Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Phoebe crouched on the edge of the rooftop.
Occasionally, a roof slate would crack under her foot as she gazed out at the shadowy shapes of buildings, only faintly illuminated by streetlamps or candlelight in windows.
There was no moon and no stars, and the fog was starting to roll in like a ghostly tide.
She listened, but heard nothing unusual even from her elevated position.
She could not sense anyone taking the Root, but it was possible that Mr. Norton had employed a normal man who could be tasked with watching for a signal and bringing ’round a carriage to transport Mrs. Coulton-Jones, if they had intended to kidnap her.
But since no signal had been given, Uncle Sol suspected that one of Norton’s men had instead rushed away to gather others—men on the Root who might be here shortly. They were forced to act quickly.
Surprisingly, Mrs. Coulton-Jones had kept a composure steady enough to order her servants about herself, with Isabella’s assistance. While Nunn, Mrs. Coulton-Jones’s lady’s maid, packed a valise with only essential items, the mistress arranged for the house to be closed up.
The servants were to travel back to the country estate, but without the family. And, of course, they were not to speak of what had happened tonight. Nor would they have knowledge of where the family would be staying.
The servants were alarmed at the unusual circumstances, but the violence that had occurred within the house had frightened them enough that they obeyed instantly, without question.
Phoebe, Mr. Coulton-Jones, Mr. Rosmont, and Mr. Verling were tasked with carrying the unconscious men out to the mews road, where they left the bodies sprawled along the edges of the road, shrouded by darkness.
They did not wish the Night Watch to stumble upon them, for they could not predict how the men on the Root would react to being violently awakened once the sedative wore off.
Norton’s men had broken the stable door in order to enter, and the door to the scullery was hopelessly destroyed, so Mr. Coulton-Jones was tasked with watching the back entrance of the house for intruders while Mr. Rosmont once again took up his vigil at the front.
Men had also crossed the rooftops and broken into one of the dormer windows of the attic, and so Phoebe was sent upstairs to ensure none could enter the house from that direction.
Later, Mrs. Coulton-Jones would write to her attorney in town and arrange for him to have the doors and window fixed discreetly.
Up on the rooftop, Phoebe was alone for the first time that evening.
Working with Mr. Coulton-Jones to move the bodies had been the only time she was with him since the escape from the Ramparts, and although they were in company with Mr. Rosmont, there had been times when it had been simply the two of them together.
But there were tasks to be done, and she had not felt it was the appropriate time to speak of the intimacy that had occurred between them.
And indeed, what had happened? He had thought he would be killed or captured. He had acted impulsively. She ought not to think too deeply upon the matter.
It might have been different if she were a normal young woman of the ton, one who was entitled to harbor expectations in response to a young man’s actions. But Phoebe felt as though she had not been that young woman in a long time.
She was a spy, hiding clandestine activities. She felt that if she attended any social events, she would be wearing a mask to hide even more of herself than she had before.
Phoebe heard the faint sound of a carriage, but it drew her attention because it was approaching at great speed. At this time of night, there should be no need for such urgency.
She held her breath and closed her eyes so that she could focus all of her mind upon her sense of hearing. The carriage was too far away for her to smell if its occupants had taken the Goldensuit, but perhaps she could hear any conversation within.
The carriage took a corner quickly, and she thought she faintly heard a man’s pained grunt. Then his irritated voice exclaimed, “Watch it!”
“I can’t help it,” another man answered. “The carriage is traveling dashed fast.”
“We can’t slow down,” a third man said.
“I knew something would go wrong if they attacked now,” the first man said.
However, his words were muttered, and Phoebe was not entirely certain if she had heard him correctly. Even if she had not, a false alarm would be better than an alarm given too late.
She turned and dove through the open dormer window since it was faster than carefully climbing over the sill. She rolled gracefully as she landed on the wooden floor, then got to her feet and raced downstairs.
There was no one on the upper floors, and Phoebe could hear servants far below in the half-basement, hurrying out the back door and into the mews, where they were squeezing into two of the traveling coaches.
