Author's Note: Hope this update finds everyone in good health. Lilylynn - your comments are never rude! I probably deserved everything I got for ending a chapter with an explosion! I always love hearing what you think of the story as it goes it along - as I do everyone's. Your feedback keeps me writing (the story is already much longer than originally intended!)

Chapter Eleven: The Gallery of Frost

When I was considerably younger than I am now, I had my first hangover. On the night before that horrendous event, I had been able to hide my drunken state from my parents only because I had sneaked back into the house after they were in bed. My parents - God rest them - believed me to be already sweetly slumbering in my room at the time.

The hangover was another matter and help came form the most unlikely source. My own dear, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth, baby sister.

Evelyn missed her calling, she really did. She ought to have gone on the stage: no-one can play at innocence like Evy. She informed our parents that I had a fever, and they believed her. I would have believed I had a fever, except for the vivid memory of the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed. In private she scolded me, called me names and fed me vast quantities of aspirin and water.

That has set the pattern for our relationship ever since. After our parents died I, as the elder sibling, should have taken care of Evelyn. I fear that the roles have been reversed and that Evelyn has taken care of me.

She is my baby sister and if anything happens to her, I honestly don't know what I'll do.

O'Connell blames himself.

I have told him, repeatedly, that none of this is his fault, but he prefers to torture himself. He has informed me that he should have killed Barton when he had the chance, when he first saw him bothering Evelyn.

A noble sentiment, no doubt, but I am not certain that murdering someone because of something they haven't done yet is adequate grounds for a defence. I have not pointed this out to him, as I don't think he is interested in rational arguments. Not that I'm in a mood for rational myself - when O'Connell gets his hands on Barton, I hope he throttles him. I'll help.

I don't really think that I am cut out for this sort of lark. I prefer the idea of an adventure much more than the actual thing itself. Not that this is an adventure - it's far too serious and there is too much to be lost.

The night is, fortunately for us, very dark. This particular stretch of river smells particularly foul. I think I'm going to be sick. I need a drink.

It's so dark that I can barely see anything. The only way I know some of Ardeth's merry little band are nearby is because I can hear them breathing. Every now and then there is a low whisper, but they speak so softly the words cannot be heard above the breeze. I am in the rearguard. As Evy's brother I should, no doubt, be charging in first to rescue her. I may be guilty of foolishness on occasion (not as frequently as some members of my family claim) but I am not delusional. I am fully aware that I would be of little use at the front of such a venture. We want Evy back in one piece, after all. I'll leave the bravura heroics to O'Connell.

It's strange how completely I trust him in this matter.

Of course I am not going to live with the pair of them. They're bad enough at the moment - the thought of watching them legally slobber over one another once they are married is unendurable.

Of course, there's nothing like having a brother living with one to cramp the style of a young married couple.

No, no I'll remove myself back to the flat in London. Rather looking forward to having the place to myself, really. Bachelor pad. No frilly feminine bits cluttering the place up. Just me and my ... well, my things.

I was rather touched when Evy brought the subject up, though.

I think my foot has gone to sleep.

There are lights on the barge and I keep wondering if one of them is hers. I want to yell out to her not to worry, that we're coming for her. That I'm here and O'Connell is here and everything is going to be all right.

I suppose I should start calling him Rick. After all, we are going to be family before long. When I was much younger I always wanted to exchange Evy for a brother. I remember very clearly asking my father if we could send her back where she came from and get a boy instead. He turned a bit pink, laughed and ruffled my head. After all this time it's strange to think that I will have a brother, of sorts.

I have not prayed in a long time, but I will pray now. Dear God in heaven, how I will pray tonight. For Evelyn and for Rick.

A flare has gone up on the barge. It is time.