watched from my station by the window. Mr. Hoarty stood by the fracas, shouting. Perhaps he was telling them the identity of this stranger, his rank. I knew it would do Richard no good. The smugglers could simply disappear if they killed him, evade justice by joining another gang further up the coast, or by going to ground in one of their many hideaways.

They were going to kill my love. I would have to watch him die, unable to prevent it. A moan escaped me and this time Mrs. Hoarty tightened her grip on my hand.

Something gleamed wickedly in Richard’s left hand, the one he’d used to throw his coat. He tossed the object from his left hand to his right. The knife glittered in the pale sunshine. He sprang to his feet, kicking out with his left leg, and at the same time swept the new weapon in front of him. All gentility had gone. Only a fighter, strong and supple, remained.

The kick found its intended mark in the groin of the man in front of him, I could almost hear the shriek of pain from where I stood behind the plate glass.

Richard stood over his sword so they couldn’t retrieve it. In the confusion caused by his kick reaching its mark, he swept it up again and stood, twitching the end of the sword, the knife in his left hand once more.

I could see what he was saying by the movement of his mouth, but I could hear nothing, trapped as I was behind the glass. “Come on, then!” One man held his groin, the other stood back. He said something to his injured colleague.

I held my breath as they turned, slowly. They began to walk up the long street away from us. They must have decided on discretion, at least for the time being.

With a cry, I was released from my spell, and forgetting all propriety, all concealment, I ran out the front door and up the street towards him. He caught me around my waist when I reached him. Incredibly, he was laughing, but he stopped when he saw the tears on my face. “What, you thought those two bullies were too much for me? Oh ye of little faith.”

“Richard, they could have killed you.” I couldn’t stop crying; he pulled me close, giving me his warmth for comfort.

“Them?” He stared after them, and then turned his head against mine, let me rest on him. I didn’t care who might be watching. “They’re fools and praters. Easy pickings, my love.”

“I fear you’re right, Miss Golightly,” said Mr. Hoarty heavily. “They may seek revenge. It’s a matter of honour with them that their kind go unmolested.”

“Unlike this poor devil,” said Richard, as his attention went to the man on the ground.

Past my worst shock, I released Richard, and knelt in the dirt, to see if I could help the poor man. “He’d be better indoors,” I said, my voice still shaky. “Does anyone know where he lives?”

I looked up to see a woman, not in her first youth. By the tears pouring down her face, it was obvious the victim belonged to her in some way. Richard dropped his weapons, knelt and lifted the victim without effort, leaving Mr. Hoarty to follow.

The woman, still in tears, led us to a cottage nearby. I didn’t flinch at the animal stench within, although it turned my stomach with its intensity. Richard followed, and laid the man on the filthy bed, then stood back to let me examine him. He had reason to know I had some knowledge in that area.

I pulled up the poor man’s shirt to examine his wounds, and examined him in silence, passing my hands over the wounds to feel for broken bones. I became convinced of one thing. “This was a punishment beating. There’ll be no permanent injuries, but he has some nasty bruises and a couple of cracked ribs. He’ll be in pain for a while.”

“Was it skillfully done?” he asked.

I nodded. “These men knew what they were about.”

“Less thugs, more hired help.” Richard rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to do something about this, otherwise I fear Mr. Hoarty may be right. They’ll seek retribution.”

I got to my feet and repeated my findings to the woman. She mopped up her tears with a filthy handkerchief. “Why would they have done this?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, miss.” I knew she was lying. The sight of her man brutalised in her presence was enough to ensure her silence. It was obvious to me that we could do nothing more here.

Richard took his belongings from Mr. Hoarty with a smile of thanks. He sheathed his sword and put on his coat, then he reached into his pocket and brought out a leather scabbard. Mr. Hoarty handed him the knife without comment, but I put out my hand for it, and after a moment’s hesitation, Richard handed it to me.

It was a plain looking knife, beautifully balanced, with a fine, thin steel blade. “Do you always carry this?”

“I generally have one or two about me.” He took it back and sheathed it, then returned it to his coat pocket.

I had a vision, of the time at the Abbey when Steven had attacked me. Richard had hit him with the hilt of his sword, and knocked him out, but then his hand had gone to his pocket. No wonder Gervase had been so quick to catch his arm. Richard must have been going for one of these vicious little knives. It shocked me that a gentleman should carry such an item as a matter of course and that he knew how to fight as street urchins did, although I would never