Chapter Eight
T he noise was impressive.
Kara pressed close to Niall as they made their way through Westminster. The roads were busy, full of pedestrians, cart vendors, and carriages vying for space with supply wagons. A long wooden wall had been built to separate the construction of the new palace from the public thoroughfare. Heavily laden horses and wagons lined up to go through an opening in the barrier. Men waited their turn, each speaking with a porter armed with a thick file before being waved through.
Kara and Niall watched the supplies enter from a little distance. When the last wagon had been admitted, they approached.
The porter eyed them curiously and opened his file. “Names?”
“Niall Kier, Duke of Sedwick.” Niall gave the man a friendly smile. “And, of course, this is my wife.”
The porter scanned his papers. He looked up once, and Kara gave him an encouraging nod.
It didn’t help. The man closed his file and shook his head. “I’m sure I’m sorry, Your Grace. The new House of Lords is in use, and you are welcome there, but this area is still under construction and not open to visitors. It isn’t safe.”
“We are not visiting,” Niall said politely. “We are here to see Mr. Robert Preston.”
The porter made a face. “Mr. Preston is right busy, he is. He’s got to get the tower back on schedule.”
“Nevertheless,” Niall said pleasantly, but firmly.
The porter stared, clearly undecided.
Kara took a step closer. “It is family business for which we need to see Mr. Preston, sir. Urgent family business. He won’t thank you for delaying us.”
At last, the man shrugged and waved them through. “On your head be it, then, if this delays him .”
They stepped through—and good heavens. The noise ratcheted even louder on this side of the wall. Men’s shouts mingled with pounding, sawing, and the creak of ropes and machinery. “It’s a hive of industry, isn’t it?” she said to Niall. “And it seems to be well run.”
She ran an experienced eye over it all. Everywhere men were engaged in moving, building, and crafting. Not a one of them appeared to be slacking. Scaffolding surrounded walls and a tower under construction. It rose up over the trees, and had a crane perched atop it.
The porter saw where her eye had landed. “The King’s Tower,” he said with pride. “When it is finished, it will be the largest square tower in all the world.” He pointed. “And on the other end is the clock tower. It’s somewhat closer to the finish.”
“It’s all very impressive,” she told him.
“Where will we find Preston?” asked Niall.
“He’ll be at the square tower site. Preston is a skilled man. He was instrumental in getting the Commons opened in time last November. Now Sir Charles has put him on the King’s Tower, hoping he can get it back on a decent timeline to be finished.” The man narrowed his gaze and surveyed the busy scene. “There!” He pointed toward a pair of men pulling a wagon full of parts. “Follow those men. Those are heading for the place you need. You’ll find Preston on site.”
They set off. Niall tightened his grip on her arm. “Watch your step,” he murmured.
But Kara had toured enough of her own businesses and manufactories to know how to stay out of the way. They kept in step behind the porters, following along the long wall of the building, avoiding the swarms of busy men. The tower was the feature at the end of the building, and eventually they followed the men into a stone arch surrounded by scaffolds, with stonemasons swarming over it.
The porters started to unload their wagon, calling for help in hoisting a large gear wheel complete with drum and flange.
“What’s this, then?” Kara asked, interested.
Together, the men carried the mechanism inside, and Kara and Niall followed. She peered into the wagon as they passed, noting a crank, a hooked gear, and a spoked handwheel.
The building here was close to finished. Men scrambled over walls, lining them with carved wooden panels. Ahead, though, they could see the large entrance to the tower, a marvel of arched buttresses and incredible stonework.
In the area before the entrance, a large man had made himself a desk of planks over stone plinths. He looked up from it and heaved a sigh of relief as the men entered with their burden. “Well, thank the Almighty, here you are at last. Come on, lads. Get a scramble on and get that upstairs and installed. How are we to finish the storerooms if we cannot get supplies up there?”
“That will be him, then,” Kara said brightly.
