Chapter Twenty
I t was a long, chilly ride in an uncomfortable position, but Kara gritted her teeth and hung on. She guessed they had traveled several miles before the cart turned off the road and into a rutted lane.
She started to maneuver herself backward and partly out of the triangular space. She did not wish to still be there when Petra reached her destination, or to be spotted by her confederates as they drove in.
Saints alive, she cursed inwardly. A button had caught on the frame of the slatted grid. Kara had to wriggle to get it loose. The cart was slowing when she finally worked free. Scooting backward again, she braced herself and dropped off the cart, rolling onto the cold ground just before the cart entered the square light coming from the opened doors of a tall, timbered barn.
She lay there, not moving as the cart entered the barn. Several outbuildings stood nearby, and off to the left she could see a two-storied brick farmhouse, with a lantern hanging outside the door. Several lights showed in the ground-floor windows. Ducking her head, Kara covered her face with the shawl as Petra came striding out of the barn. “Get that hay out of the back.” Petra clapped her hands. “And get the powder loaded. All of it. All the way to the back of the cart. We’ll load the cases inside, and you can help carry them out when you are done.” She threw open the door and then stopped. “Damn it all! We’ll have to leave all the dried and tinned goods I ordered.” She cursed again. “We’ll have to send you lot with the wagon back again to pick it all up. I don’t want to listen to those ninnies whining about being hungry again.” She strode off toward the farmhouse, blowing on her hands.
Kara’s heart had sunk at hearing her mention powder . After their experiences with Petra and her League of Dissolution in London, she feared she knew what it meant. Climbing to her feet, stepping carefully, she crept to the barn and made her way along the front so she could peer inside.
Her chest tightened. The driver and another man stood in the cart, pitching hay into a pile on the right. Waiting on the left was a stack of small, familiar casks. Gunpowder. She crept away and dropped her head back against the barn. Not again. Why was that woman’s solution to her own misery always to murder someone or blow things up?
Kara had to discover what they meant to do with it. But there were two men out here, and how many more inside? She would need more weapons than the paltry few she had hidden in her garments.
Perhaps she could find some tools in the outbuildings? She edged her way around the corner of the barn, but paused to listen. She caught the low murmur of voices. Someone was approaching from the direction of the house. If they went in to help with the loading and unloading, she would be safe enough. But if they came further…
Her hand encountered a door latch. A man-sized door stood toward the back of the barn. The tack room?
The voices drew nearer. She opened the latch and stepped inside.
Pitch black.
She pressed her ear to the door and heard the voices pass by. On their way to one of the outbuildings? She held her position while her mind raced.
Information. She needed to find what she could about their plans, and then do what she could to delay or stop them. It wouldn’t be easy, working alone. She would do her best.
After only a few moments, the voices came by again, on their way back.
She kept still for several minutes more. Light. There might be something useful here, but she needed to see. Feeling her way around the door, she found a hanging lamp. Matches were one of the things she carried in her altered skirts. It took a moment to get the lamp lit, but she managed it, and turned the flame low.
It was indeed the tack room. Surely she could find something useful. She pocketed a hoof pick. Took up a coil of rope and slung it crossways over her shoulder. Tucked several horseshoes into her belt, widely separated so that they wouldn’t clang together. At the very least, she could fling them at an adversary.
She drifted past another shelf, then paused before bringing the lamp back. Reaching up, she pulled down a large glass bottle.
Dr. Acker’s Spavin Cure
Cures spavins, ring bones, andsplints
A spavin was a swelling or bony enlargement in a horse’s hock joint. As far as she knew, there was no cure for it. Her stable manager scoffed at such products as nothing more than quackery, of the same sort that desperate people bought off predatory salesmen.
Kara knew that most of those quack products were laced with opium. And this…this would contain a dose fit for a horse.
Well, now.
Tucking the bottle beneath her arm, she shoved the shawl into a drawer, blew out the lantern, and slipped out the door. She moved to the back of the barn and listened carefully. She could hear the two men still working inside, but nothing else moved or made a sound. Moving quickly, she struck out for the back of the house.
*
Kara was not in the office where the tavern keeper had left her.
“She’s not in any of the bedrooms, either,” the woman reported.
