CHAPTER 26
Charlotte tried to keep her mind occupied as she sat hunched in the lee of the outside stairwell, refusing to let herself stare at the building across the street.
Fog was starting to ghost through the streets, quicksilver puffs of vapor riding a chill breeze that seemed to bite to the bone.
Hugging her arms to her chest, she made herself think about how she would draw Lowell in his laboratory.
The imagery offered some sensational elements—a deadly explosive, a demented genius whose family ranked as one of the leaders of the aristocracy.
The public would lap it up.
Yes, on paper it was oh so titillating, an artistic and intellectual challenge to use her skill with word and image to fan emotions.
But as flesh-and-blood reality, the terror was all too palpable.
All too personal. She could taste its bile at the back of her throat, she could feel its icy fingers squeezing the breath from her lungs. ...
Raven shifted. He was slumped against her shoulder, and while she wanted to believe he was dozing, she could sense that his body was coiled tighter than an overwound watch spring.
Tick, tick. It felt like they had been there for hours. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sneak a quick glance.
“Any sign of them?” The boy was instantly alert.
“No.” All sorts of hideous reasons sprang to mind. The curse of a colorful imagination. She looked away from the dark shape looming up from the mist and drew him a little closer. “We must be patient.”
* * *
Grasping both lengths of the rope, Wrexford slowly lowered himself down from the beams. He dared not call out a warning for Hawk to stay silent, but no sound came from the shadowed chair. Thinking of the brutal beating he had just witnessed, he feared the boy might be unconscious—or worse.
However, as he darted between the crates, a small voice quickly put his worries to rest.
“Cor, that was a wery neat trick, m’lord—just like a spider spinnin’ down from its web!” Hawk’s one good eye was widened in admiration. “It wuz awfully brave of ye te try it.”
The boy thought him brave? God Almighty.
“Not as brave as taking a punch to the mouth from a bastard four times your size.” The earl took a brief moment to gently blot the blood from the boy’s face.
“It didn’t hurt wery much,” lisped Hawk. “The sweetmeat vendor at C’vent Garden hits much harder wid his fives. The thrashing he gave me when I filched some sugarplums wuz a lot worse.”
“Shhh, don’t try to talk, lad. I’ll have you free in a tick.” Wrexford reached for the knife in his boot.
Bloody hell.
He stared at the hopelessly knotted tangle of rope around the boy and cursed himself for a clumsy fool. The blade must have fallen out in the crawlspace.
Hawk was staring, too. “I fink we need a knife.”
Or an avenging angel with a grand sword to smite through the bonds.
“Aye, lad, but I was damnable gudgeon and dropped mine—”
“I got the one ye gave me.” The boy flashed a lopsided smile. “I did what ye told me and hid it wery carefully in my boot.”
A quick tug, a quick shake, and the stag-handled knife plopped into his palm. Exhaling a pent-up breath, Wrexford cut through the rope. “Well done, lad. Can you stand?”
Hawk rose, and though a little unsteady on his feet, he managed to stay upright.
Wrexford took a moment to chafe the blood back into the boy’s limbs as he considered his next step.
The basement’s layout presented a dilemma.
Getting the boy to safety meant it couldn’t be done without taking the chance that Lowell would escape with his devilish concoction.
A ripple of air stirred through the space. The candle flame quivered, and the overhead pulley rattled.
Or could it?
It was risky. Damnably risky.
He swept the boy up in his arms. “What say you, Weasel? Can you be strong and brave for just a little while longer?”
Hawk grinned, showing the gap in his teeth. “Oiy.”
“Good lad.” Wrexford hurried to the dangling rope and lading hook.
Grabbing the curved piece of iron, he cut a small slash in Hawk’s breeches and worked it through the fabric.
“Listen carefully. I’ll pull you up to the rafters.
Crawl across the center beam and you’ll find a passageway.
It will bring you to a set of stairs. . .
.” He quickly explained how to exit the building.
“Mrs. Sloane and your brother are waiting directly across the street in a stairwell. I want you to fly like a falcon, and don’t stop for anything until you’re in m’lady’s arms. Can you do that? ”
“Oiy.”
There was no time for second guessing. “Then up you go.”
* * *
Mist swirled in the sunken stairwell. Charlotte was so stiff from the chill dampness that it hurt to wriggle her toes. Stifling a yawn, Raven flexed his shoulders and crawled up to the top step for a peek at the surroundings.