The man had already returned his attention to the spread of designs and documents on his makeshift desk.
“Good morning!” Kara approached first. “Are you constructing a winch, by chance?”
The man looked up. “Repairing one,” he answered. “There’s an opening in the entrance roof for lifting heavy supplies, but the winch keeps seizing. I’m replacing the largest gears.”
“Mr. Robert Preston?” Niall asked.
The gentleman looked back down at his schedules, lists, and plans. “Yes?”
“I am Niall Kier—”
The man’s eyes widened as he straightened again. “The newly made duke? Of…” He frowned. “Sorry. I forgot the title.”
“Sedwick. And this is my duchess. We would like a word, if you please.”
“No time.” The man waved a hand. “Apologies, but we’ve got a long way to go before this tower is finished and we are severely behind schedule.”
Kara stepped in. Preston was nearly as large as Niall. He had a long nose with a crook on the end and thick, unruly eyebrows. She thought Miss Martin had given a good description of him. Not a workman, but not quite a gentleman, either. She recognized in him the air of a good foreman—organized, fair, and stern when he needed to be.
“We’ve just come from Mrs. Sarah Hanlin,” she said, getting straight to the point that she suspected would move him.
Preston looked up at once. “Is all right with her?”
“She is fine.” She paused. “For now.”
The engineer froze. Gripping his pencil tightly, he straightened. “Someone has finally got the headmaster in their crosshairs?” he asked.
“Indeed, they have,” Niall said grimly.
Preston shook his head. “I warned her, time and again. This will be the end of the school, then. Well, she can come to me, if she needs to—and she knows it. But he can rot in hell.”
“Mrs. Hanlin said you might be able to help us,” Kara said. “She said you would wish to. We are looking for Tom Hawkins.”
The engineer stared. He ran a gaze over them both, clearly perplexed. “What’s he done now?”
“He’s done nothing, himself,” answered Niall. “But we suspect he might be harboring someone. Someone we very much wish to find.”
Preston’s face went slack. “Not Petra?”
Kara nodded.
This time, the man threw his pencil and let loose a long string of curses. “Forgive me, ma’am. I had wondered why he hadn’t been around these last weeks, but I never guessed it would be down to her. Damn it all to hell! The harridan! Why will she never leave Tom be?”
“She’s in dire straits this time,” Niall told him.
“She always is,” Preston said. “Tom gets into enough trouble on his own, but with her at the helm? It’s many times worse. She’s going to get him killed one day.”
“He wouldn’t be the first,” Niall said darkly.
Preston gave him a sour look. “I grew up with the woman. You don’t have to convince me she is a monster.” He raised a brow. “Why are you looking for her?”
“Scotland Yard and the Crown are searching for her because she has committed treason.” Niall glowered. “I’m looking for her because, while she has eluded them, she has made threats against my family and made an attempt to kill someone in my household.”
“That’s our Petra, making enemies wherever she goes,” Preston said bitterly.
“Will you give us the address so that we may find her?” asked Kara. “We shall happily remove her from Tom’s sphere.”
“She has a cell awaiting her,” Niall added.
Preston began to gather his papers. “I’ll take you myself. You’ll never get near Tom otherwise.”
*
They stopped at Scotland Yard, as it was so close. Fortune was with them, and Wooten was in his office. He spent a precious few minutes scolding them for investigating on their own, but he came along with them in their carriage—and he organized a wagon full of constables to follow.
Niall and Wooten murmured together as her husband caught the inspector up on everything they had learned, while Kara watched Mr. Preston.
The engineer stared silently out the window. She had the impression that his mind was far away. He startled her, then, when he spoke. “I know you have questions. Everyone does, when they find out about my childhood.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I had an unusual upbringing myself. I know it’s not always easy to share. But I am interested in learning what I can of Petra.”
He nodded, his focus still on the passing streets.
“We were kept separately,” he said after a few moments. “There were other children in the school, but the five of us were not meant to interact with them. We had our own living quarters and separate schoolrooms. The rules were strict.”