“She wouldn’t be, would she?” asked Gyda. “I saw her starting down those stairs at the far end of the taproom. She was the one who spotted that giant arse coming in. If she hadn’t given me the signal, he might have caught us by surprise.”
“Where the hell did she go after that, then?” Niall was growing more frantic by the minute.
“What if our bloody big brute didn’t come alone?” asked Gyda. “What if Kara caught a glimpse of Petra?”
“She wouldn’t chase off after her alone,” Niall protested.
“She would if the alternative was to lose the woman again.” Gyda turned and strode down the main stairs. The others followed, with the tavern keeper scurrying after them at the rear.
“Would there have been anyone posted here? Anyone who might have seen what happened?” asked Niall.
“No.” The tavern keeper paused, frowning at a coat rack in the corner. “But my market shawl is not where I left it.”
“The farm,” Dalton said tightly. “If that woman spotted us together, she would likely run, right? But whatever is happening at that farm, she would go back to hide or remove it, wouldn’t she?”
“Let’s go,” said Niall.
“Wait!” the tavern keeper protested. “What about that mountain of trash you left tied up in the taproom?”
Niall glanced at his companions.
“Forget it,” Gyda scoffed. “You know better. There is no way I’m staying here while you go off after her.”
“You need me to find the farm,” Dalton reminded them.
Niall turned to the tavern keeper. “Keep him quiet until the constable arrives, then tell the officer that the man assaulted the Duke of Sedwick. That should convince the law to hold him until we are ready to deal with him.”
“But who is the Duke of Sedwick?” the woman asked, looking confused.
“I am,” said Niall as he strode out the door.
“He is,” Gyda confirmed as she followed. “And you don’t want him as an enemy.”
Niall paused as Dalton spilled out of the tavern after them. “How far?”
“A little over three miles, I would say. We take the road to the north west, toward Ealing.”
“Our horses will be tired,” Niall mused. “Fresh mounts will be faster.” He looked to Dalton. “Lead us to the livery.”
The teacher nodded. “This way.”
*
The farmhouse had a large and robust garden planted behind it, reaching right up to the back of the house. Winter crops still flourished near the shelter of the walls, which meant that Kara now crept between a row of cabbage and another of leeks. She kept close, trailing a hand against the rough bricks as she moved.
She’d been obliged to remove two of the horseshoes from her belt, as they would not stop slipping about. She left one tucked in, discarded another, and held the third in her other hand as she made her way toward the little courtyard outside the kitchen door.
A lighted window lay between her and the kitchen. Kara crouched down and crept low. She thought she could hear Petra’s strident tones from inside as she passed.
Gripping tight to the bottle of horse tonic, she moved on, stepping carefully over a row of herb boxes and onto the paved stones. She pressed up against the kitchen door, listening. She could hear nothing. No chatter. No chopping. No clang of pots or pans. It was late. The odds were that the kitchen was empty.
She hoped.
Twisting the latch, she eased the door open a bit, then listened again. Nothing. She pulled it open just enough to slip inside.
A short, narrow passage led directly into the brick-floored kitchen. The room was empty and dimly lit. A single lamp stood on the center table, next to a tall bronze samovar. The tang of citrus hung in the air.
Kara stepped in, peering into the dark corners to be sure no one lurked there. There was no one, yet the samovar bubbled, and a teapot sat atop it, warming and exuding the lovely, fresh scent of Russian tea. She paused. Petra would be urging her minions to get ready to leave. Would they pause long enough to take a last cup of tea? She doubted the woman would allow it. But perhaps someone would prepare hot flasks to carry with them into the cold night?
She had to take the chance.
She could hear voices. Not in the next room. Perhaps a couple of rooms away. Quickly, then. And quietly.
She set the horse tonic and the horseshoe on the table. The samovar was hot. Grabbing a kitchen towel, she lifted away the teapot, removing the lid and pouring a healthy dose of the opium-rich tonic into the concentrated tea. Carefully, she used the towel to lift the top off the larger bronze section and poured more tonic into the heated water. She thought about adding a little extra, but hesitated. She didn’t know how strong this tonic might be. She put the pieces all back together and breathed a sigh of relief.
A door at the back of the kitchen led to a pantry. She left the horse tonic on a shelf inside, took up her horseshoe once more, then went to see what she could hear.