As she descended the stairs toward the entrance hall, she heard Mrs. Coulton-Jones’s voice.
“Isabella, you must be certain to send a note to Mrs. Busby. If you inform her that a sudden illness has caused me to leave London to recuperate in the country, she will be certain to inform all of my acquaintance. Otherwise, I fear that the house, suddenly empty, would attract the sort of attention that I suspect you would wish to avoid.”
Phoebe reached the turn of the stairs and was able to see the woman’s tall, commanding figure as she gave her daughter a slightly arch look.
Mrs. Coulton-Jones had been strangely amenable when her daughter promised to explain everything to her at a later time, but her expression indicated she would not wait long.
Mrs. Coulton-Jones turned to Uncle Sol. “Shall my servants be safe in our country estate? These men could surely find our home in the country and attempt the same evil they have done tonight. Should I send them away so that they will not be in danger?”
Phoebe was rather impressed at how quickly she adapted to the situation, but then again, she was the mother of Mr. Coulton-Jones and Lady Aymer.
“Rest assured,” Uncle Sol said to her, “the enemy will know that we would not leave the servants alone if they had information about where you have gone. They will not bother questioning them.”
“Also,” Isabella said, “it was already a risk for them to attack a London townhouse, even in the middle of the night. There are far more servants at Blakewood Hearth. In the country, if the servants of a nobleman were attacked, the news would spread like wildfire, causing alarm and outrage. It will bring the enemy far too much attention.”
As soon as Phoebe reached the bottom step, she walked up to Uncle Sol. “There’s a carriage coming quickly.”
She heard his heartbeat quicken, but he kept his face stern and controlled. “Then we must hurry out to the mews.”
In the kitchen, Keriah was waiting, clutching her leather satchel, along with Mr. Verling and Mr. Coulton-Jones. Mr. Rosmont had followed Isabella and her mother, having abandoned his watch over the front of the house.
“Have all the servants left?” Uncle Sol asked Mr. Coulton-Jones.
He nodded.
“Why could we not bring the carriage up to the front door?” Mrs. Coulton-Jones asked.
“At the moment, the particular coach we shall use has no driver,” Uncle Sol said. “It is only a short distance, but we must hurry.”
As they entered the mews, the Coulton-Jones’s coachman was leading the horses, hitched to a traveling coach, out through the doors. The other coach waited on the mews road, driven by a groomsman.
Normally, the family hired horses for their servants’ carriages, but the coachman had gone to a nearby stable and hired only three animals.
The fourth was the horse Uncle Sol had purchased from its driver and ridden into the fight in front of the house.
At Blakewood Hearth, the Coulton-Jones’s stablemaster would take better care of the poor animal than its driver had done.
“Drive safely,” Mrs. Coulton-Jones said to Keen.
He nodded to her. “I shall get everyone safe to Blakewood Hearth. Take care, ma’am.”
They did not stay to watch as the vehicles made their way down the lane, for Uncle Sol directed them to walk in the opposite direction.
Phoebe carefully observed each of the unconscious men they had laid out along the edges of the road, but they were all fast asleep, still under the effects of the sedative.
Still, it was unsettling to walk along the cobblestone lane in the darkness, with Norton’s men only a few feet on either side of them.
They turned left at the end of the lane and made their way down another thoroughfare. Isabella walked with her mother, but the strangeness of the situation and the dark quiet of the street was causing Mrs. Coulton-Jones’s heart rate to increase and her breathing to come in quick, short breaths.
Uncle Sol had placed Phoebe nearby the two women to protect them, and she kept her eyes moving all around, alert to any movement—a rat scuttling into the shadows, the swirl of early morning fog as it started to creep into the street.
But it was not long before the looming hulks of two hackney cabs suddenly became visible in the darkness. Their carriage lamps had been blown out, but Phoebe heard two quick heartbeats both within one of the carriages.
She hurried forward and in a low voice, called into one of the cabs, “Aunt Laura, Aya, we are here.”
