Lord of the Beasts

“That ain’t none o’ yer business.”

“Mine is Donal,” he said. “Donal Fleming. How old are you?”

“Twelve years,” she said sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Wot’s it to yer?”

Donal’s hand stilled on the terrier’s back, and the dog growled in response to his sudden surge of anger. “Where do you live?” he asked, keeping his voice as level as he could. “Do you have anyone to look after you?”

She concealed a wet sniff behind her hand. “Oi don’t needs nowbody.”

“What if the men return?”

Blinking rapidly, the girl scraped her ragged sleeve across her eyes. “Oi won’t let ’em catch me.”

But her efforts at bravado were hardly convincing, and the dogs knew how truly afraid she was. Donal got to his feet.

“You’d better come with me,” he said.

Her eyes widened, gleaming with moisture in the dim moonlight. “Where?”

“To my hotel. I’ll see that you have decent clothing and a good meal. And then …”

And then. What was he to do with a child? His thoughts flew inexplicably to the woman from the Zoological Gardens and skipped away, winging to his farm in Yorkshire. He hadn’t the resources to take the girl in, but there were a number of solid families in the Dales who owed him payment for his care of their animals. Surely one of them could be convinced to give her a decent home.

Relieved that he had found a solution, Donal smiled. “How would you like to come north with me, to the countryside?”

The dogs burst into a dance of joy, their tails beating the air. The girl pushed to her feet and brushed scraps of refuse from her colorless dress. “Away from Lunnon?” she asked in disbelief.

“Far away. Where no one can hurt you again.”

She stared at the ground, chewing her lower lip as she watched the dogs gambol around her rag-bound feet. At last she looked up, brows drawn in a menacing frown. “You won’t try nuffin’?”

His smile faded. “I have no interest in abusing children,” he said. “Your dogs know that you can trust me.”

“Oi told you, they ain’t my—” She broke off with an explosive sigh. “Can Oi takes ’em wiv me?”

Donal briefly considered the obstacles involved. “Perhaps we can sneak them in. I already have a dog there. His name is Sir Reginald.”

The girl snorted. “‘At’s a flash name for a cur.”

“But he isn’t puffed-up in the least. You’ll like him.”

“Well …” She kicked an empty tin and sent it spinning across the alley. “Awroight. Me name’s Ivy.”

Donal bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Ivy.”

She made a rude sound, but her eyes were very bright. “Come on, then,” she said to the dogs. “Oi’m ready for a spot o’ supper, even if you ain’t.”

THEY ARRIVED AT HUMMUMS after midnight. The market was quiet, awaiting the arrival of the next day’s wagons, though a few coffee stalls accommodated fast gentlemen and women of the street trolling for their night’s business. There were no “rozzers” present to complicate Donal’s scheme.

He left Ivy and the dogs in a quiet niche around the corner from the hotel and retrieved his greatcoat and a blanket from his rooms. He threw the coat over Ivy and gave her the smallest dog to hold while he wrapped the other two in the blanket and bid them keep absolutely still. Ivy proved adept at moving quietly, and they passed through the lobby without attracting more than an indifferent glance from the night clerk.

Sir Reginald greeted them at the door to Donal’s rooms. He stiffened when he smelled the strange dogs and retreated to a safe place under the sitting-room sofa. Ivy set down the terrier, gazing about the room in silent appraisal as Donal released the other dogs from the blanket. He crouched near the sofa and coaxed Sir Reginald into his arms.

“Sir Reginald,” he said, “this is our guest, Ivy. Ivy, Sir Reginald.”

The spaniel wagged his tail but continued to regard the canine interlopers with suspicion. The three street dogs were on their best behavior, as if they recognized that they had been granted a privilege they must not abuse.

Ivy sat down on the carpet beside them and sniffed loudly. “It’s flash enough,” she conceded. “You said we could ‘ave some food?”

Donal set Sir Reginald on the sofa and brought out the basket of bread and fruit he had bought before he left for the Zoological Gardens. “I’ll purchase more when the market opens in the morning,” he said, “and I’ll find you a dress.” He surveyed her slight form, reflecting on how little he knew of women’s garments. Surely anything would be an improvement on her current wardrobe. “I think it best that you remain here when I go out.”

Ivy snatched the bread from the basket and broke it in half, dividing one part among the dogs and sinking strong, surprisingly white teeth into the other. “You ashamed o’ me?” she asked with studied indifference.

“Not in the least. But you will have to take a bath—”

Ivy shot to her feet, crumbs showering from her patched bodice. “I ain’t takin’ off me clothes!”

“I’ll have them send up a hip bath and hot water while you hide behind the bed,” he said patiently. “Then I’ll leave you alone. Only the dogs will see you.”

She thumped back down and reached for an apple. “I scarcely remember what it feels like to be clean.”

Donal glanced at her sharply, aware of a sudden change in her voice. Gone was the thick rookery accent; she had pronounced every word with the perfect diction of the educated class.

“Who were your parents, Ivy?” he asked.

She noticed his intent look and hunched protectively around the basket. “Oi don’t remember nuffin’.”

“Nothing at all?”

“You sayin’ Oi’m a liar?”

Donal sighed and sat on the nearest chair. “You’ve had a difficult day. I suggest you try to get some sleep.”

She glanced toward the door that separated the two rooms. “Only if you stay in there.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have the bed?”

“Ain’t used to ’em.” She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The dogs snuggled close. “Go on.”

Donal picked up Sir Reginald and started for the bedchamber. “You will still be here in the morning?”

“‘Course Oi will. You promised me a new dress.”

There was nothing else to be done but obey the girl’s command. Donal entered the bedchamber and closed the door, sending a last request to Ivy’s canine friends. If the girl attempted to leave, the dogs would warn him. In any case, he had no intention of sleeping until he and Ivy were safely on the train to York.

He stretched out on the bed fully-clothed, Sir Reginald tucked in the crook of his arm, and let the intoxicating scents and shrouded mysteries of the jungle close in around him. He stalked with the tigress, his ears twitching as he caught the movement of deer in the bush. She paused to meet his gaze, inviting him to join in the hunt, and her golden eyes turned the somber gray of a winter-bound lake.

“Can it be, sir,” she purred, “that in spite of your intimate acquaintance with tigers, you have never observed a female of the species Homo sapiens?”