Chapter 13 #2
He hurtled toward Hugh. Partially in thanks to his boxing lessons at Gentleman Jack’s, but more so for his time defending himself against criminals as an officer, he dodged swiftly again.
But the big oaf wasn’t entirely without aptitude.
His meaty arm hooked Hugh’s middle as he was attempting to move out of reach, and he felt the floor go out from underneath his feet.
The man heaved him toward the floor, but it wasn’t carpet that met his back.
The breath was driven from his lungs as he cracked through as a low table.
The thing crumpled like it had been made of sticks, whatever objects it had been holding, shattering too.
Pain seared his back and the base of his skull.
If Hugh’s opponent had not been a man twice his size, with the sole desire to do him in, he might have taken a moment to catch his breath.
The instinct to survive, however, drove him to roll to the side, just in time to avoid the man’s fist coming toward his face.
Too slow to halt the punch, he ended up plowing his knuckles into the remnants of the wooden table.
As Hugh rolled to his knees, his hand closed around the leg of the destroyed table.
The man was starting to straighten when Hugh smashed the leg onto the back of his head.
The man’s knees folded, and then he dropped.
Hugh dragged in a breath, panting as he stared at Madame Knight’s guard.
He wasn’t moving. Hugh threw down the chair leg and started for the door.
Leaving was instinctive, but he stopped and fought against it.
Madame Knight had sent this brute up here to either kill him, or just warn him—forcefully—to not come back.
Had the mention of Madame Lee, or of Stromburg, decided it?
He needed to know, or this trip would have been for nothing.
He certainly would not be able to come back and try again.
Rubbing the growing knob on the back of his head where it had connected with the wooden table, Hugh peered at the ropes and ribbons splayed on the bed, suspended from the ceiling fixture.
He selected the thickest hemp rope, rough against his palms, and brought them to the man’s immobile figure.
He tied his wrists together behind his back in as tight a knot as possible.
With another line of rope, this one of sleeker, whip-like material, he bound the man’s ankles.
Then, Hugh snatched up a silver candlestick that had been swept off the broken table, ripped out the candle itself, and backed up against the wall next to the door.
He waited, allowing his heart rate to come back down.
Less than a minute later, as expected, a slight knock landed on the wood.
Then, the door opened. Madame Knight entered cautiously, coming to a halt as she saw her guard unconscious and bound among the detritus.
Hugh pressed the round opening of the candlestick against the back of her neck and kicked the door shut. The madame held still, and he could only hope she continued to assume the candlestick was the barrel of a pistol.
“He really wasn’t the sort I was looking for,” Hugh said.
“You are making a serious mistake,” Madame Knight replied.
He ignored her warning. It had been a mistake to come here…without his flintlock.
“Tell me what happened to Madame Lee and Lord Stromburg.”
“Who are you?”
“You are running out of time, Madame Knight.” He hesitated. Then took a chance. “Someone from the Sanctuary will be here shortly if I do not get what I need.”
She went instantly rigid. Her hands lifted to the sides, as if in surrender. “I want nothing to do with that place.”
“Then answer my question. What happened to Madame Lee and Stromburg?”
On the floor, the man twitched. If he woke, he’d inform the madame that she was being held at candlestick point.
“Stromburg was a regular,” she said, relenting. “He took to a certain girl. Opal. He liked her so much that he asked Minerva—Madame Lee—if he could bring her to a secret club. There were many members there that might enjoy the Red Lotus.”
“And did she agree?”
“Yes. But then Stromburg returned in a fury. Another member had strangled Opal while initiating her.”
Hugh nearly lowered the candlestick in surprise. Strangle? Like Bethany Silas.
“Minerva and Stromburg were in an uproar. They went to the police. And then…they both disappeared.”
“When was this?” Hugh asked. The man on the broken bits of the table stirred again and moaned.
“Last month. When you mentioned both Minerva and Stromburg, I knew you must know something,” she said. “But I want nothing to do with the Sanctuary. I let every girl go, every guard who might have heard something about Opal, and hired new ones.”
He looked again at the moaning guard on the floor, and a memory of something Mrs. Givens had said struck him. “Was a man named Harlan Givens one of your guards?”
Sir’s mother had mentioned that he was working at more than just the Seven Sins as security.
“Givens? Yes. Why?”
Hugh was finished here. And by the increasing mobility of the man bound on the floor, in more than one way.
“Rest assured the Sanctuary will not pay you a visit. Now, I’m leaving. Am I going to meet with any trouble as I go?”
Madame Knight turned her head far enough to display her hateful glare. “Just get out. And do not come back.”
“With pleasure,” Hugh said. Then, lowering the candlestick, he slipped out of the bedchamber.