Chapter 20 #2
Once satisfied that every speck of grit was removed, they left the shooting range with McClellan.
On approaching the back entrance of Egg’s shop, Raven looked around to make sure they were alone.
“While you make the arrangements with Mr. Egg, I need to have a private word with Mr. MacArthur and pass on a message from Wrex.”
McClellan nodded. “Take your time. I can be very garrulous with Mr. Egg if necessary.”
After entering, Raven turned to the right and slipped into the corridor leading to the workrooms. The far door to the main show room was ajar, and just as he was about to dart into MacArthur’s space, the bell over the street door jingled as a patron exited the shop.
Raven froze for an instant as he caught sight of the gentleman’s profile. Swallowing a spurt of panic, he whirled around and sprinted back the way he had come. Spotting a storage nook, he took shelter in its shadows and fought to regain control of his racing heart.
A gulp of air … and then another.
Slowly, slowly, the wave of terror receded.
After scrubbing a hand over his face—hoping to wipe away any lingering vestige of fear from his face—he retraced his steps and knocked softly on MacArthur’s door.
It took only a few moments to pass on the short message that Wrexford and Sheffield wished to visit the warehouse later that night and meet for further discussion with Perkins and his partners.
Once he was back in the corridor, Raven took another deep breath and made his way to Egg’s office, where McClellan was nattering on to the gunmaker about the healthful effects of ginger on the digestive system.
“I shall bring you a batch of my biscuits on my next visit,” she finished, before turning and placing a hand on her hip. “Did you find the shilling that fell out of your pocket?”
Raven bowed his head in response to the excuse they had created to allow him to pass the earl’s message to MacArthur. “I just remembered—I left it in my other jacket.”
“Well, then, I suppose you will have to forgo buying a sack of sweets at Gunter’s on our way home.” She winked at Egg. “Or perhaps I could be convinced to loan you a coin in return for a promise to straighten up the bookshelves in the schoolroom.”
“I would advise you to take that bargain, lad.” The gunmaker patted his stomach. “But then, I am very partial to horehound drops.”
“We all favor Pontefract cakes,” confided Eddy, after a quizzical glance at Raven. “Though they do tend to turn your tongue a disgusting shade of black.”
“Then I would counsel you not to eat them right before attending a ball at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, milady.”
“A very wise suggestion, sir.” Eddy stifled a giggle. “I shall keep that in mind.”
“Come, come.” McClellan made a brusque shooing gesture. “Let us not take up any more of Mr. Egg’s valuable time. I’m sure he would like to get back to his work.”
“Until next week.” The gunmaker rose and inclined a bow. “Enjoy your visit to Gunter’s. And please be sure to pass on my regards to His Lordship.”
Eddy waited until they were out of the shop and walking through the garden leading to Grosvenor Street before slowing her steps and fixing Raven with a searching stare.
“What happened between you and Mr. MacArthur?” she demanded. “You looked as if the devil had just risen from a pit of brimstone and spit fire in your face when you entered Mr. Egg’s office.”
Raven gave an involuntary shudder.
McClellan discreetly seized his arm and gave him a firm shake. “Breathe,” she commanded. “A deep inhale and exhale—and don’t stop until I deem that your face is no longer white as chalk.”
She watched him with a basilisk eye, finally allowing him to halt after a half dozen in-and-outs.
“It had nothing to do with MacArthur,” explained Raven. “I passed on Wrex’s message without a hitch. But just before I entered his workplace, I saw a man exiting the shop—”
“Yes, as we approached the showroom, I got a glimpse of him as he turned from perusing one of the pistols on display and took his leave,” interjected Eddy. “I don’t think he noticed us, for he simply moved to the door and left the shop.”
“But I’m guessing that you got a good look at his face,” said McClellan to Raven.
A nod. “It was the false soldier—the one who would have cut out my entrails if Hawk hadn’t reacted so quickly.”
“Are you sure—” began Eddy, and then bit her lip. “Of course you are sure.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Ye heavens, I noticed that he was walking with a slight limp.”
Raven nodded, and then looked around quickly to be sure nobody was close.
“Our family could be in terrible danger,” he whispered in a rush.
“If the dastard has somehow learned that Mr. Campbell was Hawk’s drawing teacher, and that Wrex has now hired Egg’s assistant—who we now know is Campbell’s nephew—he might guess at Wrex’s involvement in the investigation. ”
His eyes flared with fear. “And if he looks more closely, it could threaten all our secrets.”
McClellan had kept hold of his arm and now gave it another shake. “Let us not panic. Your nemesis could simply be a patron of the shop. After all, Egg is one of the best gunsmiths in London, with a long list of influential clients.”
“I—I s’ppose,” conceded Raven.
“Perhaps he needed to replace the pistol you took,” offered Eddy.
“Rather than waste time speculating, we should hurry home and inform His Lordship of what has transpired,” decided McClellan. “Sorry, but Gunter’s will have to wait for another time.”