Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen

thrust it up and peered out into the darkness. The street seemed miles below; the attic of Harland’s house was a clear storey above the other houses surrounding it.

      ‘Thank Heavens for small mercies: there’s a ledge.’ It was narrow, shining with dampness, maybe crumbling, but it stretched across the width of the house just below the window line. He closed his mind to the possible dangers, focusing on the immediate one. ‘Harland, close this after us—hurry, man!’

      The artist thrust Tallie’s evening cloak into a mass of multicoloured hangings, tossed her reticule and shoes on top of a bookcase and hurried towards them.

      Nick began to climb out of the window, keeping a grip with one hand on Tallie. ‘Come on.’

      ‘I …? cannot. I can’t stand heights … I …’

      The sound of approaching voices was getting closer. ‘Harland, get out there and hold them up as long as possible. I’ll try and shut the window after us. Do nothing to draw attention to it.’

      As the artist ran for the door, Nick forced himself to stillness, pulled Tallie close and folded his arms round her. She was quivering against him, her soft warm skin achingly vulnerable under his hands. He pushed up her chin and put all his power into his voice and his eyes.

      ‘We are going out there and I will keep you safe. I will not let you fall. I will not let them find you. Do you believe me, Tallie?’

      ‘Ye-yes.’ He saw the terrified green eyes focus, her lips tighten. He could almost feel the effort of will it was taking her to control her fear. ‘I believe you, Nick.’

      He released her and ducked under the raised sash and out onto the sill. The drizzle had stopped, but everything he touched had a grimy, sooty dampness. He tugged at the cornice above his head, found it firm. He craned back, wondering if he could get them up on top of the cornice where the attic roof met the gutters, but there were no handholds. He reached in to Tallie with his free hand. ‘Come on, out onto the ledge, face out and inch along to your right. There is a downpipe—hold that with your right hand and the edge of the window reveal with your left.’

      ‘Don’t let me go!’ The panic was back in her voice.

      ‘Just while I close the window. You can do it, Tallie, come on, show me.’

      With a little gasp she took his hand and climbed out, her naked limbs flashing white in the darkness. Then she was standing, groping with her free hand.

      ‘I have got the pipe.’ She swallowed audibly.

      ‘Here is the window reveal.’ He guided her hand to it. ‘Now, hold on.’

      Her fingertips seemed to cling to his for a fraction of a second, then she released his hand and he saw her fingers tighten on the rough brick. Nick shoved down the window, stepped across and flattened himself against her, his back to the drop, his hands gripping the same handholds above hers.

      The sound of the door banging open and loud voices in the studio reached them clearly. Against his chest he could feel Tallie’s breathing. Rapid, frightened. Then she whispered, ‘It is all right, Nick. I won’t panic, I will not let you down.’

      The trust in her voice was so absolute it almost unmanned him as nothing else could have done. For a moment he closed his eyes, let his forehead rest against the wet brick. He found his voice and whispered, ‘I know you won’t, my brave darling. But I’m afraid we have to move: if anyone opens the window, they’ll see us.’

      Tallie wondered if she had heard him aright. It was difficult to think, let alone to hear properly. The blood seemed to be roaring in her ears, the sound of Nick’s heart was loud where her face was pressed against him; on the other side of the window shouts and catcalls marked the hunt in progress.

      Below them, four storeys down, was the street, below that the spiked railings and the further drop to the unyielding flags of the area courtyard. Her naked back pressed against rough brick, her skin was crawling with cold and terror. But he had called her my brave darling. The poor little flickering flame of courage that had helped her get out onto the ledge burned stronger, then the rest of his words came into focus. Move? He wanted them to move?

      She heard herself say, ‘Yes, Nick', and, as nightmares do, this one shifted into new horrors.

      He was edging carefully along the ledge, nudging her feet along inside his, his body arched out to give her room. He seemed to be holding on to something above their heads, she could feel the tension in his arms as they rose past her face. At first all she was aware of in their infinitely slow progress was pain; the bricks grazing her buttocks and shoulders, the grit on the ledge digging into her feet, Nick’s body ruthlessly pushing her on, so hard against her that she could hardly breathe.

      Then the cold began to numb the pain and fear took over. Under her bare feet she could feel how crumbly the ledge felt; pressed against him so tightly she was utterly aware of the strain on Nick’s body and arms, the gasp of pain as he arched himself out to enable her to slide around the downpipe. Once, twice, his foot slipped and the jerk as he took the weight on straining arms froze her with terror.

      It seemed endless, this nightmare; perhaps she would spend eternity on this ledge, her back raw, her feet frozen, crushed against the man she loved until even his strength gave out and he fell, leaving her alone as he plunged to his death far below.

      He stopped suddenly; she felt his hand outstretched, groping into air. ‘The corner,’ he whispered. ‘The ledge goes around and continues down the side of the building. If we go round, we will be out of sight.’

      There was a moment where his body left hers, the damp night air striking icy on the one part of her that had been warm, then he was swinging her around the corner as behind them the window creaked upwards and loud voices echoed out.

      ‘Not out here, not unless she’s jumped.’ The voice was unfamiliar, drunken, utterly uncaring.

      ‘The bitch. How the hell did she escape?’ That was Hemsley.

      Faintly from inside the room she heard the indignant artist. ‘Gentlemen, you have made a mistake. Someone dropped off a note for their mistress earlier, then left again. No one is here …’

      ‘I am going to make Jack Hemsley sorry he was ever born,’ Nick said close to her ear. Under any other circumstances his tone might have been considered politely conversational.

      Tallie shivered. ‘You are going to call him out?’ she whispered back.

      ‘Eventually.’ Nick lingered over the syllables as though savouring them. His tone changed. ‘Thank goodness for that, the moon’s out.’

      It was intermittent, still partly obscured by the clearing rain clouds, but Nick seemed pleased, which as far as Tallie was concerned was all that mattered now. She was keeping upright by sheer will-power and the strength of his body and she was so cold that she could feel nothing else at all.

      Nick moved as though to turn his body and she gave a little cry.

      ‘Shh. It is all right. The roof next door is lower than this one and almost flat, just a few more inches and we will be over it and can get down.’

      How would that help? Tallie wondered hazily. How could you get off a roof?

      ‘I’m going to let you go for a moment, Tallie,’ Nick said firmly. ‘Just stay still, leaning back. It will only be for a second.’

      Before she had a chance to protest he was gone. Terrified, her eyes tight shut, Tallie flattened herself against the wall and waited for the sickening thud from far below. When he spoke, his voice coming from the level of her ankles, she was so shocked that she lost her balance and tumbled straight off the ledge and into his arms.

      ‘Shh, it’s all right, my darling, I have you, we’re quite safe, off that ledge now.’

      Tallie made a huge effort and opened her eyes. She was cradled in Nick’s arms as he walked across the flat leads of a house. She was also stark naked.