Fear No Fate
Chapter Two: Strangers
Tommy phoned John, Arthur, and Polly respectively as soon as he returned to the house, ordering a family meeting immediately. "Emergency," he pressed, then hung up before any questions could be asked.
He had wrapped his jacket around the head of the murdered man, lest he get any blood on the seat of his car, and brought the body and the woman back up to the house with him. Anyone driving a car that expensive had to be rich, and therefore held some measure of power. He had to know the identities of the two strangers before he either got the police involved, or (God save him) helped the woman as she asked.
"Mr. Shelby!" Frances gasped when he crossed the threshold into the house with the woman held in his arms. "What's happened?"
"Everything's all right," he assured as he headed back to his study, "An accident as expected. Help is on its way. I need fresh cloths and warm water. And show my brothers and Polly to the study when they arrive."
The maid rushed to oblige and Tommy continued on, depositing the woman on the red velvet sofa that sat against the farthest wall of shelves. He looked down at her for a moment, at the grime covering her from head to toe, and grimaced, dropping to kneel beside her. "I'm sorry to do this," he said, lifting her back up and grabbing the collar of her coat, "But you're fucking filthy."
Tommy worked to remove the coat, dress, and shoes, leaving her in stockings and a silk chemise that was stained a bit with blood but otherwise clean. He gathered her hair, espresso brown and soft where mud hadn't coagulated, up and away from her face. He studied the darkened prints at her throat. It looked to him like the woman had put up a fight, and won.
He always liked a fighter.
Frances hurried into the room, arms laden with fresh towels and carrying a sloshing bowl of water. She laid the items at his feet, all the time watching the woman with worry, and when she opened her mouth to speak, Tommy interrupted. "Go keep watch for our guests, eh?"
He wet the first cloth, ringing it out, and began the process of wiping her clean. It wasn't careful and methodical work, like washing the body of a deceased loved one. She was a stranger, and alive, and could wash herself when she woke. Still, he tidied her up well enough. The water was black by the time he was done, and he had thoroughly assessed her injuries.
When he set the last cloth into the bowl and looked up at her, she was awake, watching him. When she opened her mouth, Tommy quieted her immediately. "You'll want to refrain from speaking. This-," he gestured to his own throat, "needs to heal. Otherwise the chords will be permanently damaged and you'll lose your voice for good."
She nodded to show understanding then lifted a hand to touch her face, but Tommy caught her fingers before she could. "That needs to heal too. You've a fractured cheekbone and few decent cuts and bruises. Some from the car, some from him." He paused, eyes shifting down to the large diamond and gold wedding band on her left ring finger. "That was your husband, wasn't it?"
The woman hesitated, but the shine of unshed tears in her eyes was answer enough.
The muscles of his jaw flexed as they clenched tightly in response. He was no stranger to the nature of violence. But there was a special circle in hell for men who raised their hand against women, let alone their wives, whom they vowed to protect.
Tommy exhaled deeply through his nose and sat back on his heels, wondering just what the fuck he was going to do. He couldn't very well hand her to the police. Not in her state and besides, how very hypocritical of him that would be after all the blood he'd spilled protecting himself and his lot.
At the same time, he really didn't need the trouble of covering up the crimes of a complete stranger. Not with the Russians watching his every fucking move. The last thing they needed was another thing to use against him to ensure he'd do their bidding.
But she wouldn't stop looking at him, with those unsettlingly dark violet eyes. Could eyes even be that color naturally? Her body was no longer tense as it had been at the crash site. She did not try to make herself smaller, nor give any indication that she was still frightened, as frightened as she had been before, though she lay stripped of her clothes in the home of a stranger.
Did she trust him? She'd be an utter fool to. Or was she simply accepting of whatever fate would be dealt to her, braving the unknown, as he would.
"Theo," she breathed through broken lips, so lightly he could've mistaken it for an odd breath.
"What?" he asked, but she only brought a hand to her chest in response, a gesture to herself. "Your name is Theo?" She nodded.
Theo. Theodora? Did he know of any Theodora's? It wasn't exactly an uncommon name. Tommy wiped a hand down his face, glancing around the room. He needed a cigarette. And a drink. But he also hesitated to leave her side, as if she'd disappear in his absence. But he could really go for a cigarette. "Fuck it," he muttered to himself, knees groaning in protest as he lifted himself from the floor and moved to the desk.
If Theo relaxed herself completely, she felt no pain. She felt cold, and terribly thirsty. But if she ignored the feeling, emptied herself entirely of need, she wouldn't have to grab for the throw blanket draped across the back of the sofa and feel the deep aching in her muscles, the bruising in her side from her husband's elbow. She wouldn't have to drink, and feel the water scorch its way down her ruined throat.
If she remained completely still, she could just be.
The stranger that saved her paced to and fro, arm crossed over his chest and puffing on a cigarette. He was very handsome, with high cheekbones, blindingly bright blue eyes, and freshly cut hair. He dressed to the nines in a fitted charcoal suit. Jacket now discarded, the gold chain of a pocket watch dangled from the vest pocket, and the sleeves of a pressed white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. Specks of mud smeared the front of him from where he'd carried her. She felt a bit embarrassed – a complete savage she must've appeared to him.
Quite the fall from grace, Lady DeNoble.
While Theo had given him her name, he'd yet to introduce himself. She couldn't exactly blame him – she was a murderer after all. A fact he hardly seemed alarmed by, if she were being honest. He appeared far more concerned with tending to her injuries rather than the body he'd found in the back of that car.
"Oi, Tommy!" the door to the study opened with a horribly loud bang against the inner wall. Even the man winced with surprise at the sudden noise. "That Bentley out there have anything to do with this meeting? What a fucking waste!"
