Jane and the Damned by Janet Mullany Page B

be proud that his little sister had developed such a strong bowling arm, she thought as she caught a Frenchman square on the forehead. Around her, the townspeople scrambled from their hiding places, dodging between the horses and running around debris. What had begun as a disciplined cavalry charge had turned into hand-to-hand fighting. But not for long; already the cavalrymen formed a tight formation, and sabers swinging, charged ahead.
    “Call them off!” Jane shouted to Mr. Thomas. “The French have the advantage over us!”
    But the apothecary was gone—Jane saw his spectacles glinting on the ground among the blood and mud. She picked them up, hoping he lived still. Around her, townspeople fought to escape the cavalry sabers, and foot soldiers followed.
    “Run!” Jane shouted above the screams and shouts. “We‧re outnumbered. Save yourselves!” She watched in horror as French soldiers poured into the front areas of houses, bayonets at the ready, where a few townspeople still remained. She saw a man and a woman hammer at the servants’ door in a basement, screaming to be let in, and then saw them cut down.
    “Run!” Jane shouted again. She picked up her skirts and ran ahead of the cavalry, guessing that they would take the most direct route into the center of the town down Cornwall Street. A crowd of people, some supporting the wounded, followed her.
    “Where shall we go, mistress?”
    “To your homes. The city will fall,” Jane said.
    “The wounded may come with me,” said a voice behind her. Mr. Thomas the apothecary blinked shortsightedly at her. His face was blackened with smoke and smeared with blood. “Bravely done, ma‧am. And where will you go?”
    “I‧m so glad you‧re alive, Mr. Thomas. Good night to you, sir.” She handed him his spectacles and shook his hand.
    She could not return home covered in blood and stinking of smoke and have to explain where she had been or what had happened. But there was one place she could go; once again she felt the bond that drew her to the Damned and distanced her from her family.
    She had a Bearleader and surely he would know what she should do. Although Miss Jane Austen would not be so foolish as to walk alone through a battle, the new Jane—Jane the vampire, who had killed and fought—was fearless.
    In Queens Square all of the houses but one were shuttered and silent; only the Damned could be so ostentatious as to keep candles blazing in every room and curtains open at such a time. Inside, some sort of gathering seemed to be taking place; she heard laughter and music and saw people moving around inside. She walked up the steps and tugged at the bellpull, angry that they should amuse themselves while the people of the town, barely armed, fought and died.
    The door swung open to reveal a half-dressed man. His coat and waistcoat were discarded, his shirt open at the neck. He had a familiar, dreamy expression on his face.
    “Another one.” He swayed toward her and tipped his head to one side, revealing small wounds on his neck. “Drink from me, beauty.”

Chapter 7

    “Beauty? Hardly. Let me pass, sir, if you please.” Jane pushed the man aside and he fell against the wall as though drunk. She stepped onto the marble slabs of the hall. A door opened and a gentleman dressed in a militia uniform emerged.
    “Good God, girl, what has happened to you? Venning! There’s an injured woman here, a servant, I believe, who must have fallen foul of the French.” He rushed to Jane’s side and gripped her arm. “Sit, if you please. Where are you injured?”
    “I am not a servant. I am Miss Jane Austen.”
    Luke emerged from the same room. “So it is.” He looked at her coolly. “Am I to take it that you have made your first kill?”
    “I have been fighting the French.”
    Luke was silent, merely raising an eyebrow.
    Jane continued, “You should have been there, not entertaining! All of you!”
    “Indeed.”
    “Well, what did you expect me to do? Sit