Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“They have just broken the dormer window in the attic,” Miss Sauber said.
Upon hearing her words, Thorne’s first thought was for Isabella.
Although she was a Ramparts agent, her gifts were deception and covert entry, and so while she had trained with Mr. Armstrong, he had taught her how to defend herself rather than how to defend others.
Another agent had always been sent with her as an escort and a guard.
Thorne had given her some instruction while they were in Wittenden, but they were limited in the time they could spend training.
Michael was upstairs to protect his mother, but Thorne was not certain Isabella could protect herself from one of Jack’s men, someone on the Root.
He began to head for the stairs, but Mr. Drydale called out to him. “Rosmont,” he said in the voice of a commanding officer, which made Thorne come to a halt. “I require you to help us get the servants to safety.”
Of course. Thorne should have anticipated that. Among the five of them here in the entrance hall, only Thorne was known to the household. If several strangers, no matter how genteel, burst in and began ordering the servants about, they most certainly would not obey.
But fortune smiled upon him, for at that moment, the butler, Henderson, entered the entrance hall.
His keen hearing had likely heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.
His carefully schooled features did not display his shock at the four strangers that Thorne had allowed into the house.
“Henderson,” Thorne said to him, “this is Mr. Drydale, Mr. Benjamin, Miss Gardinier, and Miss Sauber.” He used Mr. Verling’s false name since it was as yet unknown to the Citadel, and belatedly he realized he perhaps should have introduced Miss Sauber as Mr. Sauber, since she was dressed as a man, but he was in too much of a hurry to correct himself.
“They have come because they have discovered the family is in grave danger. Please heed Mr. Drydale’s instructions and move the servants to safety while Michael and I escort his mother and sister. ”
The butler froze for several heartbeats, shocked at the unusual request. However, he had known Thorne since he was a young boy, and the urgency in his voice convinced him to accept his words without question. He nodded. “As you wish, Master Thorne.”
“Mr. Rosmont.” Miss Gardinier handed him two sheathed blades. While she didn’t say so in front of the servant, he guessed they were coated with a fresh application of sedative paste.
Thorne shoved the two knives into his coat pockets and raced up the stairs.
He never would have considered such a means of entry into the house possible, not before hearing Mr. Verling’s stories on the drive back to London about how the team had gained access to the Ramparts.
All the houses on the square had dormer windows in their attics, and while it was precarious to travel from one steep roof to another, a man on the Root could jump the distance quite easily.
Thorne fervently hoped Michael had also heard the men in the attic.
He reached the landing for the second floor, and now he could hear the sounds of men fighting. But all he saw were two men attempting to enter a locked room—Mrs. Coulton-Jones’s bedchamber.
He didn’t stop to plan how he could fight two men on the Root. He only thought of how to protect Mrs. Coulton-Jones.
One man turned to see him. He was of medium height, but wiry, and he grinned at Thorne with a mouth wide with malice and two rotting teeth. He bent down to pull a knife from his boot.
Thorne didn’t wait for Bad Teeth to arm himself. He didn’t even bother to reach inside his coat for one of the sedative knives. Instead, he bunched his leg muscles and hurled his entire body at the legs of the man.
He took Bad Teeth by surprise, and he saw the knife slip from his hand before hearing it clatter on the floor behind him. Thorne was considerably taller and heavier, and so despite Bad Teeth’s superior strength, he toppled into the hallway, landing hard on his back.
Thorne tried to pin the man down, but Bad Teeth slithered out from under him like a lizard.
He expected the second man to also attack, but instead, the intruder kept throwing his shoulder at the locked door, which flew open.
In alarm, Thorne looked up from his position on the floor, even knowing he could do nothing. He narrowly avoided a boot aimed at his head, and he grabbed at the man’s leg.
He received a powerful blow to his shoulder for his efforts—his injured shoulder. Pain blossomed out like a spiderweb on fire, and he lost his grip.
Thorne scrambled to his knees in time to raise his arms to block a wide, swinging fist. The collision with Bad Teeth’s arm made Thorne’s forearm bones creak, but he also twisted his hips to alleviate most of the force of the hit—otherwise his arms would have snapped.
He followed quickly with a sharp jab to the man’s chin.
Bad Teeth turned his head so Thorne’s fist only grazed the side of his face, but it made the man lurch backward. It was just enough time to allow Thorne to climb to his feet.
A woman’s scream from the open doorway startled him—he thought he recognized the throaty voice of Mrs. Coulton-Jones’s lady’s maid, Nunn—and he was a fraction of a second slow in bringing his arm up to block another punch.
Except it wasn’t simply a punch—just before the attack connected, Thorne caught the glint of a knife blade.
He didn’t immediately feel the pain in his left arm, but he felt a strange, sickening pressure in his muscle.
But rather than pulling away, Thorne stepped forward, grabbing the man’s coat lapels, and slammed his forehead into Bad Teeth’s face.
He knew from sparring with Michael and discussing ways to fight men on the Root that although they were strong, their bones were the same as any other man. In areas lacking the muscles to protect them, a man’s bones and cartilage were just as vulnerable as normal.
Thorne felt the man’s nose break under his forehead, and Bad Teeth gave a cry that sounded more like surprise than pain.
Thorne pushed him away and felt the knife slide out of his arm, leaving hot wetness that soaked his shirt inside his coat.
His left arm didn’t respond, and he knew that it was useless for this fight.
Bad Teeth was grabbing at his bleeding nose, and Thorne did not waste the time given to him. The Foreign Office had trained him to ignore injuries during a fight, for any hesitation allowed your opponent an advantage.
An advantage that Thorne possessed at this very moment.
He had walked these halls ever since he was a young boy, and the Coulton-Joneses rarely changed the decor.
So he knew that there was a heavy silver vase—a truly ugly monstrosity—sitting on the hallway table only a few feet away.
Mrs. Coulton-Jones had admitted it was a wedding gift from one of her great-aunts, who had naturally expected it to be prominently displayed.
Thorne was heartily glad for that great-aunt’s terrible taste in vases, for he grabbed the ponderous object and swung it at Bad Teeth’s temple.
His aim was true and hit with a solid thud. The man froze, his eyes going glassy, and then he crumpled to the floor.
Thorne removed one of the sedative knives from his coat pocket—in the midst of the fight, he had forgotten Miss Gardinier had given them to him—and stabbed the unmoving man in the kneecap. Even when he awoke, the injury would prevent him from fighting effectively until his body healed.
Thorne’s training was the only thing that had enabled him to defeat Bad Teeth. His training and an ugly silver vase.
He jumped to his feet and raced to the open bedroom door, but a thought raced through his mind?—
Where is Michael?