let me tell yeh, boy, the worst rumour yeh've heard is a lovely fairytale compared to the truth. It's much bigger than the murder of a Judge…They're callin' him the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, though, I think that's far too kind. A demon is just a minion, and he ain't no bleedin' minion. He was the honourable Lucifer, in the flesh."

Anthony really did feel sick now as he buried his head in his hands, shaking. This was all a bad, twisted nightmare. He would wake up and he would be on his ship and Mr. Todd would just be the mysterious stranger he saved. And they would have discussions as they watched the sea underneath them. Trivial discussions that any pair of men would have. This was all a nightmare…

Who were you?

What dark plague had he been responsible for, bringing to London?