"The fuck happened!" a different voice asked.
The Brummie accents of the two voices matched Tommy's, though they were far more loud and unpolished than his low drawl. These men certainly weren't London socialites, which meant the chances of them knowing her, or her husband were probably lessened. Not that she'd be recognizable anyway. Theo refrained from screwing up her face, stomach going sour as she wondered how long it would be possible to avoid a mirror.
"Quiet," Tommy hissed at the two men. "Come in, shut the door behind you."
"All right, no need to get your knickers in a fucking bunch."
"Christ, Tommy!" The first man came into view. Theodora did her best to squint up at him, her left eye now nearly swollen shut.
The new man was remarkably similar to Tommy, in appearance and build. Brothers, they had to be. His pewter eyes were wide with surprise under a tweed flat cap, and a toothpick rolled between his lips as he exclaimed, "Who the fuck is this!"
"Theo," Tommy offered. "She was driving the car."
The last man appeared between the two others and gave a low whistle when he caught her appearance. "Quite a number you did on yourself, girl. Must've been going real fast."
"At least cover her up!" The man with the toothpick stepped forward, grabbed the throw blanket, and draped it over her form. Theo shivered with the welcoming warmth of the added layer. "Where are your clothes, girl?"
She wanted to say thank you to him. Thank you for doing what she could not. Thank you for the small kindness. The words rattled in her aching throat, which Tommy again quickly silenced. "Shh, Theo." He knelt at her side once more, and brushed away the few strands of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. "Look at this, John. Arthur."
Theo tried not to squirm under the intense gazes of the three men as they bent over her. Their matching cringes told her that her wounds looked as bad as they felt. "You clean these with liquor yet, Tommy?" The eldest of the three asked.
"Not yet," Tommy said, and she inwardly cursed. That was not going to be pleasant when the time came. "Theo's not wearing any clothes because she had a scrap in the mud with a husband who tried to kill her. She killed him first. His body's in the back of the Vauxhall. That's why you're here."
The admiration in his voice was faint but unmistakable. Did he respect her, for what she'd done? For surviving. Perhaps he really would help her. Theo wished to reach for him. To fall into him and cry, cry, cry until there was nothing left. The relief she felt was palpable. What odds, that she would crash her car in front of the home of a man who understood.
But Tommy seemed a tough spirit, and she would not reduce herself to a blubbering mess in front of these men. She would hold fast to her dignity and be strong.
Before another word could be said by any brother, the door to the study opened again, quieter this time. The sound of heels echoed on the hard wood floor, softening when the steps reached the Persian rug, and the form of another person came into view. This time it was a woman, older than the three men. Their mother? She was petite, with wild brown curls pinned back from a stern face. She stared down at Theo, assessing her, until she huffed and shook her head. "You fucking idiot, Thomas. Do you know who that is?"
"Should I?" Tommy asked.
"Read the gossip columns lately?" The woman stomped away, and rustling could be heard. A minute later, she returned to his side, shoving a copy of The Daily Herald into his chest. "That's Theodora De-fucking-Noble."
Tommy eyed the day-old paper wearily, then brought it down to her line of sight. Sure enough, there she and Hans were, hand in hand, waving to the people as they disembarked the ferry that had taken them across the English Channel.
Lady Theodora DeNoble [left], eldest daughter to the Earl of Winslow, returns to England for a visit with her husband Lord Hans DeNoble of Holland [right]. Welcome home!
Theo eyed the photo with disdain but nodded, confirming her identity to Tommy. He swore quietly.
"The bloody fucking countess herself," the woman mused. "Where's your lord husband, dear?"
"If I told you he's dead?" Tommy had the gall to appear sheepish.
"Then I'd say that's a terrible fucking joke Thomas, but if it happens to be true, then we're fucked. Royally fucked." She turned, and began to beat Tommy's chest with a closed fist. "You. Fucking. Idiot!"
"Ah, come on Pol!" The youngest of them, the man with the toothpick piped up, gesturing to Theo. "It wasn't Tommy what did it, it was her! And look! Nearly beat her to death, didn't he? He fucking got what he deserved." He turned to appeal to his brother, "We've gotta help her, Tom. I'd want someone to do it for my Esme if I went fucking barmy one day."
"I agree with John," the eldest brother said. "She's a fighter, won her battle fair and square. She deserves a chance, even if it's us who have to give it to her."
Another heavy silence. "They'll come for her, Tommy," the woman said.
John began to protest again, but Tommy held his hand up to silence him. "Just let me think. Let me fucking think."
He took that same hand, wiped it down his face in frustration, never once taking his eyes off hers. Theo willed him to understand, she didn't wish them any trouble. She'd be out of his hair as soon as she could. She just needed a head start.
Tommy nodded like he could hear her. "Right," he said, low and calm. "We have a few weeks at least. A married couple extends their holiday. Maybe they're feeling under the weather, not ready to travel, are taking some time to rest somewhere quiet." He began to pace, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. "We can send a man to collect their things and settle their account, leave a note with the concierge that they've made other arrangements if anyone comes calling. That buys us time. Time for her to heal. We'll get her papers and on a ship to America, or Brazil – somewhere they won't fucking find her."
What an odd experience, to sit idle and silently listen to her fate be discussed by four complete strangers. Still, it all sounded fair enough. More than she could ask for. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd had any time to come up with a plan of her own. As she saw it, options were rather limited. Either flee or face death.
So Theo allowed her eyes to drift closed, listening intently to the slow and steady voice of the man who saved her and would save her again.
"That easy, then?" The woman asked, her tone full of doubt, to which Tommy challenged.
"That fucking easy."