I ran forward. The assailant-male-looked up, saw me coming. I was a large man, and I carried a walking stick, within which was concealed a stout sword. Perhaps he knew who I was, perhaps he'd seen me and my famous temper at work. In any event, he flung the woman from him and fled.

She landed hard on the stones and boards, too near the edge. I snatched at the assailant, but his knife flashed in the rain, catching me across my palm. I grunted. He scuttled away into the darkness, disappearing in a wash of rain.

I let him go. I balanced myself on the slippery boards and made my way to her. To my left, empty air rose from the roiling Thames, mist and hot rain and foul odors. One misstep and I would plunge down into the waiting, noisome river.

The woman lay facedown, her body half over the edge. Her cloak tangled her so that she could not roll to safety, and her hands worked fruitlessly to pull herself to the firm stones.

I leaned down, seized her about her waist, and hauled her back to the middle of the bridge. She cringed from me, her hands strong as she pushed me away.

"Carefully," I said. "He is gone. You are safe."

Her hood had fallen back. The jewels I'd glimpsed were diamonds, a fine tiara of them. They sparkled against her dark hair, which lay in snarls over her cloak.

"Who was he?" I asked in s gentle voice.

She looked about wildly, as though unsure of who I meant. "I do not know. A-a beggar, I think."

One with a sharp knife. My hand stung and my glove was ruined.

I helped her to her feet. She clung to me a moment, her fright still too close.

Gradually, as the rain quieted into a soft summer shower, she returned to herself again. Her hands uncurled from my coat, and her panicked grip relaxed.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for helping me."