Riot and Retribution

“Quick, quick! Rouse yersel’ there’s real trouble ’ere. There’s a mob in Queen Square layin’ waste an’ the troops are out. There’s gangs roamin’ in the town an’ there’s some buggers a-comin’ down the Parade and smashin’ all the glass. The Mathilda’s a-fire an’ the Master’s out on the quay with they Chinese! I’m not being trapped down ’ere if there’s fire!”
Even as she pulled Tibbs to her feet, they heard the crashing of masonry from the dark pit of the stair-well. The metal grill door slammed open against the rock-side with a hollow clang, followed by the unmistakable sound of running footsteps, and more, a low, growling snarl and the swift scratching of dog’s claws as it bounded up the stone steps. As the tarts gawped in horror down the void, Abi and Frances took their chance and sprang from the bed. Wrenching a fire-iron apiece from the companion set on the hearth, they covered the distance between them and their targets in seconds and landed crushing blows on the backs of their heads. Again and again, they swung their arms ’til they ached, mercilessly belabouring their captors with blows hard enough to stun oxen. Tess, startled out of her sleep, set up a wild howling and backed up to flatten herself against the wall in terror. Abi and Frances were oblivious, still beating, beating with all their pent up fear and fury, relentlessly beating, blow on blow until the floor was slick with blood. The women still twitched as Nathaniel and Caradoc reached the doorway, Caradoc leading the way, smelling the captives, the blood and the fear. Tess dodged round them screaming like a banshee as she fled up the stairs, swerving into a narrow side alley, plunging away into the blackness.
“Oh God save us!” said Abi, slowly lowering the bloodied poker as she stared at the tall dark man who had burst into their prison. “Is it Mr Drake?”
“Abi!” Nathaniel stopped in his tracks, his mind racing back to the distant night at Shadwell’s. He smiled in recognition: the alias could still do good service. “Quick now girl. And you,” he shot a warning glance at Frances who still brandished a fire-shovel. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll get you out.” He glanced round the cave, taking in the sleeping infants in the truckle bed, the sprawling bodies by the doorway.
“Now move fast. Lift the babies and follow me.”
Dazed by the speed of events, Abi and Frances moved automatically, wrapping the infants roughly in their bedding as they snatched them up.
“And take those fire-irons. We’ll go the way I came but we might be challenged.”
Suddenly, fresh sounds broke upon them from above and lights shone from the top of the stairs. “Quickly now, down these steps,” commanded Nathaniel. “Follow my light.”
“Stop! Or I’ll shoot you down!”
Nathaniel spun round as a powerful figure in Ravenswood’s livery rounded the turn in the steps, lifting his pistol to fire.
“Drop down!” shouted Nathaniel, pushing back up the steps past the confusion of girls and trailing bedding, simultaneously drawing a pistol and firing into his assailant’s body. Even as the man’s own weapon fired wide and he slumped over bellowing in pain, a nimble footman wielding a bludgeon leapt over his stricken body to be met head-on by Caradoc. He had leapt at the man’s throat, a blur of black and tan, claws and teeth. Nathaniel flung aside his lantern to swap the spent gun for the loaded one as the man yelled out in agony and beat wildly at Caradoc with the bludgeon. Nathaniel levelled the weapon but in the flickering light from the cave there was no clear shot.