“I imagine Petra was not one for following rules, even back then,” Kara said with a snort.
“No. She was not. She snuck out to the other dormitories, on the regular. What a bully she was, even then. A despot. She ran those children with an iron fist.”
“Does she run Tom the same way?”
“No.” Preston shook his head. “Their relationship is more…interdependent. They fuel each other in the worst ways.” His mouth twisted. “Tom used to say that I was the angel perched at one shoulder and Petra was the devil on the other—but he was wrong.”
“In what way?”
“It is the headmaster’s voice that rings loudest in Tom’s head. Always telling him he isn’t quick enough, perceptive enough, intelligent enough. When Tom is given a choice, it is always those feelings of inadequacy that spur him down the wrong path.”
“Matthew Hanlin has a great deal to answer for,” Kara said quietly.
Preston grunted in response.
“And is Hanlin’s the voice that drives Petra?” she asked.
“Hell no.” The engineer gave a bitter laugh. “She would never grant him such influence over her.”
“What is it, then? What makes her so…warped?”
“Damned if I know.” Preston sighed. “Petra craves attention. She doesn’t particularly care what sort. Fear and loathing feed her as much as fondness.” He shrugged. “They do say her mother was much the same. Being crowned Princess of Wales was not enough for her. She wanted to be adored—but she didn’t want to work for it. When she found herself disregarded—by her husband, by the royal family, by England’s people—she was happy to become notorious instead. All she had to do was indulge her every craving.”
“Petra certainly does not seem lazy,” Kara said. “Or ruled by those sorts of passions.”
“No. She is not. I believe she deliberately did not wish to be compared to her mother. Certainly, the headmaster understood her craving for attention. He praised her, lifted her above the rest of us. He flattered and cajoled her into becoming one of England’s greatest minds.”
“But that doesn’t explain her cruelty.”
“No. Perhaps she was born with it. Or she might have early discovered her taste for the fear in others.” He paused. “Honestly, I believe her soul is deficient. She cannot or will not focus on anything beyond herself. She does not care whom she harms or what sort of havoc she wreaks, as long as it brings her the attention she craves. People are only a means to suit her ends. Tom is a prime example. He admires her. He wants to please her. But Tom is weak. He will act against his own best interests to bask in the briefest moments of her approval.”
“Then I can understand why you would wish to keep her away from him.”
Preston cast her a careful look. “The duke said that Petra has threatened your family. I don’t know the story, but I am an engineer, Your Grace. I am putting the pieces together in my head. Were you, by any chance, involved in the destruction of their wretched League?”
Kara hesitated. Not many people were aware of the significant role they had played in destroying the organization. She nodded.
The engineer looked grim. “Be careful, then. The only thing that pushes Petra harder than a bid for attention is a quest for revenge. She is a champion grudge holder. She will go to any lengths to triumph over an enemy.”
Kara’s mouth thinned. “I’ll go to any lengths to protect my family.”
“Let’s hope we catch her tonight, then. Otherwise, you might have to.” He leaned forward to peer out the window again. “It’s growing dark. We’ll have to stop soon. The carriage won’t be able to go much further.”
The streets were narrowing, and growing shabbier by the moment. Kara could easily imagine Petra prowling among them, looking like prey but hiding a predator’s heart.
True to Preston’s prediction, the carriage was forced to slow and come to a halt. The four of them disembarked. Niall stayed close, and Kara was grateful that he never considered the notion to ask her to wait here. Wooten would have liked to, she could tell, but he’d also come to respect her skills. He merely shot her a pointed glance before gathering his constables around Preston so that they could be given the lay of the land and whispered instructions.
The men melted into the night as Wooten returned to them. “We’ll give them a few minutes to get into position.”
Kara sniffed, catching the sharp tang of turpentine in the air. “There’s a gin still nearby,” she said, low. “We’d best wait a little further on.”
