Chapter 44
Alec brought the curricle to an abrupt stop, his horses’ front hooves scraping the air.
“God’s teeth,” Sam muttered, ashen from the fastest drive Alec had ever done across the city. Fish, crammed in the middle, was grinning, his eyes gleaming in a boyish excitement at having almost crashed at least ten times before arriving at their destination.
Leaping to the ground, Alec tossed the reins to a surprised man loitering on the street outside Goldsten’s clinic.
“You’ll get a guinea if my vehicle is here when I get back,” he called before hurtling up the steps.
He couldn’t explain the sense of urgency he felt as he threw open the clinic’s doors.
He barely registered the broken and bleeding bodies around the lobby.
Bursting into the operating theater, he saw Dawes on the far side of the room, in deep conversation with a blond-haired man.
“It’s ’im!” Fish cried as he skidded into the room. “That’s the bastard that took Edie!”
Dawes and the other man glanced at them, and panic flared in Dawes’s face. He glanced around wildly, as though looking for an escape route. The other man pulled a pistol from his greatcoat’s deep pockets and aimed at Alec.
Grabbing Fish’s boney shoulders, Alec threw himself to the side as the man fired. The bullet whizzed past and hit the wall, and all hell broke loose. Patients screamed. Apprentices yelled and dove for cover. Dawes spun and bolted through a doorway.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Alec raced after him. As he cleared the doorway, another shot blasted behind him. More shouts and sounds of metal clanging and rushing feet, but he didn’t look back. He kept his gaze fixed on Dawes’s fleeing figure.
The apprentice shot a frantic glance over his shoulder as he shoved open another door in front of him and flew out into the alley. Seconds later, Alec charged through the door.
Dawes was gone.
Ice-cold fear shot through Alec. Heart hammering, he cocked his head and listened, and heard running footsteps to his right.
He jogged down the lane, eyes scanning left and right.
The pungent odor of refuse rose up all around him.
He glimpsed rats the size of small dogs scurrying along the crumbling brick foundations of the tenements.
Still no Dawes.
He was in a labyrinth, now with more people, standing or slumped in doorways, crouched in their makeshift hovels. Staring at him with bleary, brooding eyes. Alec stopped in front of a greasy-haired man with sharp, foxlike features and sly eyes.
“Did you see a man run by?” he asked. “Young. Ginger hair.”
“W’ot’s in it fer me, if I tell ye?”
Alec pulled his weapon from his pocket. Eyes locked on the other man, he walked forward until his gun was a whisper from the man’s soot-smeared forehead.
“I’ll let you live.”
***
Sweat glazed Kendra’s forehead as star-bright pain sizzled through her from both the knife wound and Dandridge’s stitching.
“This is a mistake.” Dandridge’s face was grim as he dressed the wound, wrapping gauzy strips tight around Kendra’s waist. “Keeping her alive.”
“I don’t think so,” Sir Preston replied. “We have two perfectly good specimens now for the machine.”
They were talking like Kendra wasn’t even there. Like she was a rat in a cage.
She released a shuddering breath, watching Dandridge gather and dispose of the blood-soaked rags. If she didn’t die of an infection, it would be a miracle.
On the other hand, she doubted they were planning to let her live long enough for that.
She pressed her hands against the bandage as she sat up. Her gaze fell on the scissors. She was as shaky as a newborn colt, but if she could get to them . . .
“You’d only damage yourself and ruin Mr. Dandridge’s excellent work, my lady,” Sir Preston chided, following her eyes and picking up the scissors. “I’ll remove the temptation.”
He had the gall to smile at her. Bastard.
She took a cautious breath and let it out slowly. “You really think you will be able to cure syphilis with your machine?” she asked, swinging her legs over the table.
“Careful,” Sir Preston warned. “If you try to escape, you won’t get far.”
“I’m not running. I want a closer look at your invention.”
Pride flashed in Dandridge’s eyes as he stepped over to the large wooden box. She knew how to deal with scientists with massive egos.
Kendra could see the six jars inside the box. About the size of overripe melons, metal foil was wrapped around the bottoms and rod electrodes protruded from their lids. More metal tubes were attached to extra containers and wire coils sprouted from each jar like an avante-garde sculpture.
“It’s your invention, Mr. Dandridge?” She remembered how he’d argued about the possible benefits of electricity at St. George’s.
“It was my idea, yes.” He gave the box a loving stroke. “I came up with it after I saw the electricity experiments. Sir Preston was the one who imagined it could be used to purify the blood, as so many diseases originate there.”
Sir Preston said, “You and the girl might not have the pox, but you’ll be able to provide us with a unique opportunity of study.”
Edwina let out a low, terrified moan.
Kendra slid off the table. Her legs nearly buckled, but she managed to catch herself with a white-knuckle grip on the table.
“Mind yourself!” This time it was Dandridge who snapped out the warning. “The knife missed your vital organs—remarkable, really—but you still lost a lot of blood.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve been stabbed,” she muttered.