The next room was a dining area, containing only a long, empty table and a great hutch, its many shelves bare, save for a lone, cracked bowl. She moved past them toward the open arch that led to the room beyond. She kept well back, for the voices came from there. She detected Petra’s, giving orders in a sharp, high tone. And another. A man’s voice, trying to soothe her.
“Pack the straw in tight around each one,” Petra said. “This batch is definitely sturdier, but we cannot afford to lose any to cracks.”
“We will not lose any. These are perfection. Your smith has done himself proud, at last.”
The tone was smooth, the words accented. Austrian? Russian, it sounded more like, which made sense, given the samovar. And he did not address Petra like a lackey. He spoke in the urbane voice of a gentleman. A confederate, then?
Kara recalled that a Russian had been among the top conspirators in the League of Dissolution.
“The tests this morning proved these will perform just as we require,” the gentleman continued. “Still, they are packed as gently as if they were hen’s eggs. There is no need to fret.”
“There is every need to fret,” Petra argued. “I thought all we had to do was to tie up loose ends here. I sent your man in to deal with that mewling history teacher—but it turned out he had to confront Kier as well. It’s entirely possible it didn’t go well. Your man didn’t make it to the livery in time to head back here, despite their ridiculous delays.”
“I have every faith in Rybakov.”
“Then where is he?” Petra demanded. “You don’t understand how damnably slippery Kier is. If that teacher is the one who has been lurking about here, then Kier could be hot on our tail. Damn him! He should never have been able to track me here.”
“Ah, but should you not give him his title and call him Sedwick?” The Russian sounded amused. “The man certainly scrambled hard enough to get it.”
Petra’s filthy response was enough to make Kara blush, but the gentleman merely laughed.
“Calm your nerves, my dear. I was only poking at you. If the duke does come knocking, my prickly little bear, we are more than prepared.” Pausing, the gentleman gave a little hum. “In fact, might it not be best if we await him here? Conquer him now so that we may proceed without worry that he will interfere with us later?”
“No,” Petra said flatly.
“Interesting. He frightens you.”
Kara flinched as something crashed.
“He does not frighten me.” Petra’s tone had lowered, and she gave a deep, scornful laugh. “I would have thought you intelligent enough to understand that there is no man alive who can frighten me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the gentleman scoffed, but in a light tone. “Have you met every man alive? How could you know such a thing?”
“I know,” Petra assured him.
Were they flirting ? Kara’s mouth dropped open.
“Nevertheless, I become more intrigued with this Duke of Sedwick with each passing day. I admit, I am almost tempted to test myself against him.”
“No,” Petra said again. “The man is mine to dispatch.”
“Then why not—”
“Enough about Niall Kier! You know the timing is critical on this mission. And I tell you again, we will only get one chance at our real target.”
“And I say again, you give these English too much credit.”
“You do not give this particular Englishman enough estimation,” Petra countered. “We must get to London and deal with him before we move further. You asked me about the obstacles in your path and I told you—he is the largest. This one is smart. Wily. Ruthless, too. He has vision, I tell you, and that is a quality that is severely lacking in nearly everyone.”
“Not everyone,” the Russian said. He sounded deliberately sulky, as if fishing for a compliment.
Petra did not give it. “It is rare enough. One attempt. That is all we will get. Right now, he is distracted.”
“Not distracted enough, or none of this would be necessary.”
“Still. He is unsuspecting at the moment. If we fail, however…” Petra sighed. “He will put the pieces together. He will be on alert. If anyone could track it back to us, it would be him. He will come after us.”
Who? Kara wondered. Whom were they talking about?
“So. We will make sure he dies.”
Kara put a hand to her mouth. An assassination. They meant to kill someone? But whom? Whose death were they plotting?
“Everything you say makes me think we would be wiser to deal with Sedwick now,” the gentleman said. “Remove the distraction he represents while we have the chance.”
“No. We can brook no delay. We must go before he arrives. We must remove every trace of what we have been up to. There is no way Kier can have any idea of our plans—and we must not give him the chance to learn a thing. He has the sort of connections that could ruin everything.”
“But—”
“We go,” Petra insisted. “We accomplish our aim. We clear your path.”
“And yours.”