They moved to the next street, where the stench in the air shifted to the scent of urine and rotting garbage.
“Just a few moments. We don’t want to give Tom too much time to think,” Preston said. He pointed ahead. “We need to turn down that alley.”
Soon after, Wooten gave the signal, and they followed Preston to the mouth of the alley. It was a narrow, dark, and noisome maw. “Keep just to the right of the center,” he warned them. “It’s a bit clearer there and there is less of a chance of traps—or rats. When I stop, you stop—and hold your silence.”
Though there was still a bit of light in the sky, it was completely blocked by the surrounding buildings. It was dark as night in the alley. Kara stepped carefully, and they all did an admirable job of not sounding like a regiment threading through a needle. She caught sight of the end, faintly lit by the flicker of nearby firelight. They were halfway to it when Preston stopped.
“Mouse,” he said quietly. “Come out of there.”
Everyone waited.
“I know you are there.”
Silence.
“ Mouse ,” the engineer said in a warning tone.
From a darker shadow that Kara had not even realized was a doorway came the sound of a slight, shifting movement.
“Evenin’, guv.” It was a child’s voice, thin and high. “What’s all this, then? Bringin’ a party to ’is nibs?”
“You might say that,” Preston answered wryly. “Run along and tell him it’s me coming, will you? There’s no need for him to slip out the back.”
“Sorry, guv. ’E ain’t put me on watch duty tonight.”
“Whyever not?” Preston sounded genuinely surprised.
“’Is nibs has been holed up in his rooms, last couple o’ days. Stickin’ close to home.”
“And his visitor too, I suppose? The woman?”
“Aye, I reckon she’s why ’e’s sticking close, eh?”
Kara winced at the child’s worldly tone.
“Well, I’ll pay you to go and let him know it’s me coming. Go on, now.”
“A penny now and another later, eh, guv?”
Preston growled, and the child laughed. Another shifting sound echoed in the dark, then the slap of bare feet moving rapidly away over the cobblestones.
“Let’s go,” Preston said. “Move quickly, and if there are men gathered around the taverns, put a bit of swagger into it.”
Wooten grunted. “He doesn’t know you lot well, does he?” he asked. “If he thinks he needs to offer you such advice?”
They emerged onto a slightly wider lane, populated by dark, shuttered shops between well-lit taverns and bawdy houses. The stink of the river moved in, along with a fog that crept about their feet.
They all followed as Preston ducked through an arch that led into a closed courtyard. Several torches burned, illuminating tall townhouses that had once been fine, but had clearly fallen into decay and neglect. Preston marched up the rickety steps that led to a sagging, unlit house.
Naturally.
Kara spied a constable waiting in the shadows. Another lurked in the entry hall, at the foot of a central staircase. One stepped out of the dark and fell in behind them. Preston started up, and they all moved in his wake.
There was no disguising the sound of so many feet on the creaking stairs. Preston climbed to the third floor, where rooms and a spindly railing circled the staircase. He stopped at a door midway down the left passage. A small, filthy boy stood before it.
“’E ain’t answering, guv, but I did your bidding, just the same.”
“So you did. But did you give it a good pounding?”
“Enough to set the neighbor to screeching.”
“And you say you haven’t seen Tom for a couple of days?”
“No, but I never saw him leave, either. Thought he was nestin’ in there with ’is woman.”
Preston glanced back. Kara could see the worry in his face. “All right, lad. Job well done.” He tossed the boy a coin.
Mouse caught it. He retreated, but hung at the landing of the stairs, watching. Kara sympathized with him. Her heart was racing. Petra Scot could be on the other side of that door. She squeezed Niall’s hand.
“We’ll get her,” he whispered.
She hoped so. She felt ill at the thought that they might have missed her.
Preston fished out a key.
“Perhaps Constable Berne should go first,” Wooten suggested.
“No. He’s my brother.” Preston shrugged. “For all intents and purposes.” He turned the key, swung open the door, and moved inside. “Tom? It’s me.”