Sir Preston smirked. “I must confess, you are a most unusual female. Still, it will take you a day or two to recover. We want you in top form before we begin our experiments.” He paused, his eyes brightening as he looked at Dandridge.
“I wonder if a transfusion of purified blood would speed up the recovery process?”
Dandridge looked intrigued. “Yes . . .yes, an excellent idea, Sir Preston. We can’t wait too long, of course, if we want to get a true measurement.”
Cold fear and fury speared through her as she listened to the rising excitement in the two men as they discussed the idea. A new experiment with her as the lab rat.
“How does it work?” she asked abruptly. A bead of sweat slid down her spine as she forced herself to step toward Dandridge’s invention.
“We don’t yet know its potential,” Dandridge said now. “It works like a Leyden jar, where the rod is charged with static electricity, and the electricity is then stored in the glass container until it’s released. But our device is much more powerful. It truly is lightening in a bottle.”
Kendra nodded, even as she gave a surreptitious glance around the chamber, looking for something she could use as a weapon. There were medical instruments on the counter, sharp and deadly—but too far away. She spotted her reticule and gun on a bench. Closer, but not close enough.
“The machine is fully charged,” Dandridge continued. “It can provide an electrical current for six hours. More than enough time to circulate the blood.”
“Clever.” Kendra glanced at Sir Preston, leaning on his cane, with its silver handle that concealed the blade. Even in her weakened state, she was confident that she could get the weapon from him . . . but that still left Dandridge.
“We remove the infected blood, which is then passed through the machine . . .”
Kendra pretended to listen as her gaze returned to the counter. Her stomach lurched at one object floating in murky liquid. She recognized the orb for what it was: an eyeball.
And she knew, absolutely knew, she was staring at one of Clarice’s eyes.
In a few days or weeks, bits and pieces of her would be in those jars too.
No fucking way.
The door suddenly flew open, and a wild-eyed Dawes flung himself into the room.
“Andrew?” Sir Preston asked, startled. “What happened? Where’s Ned?”
“He’s— I don’t—” The apprentice panted, shaking his head. “Lord Sutcliffe came . . .”
It’s now or never. Sucking in a breath, Kendra launched herself at Sir Preston. Pain exploded in her abdomen as she rammed him with her shoulder, sending the old man wheeling backward. She tried to grab the cane, but Sir Preston was already falling. He yelled as he splashed into the shallow creek.
Kendra turned in time to see Alec, Sam, and Fish barreling through the doorway.
“No! Damn you!” Sir Preston cried, drawing Kendra’s attention again. He’d managed to get to his feet and his eyes locked on hers as he yanked the silver handle off his cane, revealing the blade. There was only one weapon close enough for Kendra to grab.
She turned and grasped the wooden box, lifting it in one Herculean effort.
She felt her stitches rip open as she heaved the machine in a low arc toward the stream.
Sir Preston’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no scream emerged as the box hit the water.
His body did a jittery dance as the machine’s electrical current was discharged in the creek.
Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed face-down into the water.
Kendra’s heart leap into her throat at the sound of a gunshot, and she pivoted to see Dandridge’s body sprawled on the floor. Kendra met Alec’s eyes as he lowered his gun.
“My God, Kendra . . .” Shoving the weapon into his pocket, Alec raced over to her. “You’ve been shot,” he breathed, his eyes on the bandage and the blood seeping through it.
“Stabbed. Sir Preston’s fucking cane hid a knife.” She began to shake. “I’m pretty sure I tore out the stitches.”
“Damnation.” He ran over to the counter and brought back more linen strips. “When we get home, I’ll call my physician.”
“I’m sort of off doctors right now.” She hissed when he wrapped the bandage around her. “Unless it’s Dr. Munroe. He’s stitched me up before.”
Alec muttered something she didn’t quite catch.
“You all right, lass?” Sam asked. He pointed his pistol at Dawes, who was on the ground, dazed and defeated, with tears sliding down his cheeks. If he hadn’t murdered Goldsten in cold-blood, she could almost feel sorry for him.
“I have to admit, I’ve had better days,” she said. “But this could’ve been worse. Your timing was perfect.”
The Bow Street Runner grinned at her, then his gaze moved beyond her. “Is he . . . ?”
Kendra turned back to Sir Preston’s body. “Yes. Water and electricity are a bad combination.”
“Stop yer blubbering, Edie!” Fish’s exclamation drew their attention. The mudlark was crouched in front of the cage holding Edwina. “I’m gonna get ye out of there, don’t ye worry.” Scowling, he looked over at Kendra. “Oy! Where’s the bloody key?”
Shit. “I might have to pick the lock—”
“Not bloody likely,” Alec said, and lifted her in his arms. “Mr. Kelly can handle it. We’re leaving.”
“Aye. Don’t you worry, lass,” Sam called after them. “I’ll find the key once I take care of Mr. Dawes.”
Kendra laid her head on Alec’s shoulder as he carried her up the stairwell. “They were going to experiment on me and Edwina.” The adrenaline rush was gone, leaving only the throbbing pain of her injury.
“I was born an experiment,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m never going to be an experiment again.”