The door opened and Aunt Laura stepped out, followed by her maid. She quickly went to Mrs. Coulton-Jones and spoke soothingly to her, leading her into one of the cabs.
While the rest of them had been at the Coulton-Jones’s residence, Aunt Laura and Aya had taken a hackney cab to the stable where Dr. Shokes had hidden himself, surrounded by drivers in a secret fighting ring. She had offered an exorbitant amount for two hackney cabs and their horses.
The drivers had likely been instructed to drive the carriages here and then leave them, and her aunt and maid had been waiting alone here for their arrival. Phoebe could only imagine how anxious they must have been, the two women waiting here alone in the dark.
Mr. Rosmont lit the carriage lamps as Isabella, her mother, and her brother were settled into one coach along with Aya. The rest of them squeezed into the second coach.
Before entering the carriage, Aunt Laura spoke to both Mr. Rosmont and Mr. Verling, giving them instructions about what route to take out of London.
“Take this route precisely,” Aunt Laura said.
Far too close, Phoebe could hear rattling wheels, racing over stones at a quick pace. She thought she could smell the faint scent of the Goldensuit and worried that the men within were on the Root.
“Aunt Laura, we must leave.” The men would surely hear the two hackney cabs moving away, and they would also be able to smell the Goldensuit from Phoebe and Mr. Coulton-Jones within the two carriages.
“If we are followed?” Mr. Rosmont asked Aunt Laura, his voice harsh with concern.
Aunt Laura’s answer was stern and confident. “We shall not be.”
Then she turned and entered the carriage, while Mr. Verling climbed up to take the reins.
As they began moving, Aunt Laura said, “Phoebe, you must take the seat by the open window. I shall need to take the seat opposite you.”
On the floor were several packages, and she handed a bulky one to Phoebe. As soon as she closed her fingers around the cloth, she felt her bow and arrows within.
Meanwhile, Aunt Laura lit a carriage lamp. Phoebe was confused, for each carriage had exterior lamps to light the way and there was no need for another within the cab.
“Prepare yourself, Phoebe.” Aunt Laura nodded toward the bundle in her hands.
She hurriedly removed her bow and strung it in the dark, then set the quiver of arrows nearby, resting against the seat next to her. A strange, acrid scent that reminded her of burned grass wafted up from the quiver, and she guessed that Keriah had coated the tips of the arrows with something.
For the first several minutes, she was hopeful that they had escaped without being noticed. Mr. Rosmont and Mr. Verling drove the two carriages down the darkened streets, quickly but not urgently.
But then Phoebe heard the rumbling of carriage wheels, the galloping of horseshoes striking on stone.
“We are being followed,” she said, glancing at Uncle Sol.
But he simply looked to Aunt Laura, who nodded to him. Her aunt thumped the roof of the hackney cab, and Mr. Verling slapped the reins, urging the horses into a gallop.
The occupants of the coach were jostled about, and Phoebe grabbed the edge of the window to remain steady. She poked her head out to look behind them, but she saw only Mr. Rosmont driving the other carriage.
“Phoebe,” Aunt Laura said, “do you recall Mr. Ackett’s preferred method of traversing about London?”
Phoebe suddenly understood and leaned out the window again, but this time her eyes glanced at the rooftops of the houses on either side of them.
At first she saw nothing, but then she thought she spotted a dark shadow briefly on the peaked roof of one of the houses. Then from another house, she saw a roof slate tumbling to the ground.
The men were following from the rooftops. They had the strength and speed to traverse the dangerous conditions, and while the coaches must adhere to the roads, the men on the rooftops did not.
But surely, the coaches were going too fast for men to follow? Even if they were on the Root, they would need to climb up and down, avoiding chimneys and parapets.
Phoebe kept an arrow pointed upward. She occasionally saw a man’s shadowy figure as he climbed over peaked roofs to follow them.
It was then that she noticed they were taking a rather roundabout route if they intended to eventually use one of the roads out of the city. The carriages turned another corner, causing them to slow down.
Within a few minutes, one of the men on the rooftops was much closer than before.
Close enough to jump down onto one of the carriages.