Chapter 33
“Something’s wrong.” Raven turned from watching the pink and mauve hues of sunset deepen to twilight. “I can feel it in my bones.”
McClellan said nothing as she looked up from the sock she was darning, but her expression seemed to indicate that she didn’t disagree.
“Perhaps Mr. Manchester had important information,” offered Cordelia, “and the two of them went to find Wrex—”
“That doesn’t fadge,” interrupted Raven. “When he left here this morning, Wrex only mentioned that he was beginning his investigation at Egg’s shop. And m’lady has no idea of what he’s since discovered.”
He fisted his hands. “She’s in trouble.”
“Which means we need to take action!” exclaimed Eddy.
McClellan set aside her sewing. “Hold your horses, missy,” she advised. “Galloping off neck and leather might only make things worse. We need to think very carefully.”
“Wrex and Herr von Münch are headed to the Bank of England, and Mr. Griffin and several of his fellow Runners are going to Arlington’s workshop,” ventured Peregrine. “We—”
“We Weasels can split up and alert both groups that m’lady is in trouble,” interjected Raven. “That will ensure that at least one of them can rush to Manchester’s art emporium. Even if she’s not there now, there may be clues as to where she’s gone.”
McClellan exhaled through clenched teeth, clearly uneasy with the plan. “There are only three of you—I won’t allow one of you to go alone, and I can’t move as fast as I used to.”
“There are four Weasels,” corrected Raven.
“His Lordship has strictly forbidden her to accompany you three into the stews,” countered McClellan. “It’s too dangerous.”
“In this case, I say we break the damn rule,” retorted Raven. “Eddy will come with me. I swear on my life that I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“We can’t err on the side of caution and do nothing,” pointed out Cordelia. “Caution is not in our blood when family and friends are in danger.”
“Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno!” said Peregrine. “One for all and all for one!”
A brave smile quivered on Cordelia’s lips as she glanced at McClellan. “You know Charlotte would say exactly that if she were here.”
McClellan quickly abandoned any further attempt to argue. “Hurry and dress in your rags.” She wagged a finger at Raven. “See that you keep your promise.”
The maid paused as Hawk and Peregrine shot up and raced for the stairs, then turned to give a gimlet look at Raven and Eddy. “Take your pistols,” she added. “Heaven forfend that you have to use them. But if circumstances demand it, don’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”
Wincing, Charlotte tried to sit up, only to feel a rush of nausea. She twisted around to lie on her belly and then slowly rose on her elbows before venturing a look around.
Not that there was anything to see. It was black as Hades.
Worse, it was quiet as a crypt.
“Kit,” she said softly.
No answer.
Dread overpowered her queasiness … but Charlotte willed herself to shove it away.
“I must be strong,” she whispered. Saying it aloud helped her swallow her fears.
After drawing in several gulps of the dank air, she started to crawl forward, feeling her way until she came to a wall.
Logic and empirical evidence, she told herself on pausing to orient herself. Explore the perimeter and then circle slowly back to the center. She needed to discover whether there was any means of illumination, and whether or not she was truly alone.
“Kit?”
Still no answer … but was that a faint rasp of breathing?
Or just wishful thinking.
Summoning all her courage, Charlotte started moving again, slithering inch by inch over the stone. The darkness was disorienting. She had no idea whether she had been entrapped for minutes or hours—
A cry nearly slipped from her lips as her fingers hit up against something cold and smooth. As they moved over the contours, a spark of hope flared in her breast. A lantern? Levering to her knees, Charlotte hurriedly felt around and nearly wept for joy on finding a flint and steel.
After she removed the glass globe, it took two clumsy efforts to strike up a flame to the wick, but all once, a bubble of light pushed back against the blackness.
Holding her breath, Charlotte slowly shifted the lamp, tracing the beam along the walls—
“Kit!” For surely the blanket atop the straw pallet must mean that Sheffield was tangled in the woven wool.
And yet …
Charlotte forced herself to move. Setting the lamp aside, she carefully peeled back the blanket, revealing her dear friend’s cut and bruised face. Leaning low, she cocked an ear, straining to hear—
“Fawgh!” With a weak wave, Sheffield tried to bat away the tumble of curls that had fallen over his face.
“Thank heavens!” croaked Charlotte. “You’re alive.”
“Unfortunately, yes—because every bloody bone in my body is aching like the devil,” he groused. Then, after blinking his gaze into groggy focus, he grimaced. “By the by, what are you doing here?”