They waited. Kara held her breath.
“What in unholy hell?” Preston said roughly.
Wooten held up a hand to hold Niall and Kara back and waved the constable in. “Check all the rooms.”
“Empty,” came the call after a moment. “There is no one here, sir.”
Kara’s shoulders slumped and she covered her mouth as Niall cursed beside her. He reached for her hand. Together they walked in…to chaos.
The rooms had been turned upside down and inside out. Preston prowled around, lifting overturned furniture, looking under drawers tossed in corners, stacking cushions that had been ripped open. Feathers were everywhere, as were ashes from the hearth, newspapers, and broken dishes.
“Would your Tom Hawkins have possessed something valuable?” Wooten asked. “Something that would merit such a search?”
“No.” Preston shook his head. “Tom never had two quid to rub together. This is not his doing. This is Petra’s work.”
Niall stepped further into the room. “You think something provoked one of her rages?”
The engineer abruptly stopped and turned to face them both. “You’ve seen her? In one of her…fits?”
Kara nodded, shivering as she recalled the gleam of unhinged anger in the woman’s eyes and the uncontrolled fury that had accidentally led to a woman’s death. “It’s how Clémence died,” she whispered.
Preston drew a shuddering breath. “I didn’t know.” His gaze hardened and his hands tightened into fists. “But where is Tom? By God, if she has harmed him, I will wring her neck myself!” He turned back to the mess, poking his way across the room. Suddenly he gave a cry, pouncing to pick up something from the floor. He stood, holding a chain with a small pendant dangling. “Tom’s,” he said hoarsely. “Something has happened to him. He would never take this off.”
Wooten stooped to examine it. “You’re sure it belonged to Tom Hawkins?”
Preston nodded. “Clémence gave it to him. He wore it always.”
“Would you object to one of the constables doing a quick sketch of it?” the inspector asked.
Preston agreed, but he kept his gaze locked on the pendant as the constable examined it and began to sketch a likeness. “It’s St. Simeon Solas, the patron saint of holy fools,” he told Kara and Niall quietly. “Tom is such a buffoon. He never stopped trying to make us laugh. He would grease the headmaster’s chair, hoping to make him slide off, but he only ever kept ruining the man’s coats. Once Tom filled all Hanlin’s desk drawers with apples, each with a single bite taken out of it. One spring day, he found a dead pigeon in the garden, strapped it to his shoulder, fashioned an eye patch, and spent the day stamping around, insisting he was a pirate.” He snorted. “Clémence gave him the pendant and told him he was going to have to convert and become a holy fool. Dedicate his absurdity to God.”
“It sounds as if you did grow up as siblings,” Kara said.
“A strange set, but as close to siblings as you can get without blood.” Preston frowned. “It’s just…something is odd here. Where is Tom? Gone for days, and without telling Mouse? And without his St. Simeon?”
“And where is Petra?” asked Niall.
“Exactly.” Preston glanced around again. “Clearly, she has been here.” Straightening, the engineer breathed deeply. “Listen, I will cast about and see if I can find anything about Tom. You continue your search for Petra. You know where to find me. We’ll agree to contact each other if we find anything. Yes?”
Kara looked to Niall, who gave the other man a frank look. “We would certainly agree, if we had a notion of where else we might look for her. Have you a suggestion?”
“Have you sought out William?”
“William Barnstable has not been seen since he found a way to release Petra from the custody of the Crown,” Kara told him.
“Unless you know where he is?” asked Niall.
“No. We were never close. The last time I saw him was when Tom tricked me into attending one of the recruitment meetings for their League of Dissolution.”
Kara raised a brow. “We thought neither of you had any involvement with the League?”
“I certainly did not. Little better than thugs, the lot of them. I am much more interested in building things, rather than tearing them down. But Tom? He flirted with it occasionally. Usually when he was low on funds and the others had some dirty work needing done.” He sighed. “If I don’t find word of him amongst his gambling cronies, I’ll try to track down some of the League men he knew.”
