Chapter Thirty-Four
The gray sky gave way to the soft light of dawn, and still Brown did not return.
It was time for Edward to call this reconnaissance mission a failure, return home, clean himself up, and then report to Bow Street.
But first, he had to retrieve his key, which was in his greatcoat pocket—the same greatcoat that also held Franny’s ring.
Thunderation, his much-anticipated night had turned to utter shite.
He stumbled toward The Silk Knuckles, so exhausted that he couldn’t feel his feet hitting the ground.
As Edward neared Tavistock Street, he picked up his pace, only to be met with the reality of his unfortunate situation.
His gymnasium key was with his house key, and they were both in his coat, locked inside the building.
Instinctively, he reached for his timepiece, which was also in his pocket.
He grumbled every unseemly word in his vocabulary.
Although Franny and Josie were early risers, he suspected it would be an hour or two before they arrived.
Since he had no other choice but to make the most of his misfortune, he would try to sleep while he waited.
Hopefully, Franny wasn’t angry that he hadn’t walked her home.
If the shoe were on the other foot, he’d be bloody furious, but only because he’d be worried about her.
Surely, Franny wouldn’t worry about him.
To date, no one had ever been overly concerned about his whereabouts except for Zigzag, but that was because she eventually got hungry.
Well, maybe Mrs. Benson fretted from time to time, but she knew his job kept him away for long periods of time.
At last, Edward reached The Silk Knuckles. He sat on the front stoop, leaned against the door, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax but instead reevaluated the decisions that led to his unproductive, sleepless night.
His impulsiveness had never served him well, so when he’d devoted himself to being a lawman, he’d traded his besetting ways for careful thought and planning.
And now, he had Franny to think about. He would be a worthless husband if he resorted to his youthful ways, especially since she had a wild streak of her own.
He didn’t need to add fuel to the fire with his obsessive need to fix everything quickly.
His overtired brain leaped from topic to topic, leading him to the same conclusion he’d come to hours ago.
He should have walked Franny home, proposed, kissed her until they both saw stars, and dealt with Brown once he had secured a writ.
Sighing, he opened his eyes. The rising sun cast a golden ray over something lying near the hedgerow. From this distance, it appeared to be a lantern.
Edward’s aching bones creaked as he pushed to his feet. He was almost to the lantern when he stumbled over a hunk of scorched leather. He picked it up and turned it every which way. Why was one of Franny’s slippers in the yard, half incinerated, and beside a lantern?
Now that he was wide awake, his heart vigorously thudded.
“Franny! Franny,” he called as he searched the area. Unfortunately, he was met with silence.
Dread washing over him, Edward dashed to the front door and knocked. “Franny? Anyone?”
When no one responded, he pounded harder and yelled louder. What if Franny was inside and injured? What if Brown was in there with her? Breathless and with his knuckles bleeding, Edward continued to pummel.
With every intention of trying to break down an impenetrable door, Edward kicked to the side of the lock, putting all of his body weight behind his heel.
To his surprise, the door flew open. Perhaps it had been unlocked this entire time.
Odd indeed when the women always locked up before they left.
His mournful growl echoed through the empty gymnasium.
“Franny,” Edward called as he sprinted from room to room.
Heart hammering and esophagus burning, he returned to his possessions that still sat where he had left them last night.
After tossing his mufflers to the side, he slid into his waistcoat and greatcoat, shoved his bloody cravat into his pocket, and collapsed his bone-weary arse onto the bench.
Dropping his forehead into his palms, he moaned.
Edward needed to face the truth. He had royally buggered everything. Although guilty of both the theft and threatening them in the alley, Lance was not the arsonist. But this wasn’t Edward’s biggest blunder because while he’d chosen revenge over common sense, someone had kidnapped Franny.
Every instinct he had screamed it was Brown.
Witnesses—or a witness—from his building painted him as a cruel man, and his wife proved him to be so.
Then there was the bag of arsonist supplies that he’d found.
Though that didn’t have to mean Brown was responsible for the fire to the gym, it—along with the way his neighbor had talked about the type of man he was, made him a prime suspect for violence against women.
On the other hand, he’d been mistaken about Lance. But then again, he’d been correct in searching the man’s domicile for the jewelry, so he hadn’t been completely wrong. He’d just been distracted. By Franny. And now…
Now his best first bet was to follow the instincts that had served him so well in the past. It was Brown. It had to be!
Trying to clear the fog, Edward rubbed his forehead. “Think, you sod.” Was Brown fool enough to take Franny to his lodgings? If not, where had he taken her? And what about the lantern? And her shoe? Had she been burned? Injured?
Was she still alive? His heart rose to his throat, making it even harder to think, or even breathe.
No! He needed to cease the pessimistic drama. Of course, she was still alive. He simply had to find her, and to do that, he had to seek out someone who knew where Brown might take her. Luckily, he knew exactly where such a person was.
Edward stormed out of the gymnasium, charged through the bushes, and cut across the front lawn to the rectory. “Williams,” he yelled as he pounded on the heavy oak. “Open the bloody door, Williams.”
The door cracked open, and a disheveled-looking Charlie peeked out around it. “Sir, what are you doing here so early? Is something wrong?”
Edward pushed past the lad. “Where is Jane Brown?”
“What is going on?” Cinching his robe closed, the vicar hurriedly descended the stairs.
“Mr. Robinson is here,” Charlie said, even though Williams had already made eye contact with Edward. “Something is amiss.”
Edward met the vicar at the bottom of the stairs. “Where is Jane Brown?”
“Here.” A diminutive woman looked down at them from the second-floor landing, her hair askew and her dress rumpled as if she had slept in it. Her eyes were blackened and even from here, he could see they were bloody red from burst vessels.
“If your husband didn’t go home last night, where would he go instead?” Edward called.
Her eyes as wide as they could be in spite of the puffiness, she gawked at him. “Well…I…”
“Think, Mrs. Brown,” Edward demanded.
“Probably sleeping off the hot coppers in an alley,” Charlie murmured.
“Maybe with his parents,” Mrs. Brown said, a quiver in her voice.
“Where do they live?” When she didn’t respond, Edward’s temper snapped. “I believe he has Franny. Tell me the address and be quick about it.”
Gasping, she folded in on herself.
Charlie climbed the stairs to her side, murmuring quietly. It seemed to give her courage, because she straightened. “In that case, he is probably with his brother.”
“Address,” Edward bellowed. “The bloody address.”
“Please lower your voice,” Williams said. “You are terrifying the poor woman.”
“I am not terrified,” Mrs. Brown said, her chin lifted and her voice now steady. “His brother lodges on the ground floor of The Bedford, where Bedford Street meets Maiden Lane. To get there you—”
“Thank you,” Edward called over his shoulder. He did not need further directions because every lawman in London knew precisely where the rundown tenement was located.