“Paying for my own stupidity,” she answered. “We pegged Philip Stoneham for the villain, with a good possibility that he was partnering with his brother-in-law.”
“Stoneham?” Sheffield frowned. “I find that hard to believe. He’s not a very creative thinker—and we know that our villain is diabolically clever. But even more to the point, everything I’ve heard about him points to the fact that he’s a decent fellow and devoted to his sister.”
“You may be right,” acknowledged Charlotte. “I still think he—and possibly Ainsley—may be involved as co-conspirators, but I know for a fact that Damien Manchester is the mastermind of this sordid scheme, as well as the Lisbon Conspiracy.”
“Manchester!” Sheffield eased himself up just enough to brace his shoulders against the wall, though not without a bit of grumbling.
“Oh, bloody hell. I was fool enough to answer his urgent note asking me to meet him at the crossroads in Seven Dials, as there was something he wished to show me regarding the Inimitable Banknote Competition.”
A wince. “I was attacked from behind once we made our way into the rookeries, and I assumed he was captured, too.”
“It was likely his cronies, the false soldiers,” mused Charlotte.
But on realizing how pale Sheffield looked beneath the scraps and purpling bruises, she quickly added, “But never mind that right now!” She reached out to gently brush the tangled hair back from his brow.
“Ye gods, lie back down and let me have a look at you. Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” he drawled. “My left arm may be broken, but aside from that and a few bruised ribs, I’m fine.” He sighed. “Cordelia must be mad as a wet cat.”
“She’s horribly worried—as are all our family and friends,” replied Charlotte. Spotting a jug of water, she reached for it and cradled Sheffield’s head so he could take a drink.
“I don’t suppose the poxy varlet left us any whisky,” he said, after several swallows.
“Henning will have a bottle waiting for you when we get out.”
“Deo volente,” murmured Sheffield.
“Mac and the Weasels know where I went,” responded Charlotte. “As does Cordelia. I imagine that Wrex will soon show up and raise holy hell until he finds us.”
That made Sheffield chuckle—and then wince. “He’ll ring a peal over my head for being so na?ve.”
“Speaking of ringing a peal …” Charlotte shifted so that she could meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you and Cordelia tell us your momentous news?”
“I think …” He looked away. “I think we were afraid of somehow cursing our good fortune. We decided to wait … until things were more certain.”
Charlotte nodded in understanding. So many things could go wrong in the early days of a pregnancy.
“We will have a double celebration when we get out of here—family and friends. There’s nothing more important in life.”
Sheffield reached out and twined his fingers with hers. “Amen to that,” he said softly as his eyes drooped half-shut.
Despite his show of nonchalance, Charlotte feared he was in more pain than he cared to admit.
“Rest easy, dear friend,” she whispered, tucking the blanket around his chest. “We’ll soon be back with our loved ones.”
She refused to believe otherwise.
Wrexford pounded the butt of his pistol against the front door of Ainsley’s elegant townhouse.
“Open up!” he thundered and then resumed his banging.
“Ah, I see a flicker of light,” remarked von Münch as he glanced upward.
Jack MacArthur, who had insisted on accompanying them so that he might identify the villains who had destroyed his family and help ensure that they paid for their crimes, clenched his jaw, steeling himself for the confrontation.
After another few moments, the earl heard hurried footsteps and the scrabbling of the door being unbarred.
“W-Who is calling at this ungodly hour?” The butler, his nightcap askew over his wispy grey hair, peeked out.
“The Earl of Wrexford. Fetch Ainsley immediately—there’s an urgent matter regarding the bank!”
The man scurried away, too overset to think of inviting them into the entrance hall.
Click, click. Von Münch cocked his pistols and moved for a better shot angle whenever the door swung fully open. “Ainsley may figure he’s been unmasked and not come quietly.”
“I want him alive.” Wrexford flexed a fist. “For now.”
MacArthur nodded. “He doesn’t deserve a quick death. My father and his friends went to the gallows. The varlet who planned it all should answer to the same court of justice.”
“Just remember not to let emotion cloud your judgment,” counseled the earl. “If you don’t recognize him, say so. We have assumptions, based on credible information. But we must be certain of his guilt before putting a noose around his neck.”
They didn’t have long to wait. A breathless Ainsley, looking a good deal less polished than usual, pulled the door open all the way—and then recoiled at the sight of three pistols pointed at his chest.
“W-What in the name of Jove is going on?” he stammered.
“Stubble the theatrics.” Wrexford reached out with his free hand and seized Ainsley by his hastily tied cravat. “We know of your perfidy.”