“And mine. Afterward, I will have time. I will have focus. And I can concentrate on filling Kier with misery before I finally kill him.”
The Russian laughed. “I find you admirably bloodthirsty, Petra Scot.”
“I have many other admirable qualities that I may allow you to explore, but not now. We must go.”
He laughed again. “So single minded. Here—this is the last of them. All are tucked in, safe and snug.” The Russian paused. “But what of the last piece? Now that your gunsmith has proved the concept of those pins, we know we need a good deal more of the explosive to fill them. I sent out a man to investigate the manufacturer that supplies the British military. If he reports back here and finds no one—”
“No. His report matters naught. I told you, we cannot raid a military supplier. Suspicions would be aroused. And in any case, there is no need. I have found a way to get what we require. I took care of it just today.” She gave a nasty laugh. “And I was able to punish an old adversary at the same time.”
“Fascinating,” the Russian breathed. “Very well. We will proceed as you say. Now. Go and call your men to come in and nail these crates and carry them out. Then you must sit down and breathe for a moment and enjoy a cup of proper tea. I put the bellows to the samovar just before you came in. It must surely be ready by now.”
“Are you not listening? We have no—”
“Stop there,” the Russian interrupted. “First, Rybakov is extremely formidable. I believe the odds are high that we will not see Sedwick at all tonight.” Petra made a sound, but he did not allow her to interrupt him. “Yes. I do believe we should prepare, in case he prevails, but I assure you, he will not have an easy time besting my man.”
Petra grumbled something that Kara could not hear.
“Second, while you wear interchangeable gowns and no doubt live right out of your trunk, I have an actual wardrobe.”
“It is only sensible to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice,” Petra said.
The Russian sighed. “My very fashionable wardrobe is currently spread out across the abominable quarters I occupy here, and I assure you I will not be leaving without my waistcoats. Bad enough that I will be forced to leave a very decent samovar behind, but it will be entirely too hot now to think of packing. At the very least, I will enjoy a last decent cup of tea. So, go and summon your men, then you may enjoy one too, while I pack my things.”
“Fine,” Petra grumped. “But pack quickly, will you?”
Kara scurried to plaster herself against the wall on the far side of the hutch. She held her breath as the Russian passed through on his way to the kitchen. All she could make out was that he was short in stature, and slender. He did indeed appear to wear a fancifully embroidered waistcoat and linen with billowing sleeves. She could not see the color of his hair, but it appeared to be a mass of curls, slicked back and tamed with pomade.
He did not spot her. He went through to the kitchen, where she heard a brisk and efficient clatter as he prepared the tea tray.
Kara crept back to the other side of the room to stand so that she would be hidden behind the door when he came back through. She cringed, though, when she heard the front door open and Petra return. If the woman decided to head to the kitchen, Kara was caught.
“Sit down, my prickly little bear,” the Russian called. He came through the door, trailing the scent of lemon and orange behind him.
Kara tucked herself further behind the open door.
“Here you are. Enjoy the warm spices. Let them calm your nerves.”
Kara heard the rattle of cups as the tea was poured.
“A toast,” the Russian said. “To our success. And to removing roadblocks. Now, relax for just a minute or two, I implore you. Then gather up all your plans here. I shall be done in a trice.”
Nerves fluttering, Kara went back to her spot behind the hutch. Petra urged her accomplice to hurry once more. The Russian departed for the upper floor.
Sinking down, Kara waited and listened.
The rustle of papers sounded clear. Drawers opened and closed. Was that the stutter of a missed step? How long would it take for the opium to take effect?
It was an agonizing wait. She worried that the dose might have been too strong. What if she killed them? Yes, she wanted to put a stop to Petra’s reign of terror, but she didn’t want the woman’s death on her conscience. Nor the Russian gentleman’s, though he was clearly an enemy of England.
Besides, Gyda would be furious with her.
She was distracted by a loud curse from Petra. And then another. Her words sounded slurred. Then came a loud thump .
Silence.
Kara got to her feet. She crept to the arched doorway and waited.
Nothing.
She peeked around the arch. Petra was stretched out on the floor.
Kara crept closer. The woman lay on her back, frowning at the ceiling. Her gaze shifted. Kara saw the moment Petra recognized her. The woman scowled. Her mouth opened. Then her eyelids fell, and her head rolled to the side.