The constable, finished sketching the medal, gave it back to Preston, who looked at it a long moment before tucking it away. “I hope to heaven that Tom is merely hiding away somewhere.”
“Mr. Preston?” Wooten, his notebook at the ready, beckoned the man. “If I may ask you a few questions about Tom Hawkins? And Your Grace? I know you are a duke now and due all courtesy and whatnot.” The inspector grinned. “But would you help Berne turn over that bed? Just so we know what’s beneath it?”
Chuckling, Niall went, but Kara was in no laughing mood. She went back out into the passage to see if Mouse was still lingering, but there was no sign of him. As her eyes adjusted, she noted a paned window at the end of the passage, letting in a bit of weak moonlight. She’d just started toward it when she heard a board creak.
She spun around, but there was no one there.
“My apologies, to be sure. It was just me, indulging my curiosity.”
She looked up. A thin, untidy man peered down at her over the railing above.
“I say, is he quite all right? Mr. Hawkins?”
“He’s not at home. Do you know him well?”
The man grimaced. “Just as neighbors. Passing on the stairs and all of that.” He drifted toward the stairs, and she followed, in similar fashion, on her own level.
“Are those police constables in there?” he asked.
“Indeed, they are. Won’t you come down? They might want to question you.”
The man’s hands fluttered, but he shot her a grin and headed down. “Good evening to you. I am Sculley. Mr. Douglas Sculley. I live in the north corner rooms at the top of the house.”
Kara curtsied. “Kara Kier.” She left off her title. She noted the stains on his fingers and cuffs and the distinctive smell of linseed oil. “Are you a painter, Mr. Sculley?”
“I am!” He sounded delighted. “Have you heard of me?”
“I am sorry. I haven’t— yet . But I am a great art enthusiast. I should love to see your work.”
“I should love to show it to you.” His glance strayed toward Tom’s door. “But do you really think the police will wish to question me?”
She suspected he was in search of a tale to dine out on. “They will, I imagine, since you knew him. They will likely wish to know when you last saw him.”
“Saw him? Or heard him?” Sculley tittered. “ Everyone heard him a couple of nights ago. He had a great row with his guest.”
“Did he?”
“Oh, yes. Shouting. Banging. Crashing. All the works. But it has been quiet since.”
“Do you know what they were arguing over?”
“A lover’s spat, I presume. I could not make out the words.”
“Did you meet his guest, sir?”
“Me? No, of course not.”
The man was drifting almost imperceptibly toward the door, so she waved him on. “Go on. Inspector Wooten is inside. He will wish to hear about the row.”
Aquiver with excitement, the neighbor flitted along and put his head in the doorway. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said before he entered.
With a sigh, Kara moved toward the window again. She stood a moment, gazing into the courtyard below. A movement directly beneath her brought her attention to the constable waiting by the stairs. She could just make out his hat below. The rest of the courtyard looked empty in the flickering torchlight.
Suddenly a shiver went up her spine. She felt certain somebody was watching her.
She spun around, but the passage and the stairs were empty. She could see no one at the railings above. Turning, she looked out the window again and peered into the shadows in the courtyard.
Nothing.
A memory jolted her—a recollection of the last time they had been on the hunt for Petra Scot. She looked up.
There. A figure on the roof opposite. A woman. Her skirts swayed a little as she approached the edge. Very deliberately, she leaned onto the decorative balustrade lining the roof. Kara felt the weight of her stare as if it were tangible.
Déjà vu rippled up her spine. In just this way, she’d once had her first glimpse of Petra—from a distance, in that very same pose.
“Niall,” she gasped. “Niall!”
She was running, rounding the corner and starting down the stairs when her husband burst out of Tom Hawkins’s rooms.
“She’s there! I saw her! Across the courtyard! On the roof!”
Together, they sprinted down the stairs, in pursuit.