Chapter 12 #2
“It won’t be dangerous at all. In fact, it should be frighteningly simple,” assured Hammerton.
“She will approach us. I will go to meet her—a lone figure bent low, beckoning her to come closer to hear the information she desperately seeks. As she does, you will creep up behind her and knock her unconscious with your cudgel”
A smug smile. “What could be easier?”
Standish pursed his lips. “Then what?
“Then we’ll put her in the carriage and drive along the river until we are close enough to where the ball took place that a young lady could easily have walked there. Then the body goes into the water. And it’s done. With no possible connection to us.”
A smirk. “A street urchin will be dispatched with the letter to her aunt’s house.
And I have taken care to have a well-paid hackney driver waiting by Lady Hopkinton’s townhouse.
He will step forward and swear to the authorities that he saw her walking towards the river, agitated and alone, while he was waiting in hopes of being hired by one of the departing guests.
” Hammerton paused. “And he will be able to describe her exactly.”
He then flashed a crocodile smile at his cousin. “Poor dear, departed Miss Chilton. Another victim of the Icy Earl. Do you truly think that Polite Society will have anything to do with him after that? Why, he may even be forced to leave the country.”
Standish let out a low whistle of admiration. “By Jove, that’s brilliant.”
“What did you expect, cousin?” said Hammerton in a self-satisfied tone as he tapped the cigar ashes onto the floor.
Standish’s eyes mirrored the same smug certainty. Then after a moment, they narrowed in concern. “What if she doesn’t come?”
Hammerton’s eyes fell half-closed as he exhaled another cloud. “Oh, she will come. All we have to do is wait and our little pigeon will fly straight to us.”
Damnation. Branford frowned. What the devil was Miss Chilton up to now?
He had arrived to the ball late—but just in time to catch the clandestine exchange between the waiter and Alex.
Oh, surely she wasn’t planning anything as buffleheaded as an elopement with that pup Duckleigh?
His teeth set on edge. Of all the idiotic …
But then it struck him that her face had turned pale as a ghost and her expression as she had turned and slipped from the room had been one of grave concern rather than girlish rapture.
Expelling an exasperated sigh, he left the room as well.
It wasn’t difficult to follow her. Though she had thrown up the hood of her cloak to shield her face, she didn’t bother looking back once as she hurried through the clusters of waiting carriages.
Branford watched as she signaled to a hansom cab loitering on the street corner ahead, then turned and quickly made his way to where his own coach was drawn to a halt near the end of the line.
“See the hackney just pulling away from up there,” he said in a low voice to his coachman. “Follow it. Discreetly, but on no account are you to lose it.”
The fellow nodded in understanding. As soon as Branford had climbed in, he maneuvered the horses around the crush of other vehicles and set them off at a smart pace. It proved no problem to fall in behind the lumbering hackney.
Branford grew more unsettled as the hackney passed through the elegant streets of Mayfair and turned into the muddled shadows of a far less fashionable neighborhood.
A swirling fog crept over the grimy buildings and a dampness in the air told him they were coming closer to the river.
On more than one occasion, his coachman was forced to slow to a walk to avoid coming too close to the other carriage.
A muttered oath slipped from his lips. What the devil could Miss Chilton be up to in this neighborhood, at this hour …
His carriage lurched to a sudden halt.
“Milord,” hissed his coachman.
Branford opened the trap with the tip of his cane.
“The hackney has stopped ahead, sir, and the … the passenger appears to be getting out.”
The earl moved quickly to open the door, pausing a moment to take the carriage pistol from its holster and place it in his greatcoat pocket.
“Wait around the corner,” he ordered, then disappeared with a cat-like stealth into the thickening mist.
Her figure ghosted in and out of the shadows, forcing him to draw nearer than he would have liked in order not to lose her. But instead of darting into the warren of passageways threading through the jumble of warehouses, Alex headed straight toward the embankment.
A gust of wind from off the water blew away the fog, forcing Branford to press up against a grimy brick wall to avoid being seen.
As Alex moved closer to the river, a man appeared near the steps leading down to the landing.
Despite the gloom, the earl saw another movement—there was a second man lurking a short distance away from the first, trying to remain hidden in the shadows.
As fellow crept toward the sound of Alex’s approaching footsteps, a glint of steel flashed in the pale moonlight.
“Alex!” he shouted, “Get down!” Pushing away from the wall, Branford broke into a run as he yanked the pistol from his coat pocket.
Alex froze in confusion.
A shot rang out and she crumpled to the ground.
Branford reached her a split-second later. Another bullet whistled past his ear as he crouched over to shield her body. The fog suddenly closed in once again, causing him to curse in frustration as the two assailants were lost in the impenetrable mist.
But then the instincts of a soldier took over. They knew where he was—he must change that.
He bent lower, gently turning her over to face him. Alex slowly opened her eyes, though she looked dazed.
“Where are you hurt?” he demanded.
“My shoulder.” A wince. “It feels like a bee sting …”
His fingers probed gently at the torn fabric.
“Ouch!”
He heaved a sigh of relief—it appeared to be a flesh wound, the bullet just nicking her shoulder rather than penetrating sinew and bone—then grasped her around the waist and half-carried her to the shelter of the nearest building.
“Can you manage to walk?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the darkness for any sign of movement.
“Of course I can,” she answered. “I’m not—”
“Then do so—quickly and quietly!”
Taking up a position behind her, Branford hurried her through a gap in the warehouses and through several twisting alleyways to where his carriage was waiting. He thrust her none too gently inside. After a last, grim look around, he climbed in after her and rapped a signal to his coachman.
Wheels clattered over the worn cobblestones as the horses set off at a gallop.