With a gasp, Kara knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief. Petra’s heartbeat felt slow, but strong and steady.
Something upstairs thudded, as if an object had been dropped to the floor. Then came another loud thump.
Kara stood. Her heart was pounding, but she rushed to one of the crates resting on side tables and pushed the lid aside. She stared down, wondering what she was looking at.
Reaching out, she lifted one of the objects free. It was oblong, fashioned of hammered metal and slightly too big to be truly comfortable in her hand. Hollow, it featured a large cap that had been screwed in at one end. Nine smaller holes had been drilled into it, in seemingly random spots. Glancing into the crate, she realized that some of the objects were slightly different. Square nuts had been attached over the holes, ready for something to be screwed in? But what?
What in blazes were these things?
She froze at the sound of the front door opening again. Dropping the object, she whirled to run. As she burst through the dining room door into the kitchen, a man came in from the back of the house, carrying two heads of cabbage.
“There was not much out there, but I grabbed a couple of—” Spotting her, he stopped. “What’s this, then?” he asked in surprise.
Another huge specimen of a man. Where did Petra find them all? He stood in the narrow passage, blocking it completely.
Kara spun around again and fled back the way she’d come, only to bump into the farm cart driver just inside the dining room. She leapt back and dodged, heading around the other side of the dining room table.
But he turned and lunged when she headed for the arched doorway. Getting a hand on her, he dragged her back, grabbed her by an arm, and held her tight with one hand and took the horseshoe from her grip with the other. “What were you going to do with this, eh?”
Kara did not feel the need to state the obvious.
“The boss lady is laid out on the carpet,” her captor told the larger man when he dashed in, without his cabbages.
The other man’s eyes widened. “Where’s the foreign nob?”
The driver shrugged. He gave Kara a shake. “Where is he?”
Her mind was racing. “Upstairs.”
“Go look,” the driver ordered the other man. He yanked Kara aside so that the man could pass, then pulled her back to the parlor, where he stared at Petra in fascination. “I ain’t never seen her quiet afore now,” he marveled.
The other man came racing back. “The foreign gent—he’s in the same condition. Stretched out on the floor.”
The driver cast a glance over the tea tray. “Poisoned?” he asked her.
Kara shook her head. “No!” she said in surprise.
“What is it, then? What’d you give ’em?”
He gave her a shake to make her answer.
“It’s just opium. They are only asleep.”
“Oh, she ain’t gonna like that,” the other man breathed.
“She’ll be spittin’ mad,” the driver agreed. “But for once, she won’t be aiming it in our direction.”
“But what do we do?” The big man was looking decidedly nervous. “She wanted everything loaded up and out of here. You heard her.” He gave a grimace. “Someone’s coming. The police? The government? We cannot let them find us here with all of this.” He waved a hand toward the crates. “If they don’t hang us, then she’ll strangle us with her bare hands.”
The driver rubbed his chin. “Well, I suppose we just do as we were told. We’ll load everything up and take it into Town.”
“But what about the boss lady? And him?” The other man gestured toward the ceiling.
“Ah. Well.” The driver hesitated. “I know—get these crates loaded, then throw some of that hay back in the cart. We’ll lay them out in the straw and cover them with their cloaks and deliver them, along with the goods.”
“All right, then. I s’pose it’s the best we can do, considerin’.” He looked at Kara. “But what about her?”
The driver drew a deep breath. “She’s got a length of rope on her. Use it. Tie her to the chair, while I think about it.” Pulling the rope from around her shoulders, he shoved them both over.
The big man sat her in a chair and set about restraining her. He knew what he was about, unfortunately, thwarting her efforts to keep the knots loose. The last horseshoe, tucked into the small of her back, pressed against her. She didn’t mention it.
The driver nailed the crates shut. When they had both finished, they lifted a crate together and maneuvered it out and toward the front door.
Kara immediately went to work, trying to get free. It wasn’t easy, but at least he had tied her hands to each side of the chair instead of together, behind her back. She was able to use her fingers to grab her skirts and bunch them up until she could slip her fingers into a pocket. It took several tries before she managed to get a grip on the tiny, folded razor tucked inside, and several more before she got it flipped open.