“Trouble,” he grumbled. “His Nibs must have run into trouble, else he’d be here by now.”
“Patience,” counseled Charlotte, though she, too, was aching to know what was happening inside the building.
“Maybe I ought te have a look around.”
“Absolutely not.” She understood the urge, but Wrexford had trusted them to keep their word.
A promise. Like mist, it had no corporeal substance.
Try to grab hold of it, and poof—one’s fingers caught nothing but a faint tickling sensation against the skin.
And yet she felt it a bond of honor that ought not be broken.
“Come down from there,” she added. “We ought not risk being spotted.”
“No, wait—I think I see something,” said Raven
“Don’t gammon me,” warned Charlotte.
“There, between the buildings. Someone’s moving!”
She joined him on the top step. But her eyes seemed intent on playing tricks. The shadows all started to sway in time to the rapid-fire beating of her heart.
Charlotte tried to draw a steadying breath.
“There!” repeated Raven and rose to his knees.
She grabbed hold of his coat to hold him back.
At that instant, a small figure burst out from the muddled darkness of the passageway, legs pumping, arms flailing as if a bat from hell was snapping at his coattails. Charlotte heard a voice rise above the thudding footsteps. And then she, too, was scrambling out to the edge of the street.
“M’lady, m’lady!”
Catching hold of Hawk, she gathered him in a crushing hug, tears mingling with an inarticulate bubbling of joy as she pulled him and his brother back into the shelter of the stairwell.
“Thank God,” she murmured, brushing back his tangled hair to press a kiss to his brow.
Raven fixed Hawk with a critical squint that couldn’t quite hide his smile. “You look disgusting.”
“I lost a toof,” announced Hawk proudly. “But that bastard who snatched me is gonna look much worse. Lord Wrexford was spitting fire and threatening te chop off his bollocks.”
Charlotte shrugged out of her coat and wrapped it around Hawk. The sight of the boy’s bruised face and injured eye had her hoping the earl would carry out his threat. What sort of man was monster enough to torture children?
A very dangerous one. And Wrexford was now facing off against him, mano a mano.
She darted a glance at the darkened building, then pulled both boys close and offered up a silent prayer.
* * *
Wrexford pushed the chair and severed rope deeper into the shadows and paused to reprime his weapon. Anger was still boiling through his blood. Judging that surprise was enough of an advantage, he decided to dispense with any elaborate subterfuge and simply walk straight into the devil’s den.
He rather hoped Lowell would put up a fight. The man had a number of sins for which to atone.
Pistol at the ready, Wrexford set his shoulder to the iron-banded door of the storage area and pushed it open.
The second door loomed ahead, bracketed by wall sconces that cast flickers of dark and light over the wood and metal.
He crossed quickly through the short passageway and took hold of the latch.
With a well-oiled snick, a pistol hammer cocked.
Not his own.
He turned slowly.
“Tsk, tsk, Lord Wrexford. As a man of science, you should know enough about mathematics to understand that a complex equation always has a number of variables. You should have considered that there would be more than one entry and exit point to my laboratory.” Hinges creaked. “Kindly drop your weapon.”
Lowell sounded smug, and with good reason. Wrexford had let anger get the better of him, and had rushed ahead without thinking. He mustn’t let it happen again.
“The thought had occurred to me,” he replied, calmly obeying the order. “I did take into account the main one by the stairs and this one. It was apparently a mistake to assume there weren’t three.”
“You’ve made a number of mistakes.” Lowell stepped out from the narrow door set within a recessed archway and came closer. The snout of the pistol was aimed at his forehead.
Improvise. He could hear Charlotte’s recent comment echoing in his head.
“Oh, come, give me some credit. I added up a great many complex sums correctly.”
“True.” Lowell expelled a mournful sigh. “Which is why you must die. A pity. You, of all the members of the Royal Institution, possess a modicum of creative thinking.”
“High praise, indeed,” said Wrexford dryly. Keep the man talking—the boy needed more time to make his way to safety.
“Humor me before putting a period to my existence,” he went on. “I’ve figured out most of your plan, but several pieces of the puzzle still elude me. What drew you and Holworthy together in the first place? I’ve deduced that his interests lay in alchemy, while yours are decidedly more practical.”
“Far more practical,” agreed Lowell. “Holworthy was seeking eternal life.” A curt laugh. “While I merely wish to enjoy my allotted time here on earth as a very wealthy man.”
“The philosopher’s stone,” murmured the earl.