Turner had gifted her the small blade for her birthday. Sending up silent thanks, she had to do some very careful maneuvering, but managed to aim the blade toward the length of rope attached to the chair—without slicing her fingers. Working carefully, she started sawing at the rope.
It didn’t take long before the men came back for the second crate. She hid the blade beneath a fold of her skirt and tried to look innocent.
The driver paused a moment, looking between the box, Petra, and her. “It’s not all going to fit,” he said to himself.
“Let’s load it and see,” his partner said.
They departed again, and Kara sawed frantically, but it was slow going. She could not add any pressure to her cuts and had to rely on the sharpness of the blade.
“This is all your fault,” she said to Petra, still asleep on the floor near the sofa. “Why could you not use all of your gifts in ways to improve the world instead of trying to destroy it?”
At last she made it through. Frantically, she cut her other hand free and started on her feet.
She wasn’t fast enough. The men came back through the kitchen before she managed even to cut loose her first foot.
“Well, damn it to hell.” The driver strode in and snatched away the razor.
With a silent curse, she swung at him and tried to stand, but with her feet still held fast to the chair, she was out of balance and unable to move. The driver merely gave her a push to knock her back into it.
“What are we going to do with her?” the other man asked. “We can’t trust her. She’s wily.”
“She won’t fit in the back with the others unless we stack them like sardines.”
“The boss lady won’t like that.”
“She’ll like it less if she finds out that we had her and let her get away.” The driver rubbed a hand across his brow. “You’ve heard the boss ranting. This one must be one of those nobs she holds such a grudge against.”
“So let’s not tell her. She don’t ever need to know we even seen the woman.”
“We cannot just leave her here. When the government shows up, she’ll tell them everything.” The driver snapped his fingers. “They will be on us like that.”
“We cannot kill her!” The other man was starting to sound anxious. “She’s a bleedin’ lady of the realm. They’ll hang us for sure.”
“I’ve got it.” A crafty grin spread across the driver’s face. “We’ll give her a taste of her own medicine.” He appeared to be relieved by this solution.
“No,” said Kara.
“Yes. By the time you wake up, we’ll be long gone.”
The big man considered it. “Fine, but I still say we don’t need to mention her to the boss lady.”
“Agreed.” The driver laughed. “Fetch the lady a cup of tea.”
Kara wanted no part of that opium-laced tea. She reached down to try to pull the rope from her foot, but the driver pushed her back upright and held her there with a hand on her shoulder.
With her other hand she reached behind her and grabbed the horseshoe from her belt. She brought it down hard onto the hand where he held her, then threw it at the other man, aiming for the cup he was bringing her. Her aim was true. It hit and the cup shattered.
Both men cursed her soundly.
“Hell and damnation. This one is a pain in the arse. Wait until I tie her hands again, will you?”
“Hold her head back,” the big man said grimly as he poured another cup of tea.
Kara fought, but she was soon bound again. They held her tight, tilted her head back, and pinched her nose. She spat and tried to bite, but eventually, they won.
Staring down at her, the driver frowned. “I think we’d better give her another.”
She fought again, but it was a lesson in humiliation. She glared at them when they finally let her go. “You would do better to take your loaded wagon straight to the authorities and turn yourselves in before she wakes up.” She glanced down at Petra, still fast asleep and sprawled across the floor. “If they succeed in their plans, do you think there is a chance you won’t hang for murder?”
“If they succeed, then we will be paid well, set for life, and far away before the confusion dies down,” the driver answered smartly.
The pair of them conferred for a moment before the driver sent the other man to fetch cloaks for Petra and the Russian. When he came back, they stood before her, watching her closely.
She wanted to snarl at them, but she could already feel the opium affecting her. A haze was settling over her vision. She tried to blink it away.
“There it is, then,” the driver said with satisfaction. He gestured. “I’ll take the boss out to the wagon, then come back to help you with the nob.”
Kate watched him bend down to lift Petra in his arms. She couldn’t look away. His motions were so slow. Was he moving at half speed?
The other man said something, but she couldn’t make out the words. Everything was distant and muted.
Wait. Was she underwater? She looked up at the man beside her, and her head kept going back. It rested on the chair and she could not seem to lift it. She tried blinking again, but her eyelids were so heavy. Perhaps she would close them. Just for a…