Chapter 35
Mrs. Ainsley reacted with remarkable sangfroid, admitted Wrexford. Shock rippled through her eyes as she recoiled a step. But her pistol remained unshakably aimed at Sheffield.
“How the devil did you get the key that Manchester so carelessly lost to that thieving little urchin?” she asked calmly.
“Like you, I have a network of informants,” replied Wrexford.
“But let us put aside trading stories about our past feats of cleverness. The jig is up.” He stared at the lady’s face, wondering how the delicate veneer of beauty had not been eaten away by the rot inside her.
“Drop your weapon. This time there’s no escaping justice. ”
“Your claim of victory is a trifle premature, sir. The way I see it, there are actually several ways this confrontation can play out,” said Mrs. Ainsley.
“You can shoot me in cold blood, which, I concede, means you win. But I’m betting that even though you’re sorely tempted, your gentlemanly scruples won’t allow you to commit outright murder. ”
“Scruples be damned, Wrex!” called Sheffield.
“If I were you, sir, I would keep my mouth shut,” she snapped before once again addressing the earl. “A second scenario is that since you are going to haul me away to be strung up on the gallows, I simply shoot either your friend or your wife out of pure spite.”
Wrexford tightened his fingers ever so slightly on the triggers of his pistols, wishing he didn’t have such a cursedly inflexible conscience.
“And then there is the third option, which I think we would both find more agreeable—you simply let me walk away.”
She had nerve, he gave her that. But two could play the game of thrust and parry.
The earl allowed another few moments to slide by before giving a curt nod.
“Fine.” He moved away from the door, giving her a clear path to the opening. “You’re free to go.”
Mrs. Ainsley laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “Surely you don’t think I’m that stupid?” she asked. “The moment I step onto the landing and lose the angle for a shot, I’ll be overwhelmed by the reinforcements you no doubt have waiting to pounce.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
She pointed to a hatchway set discreetly in the corner of the far wall.
“Damien was smart to know that an escape route is always wise when one engages in criminal activity—especially as many of the hideously expensive items that he sells to the ton are fakes. So he converted an old coal chute into a means of quick egress.”
A pause. “As you see, I have a clear bead on my chosen target until I pull the iron hatchway door shut and lock it.”
They stared at each other, neither one blinking as several seconds slipped by in fraught silence.
“Get out of my sight,” snarled Wrexford. “Before I change my mind.”
“I knew you were a man of logic and pragmatism.” Mrs. Ainsley was already backing away to freedom.
“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, sir.
What a pity you possess a conscience. You would make a superb partner in crime.
You’re the only one who has ever had the cleverness to come close to unmasking me. ”
The earl remained silent. Though he couldn’t recall it offhand, Charlotte likely had a Latin aphorism for “she who laughs last, laughs best.”
Keeping her pistol steady, Mrs. Ainsley released the locking mechanism of the hatchway with one hand and backed into the chute. And then, in the next instant, the door slammed shut.
“Oiy.” Raven cocked an ear and gestured for Eddy to crouch down. “I just heard a thud.”
The two of them had left MacArthur by the front entrance of the emporium to alert Griffin and his men as to what was going on, while they reconnoitered around the back of the building.
“Oiy, I heard it too,” said Eddy, glancing around at the amorphous shapes and shadows playing hide-and-seek within the faint dappling of moonlight. “I think it came from over there.”
“I’ll go first,” said Raven, easing his pocket pistol out of his coat.
She didn’t argue.
The breeze freshened, stirring a whispery rustle from the leaves of the boxwood hedge running along the wall.
The muddled sound of more thuds drew the pair of them to a spot by the corner of the building.
A large iron chute rose up from the foundation, its flat top crowned with a hinged metal hatch cover.
“Someone’s coming,” whispered Eddy, hearing more sounds from within. She felt for her weapon. “What should we do?”
Raven hesitated as the thumps grew louder. “I have an idea.” He quickly explained what he had in mind.
The rusty growl of bolts being unscrewed reverberated through the thick metal.
“Hurry!” He punctuated the order with a push. “Get in place.” They both raced for cover and hid themselves with not a moment to spare.
The hatch cover rose with a grunt and squeak, and a shadowed face peered out. After a moment of watching and waiting, the figure of a lady emerged, pistol in hand.
She did another quick survey …
Raven drew in a deep breath and noiselessly shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
And then the lady jumped down to the ground.
Now, Eddy! Now! He fisted his hands, willing the cosmos to carry his silent plea to her ears.
BANG!
Sparks flashed as a pistol shot erupted. Startled, the lady spun around and reflexively fired back.
In the same instant, Raven exploded from his hiding place, gathering momentum as his boots pounded over the muddy path. Lowering his shoulder, he barreled into her, wrapping his arms around her knees and clinging like a limpet to her thrashing legs.
The impact sent both of them sprawling across the grassy verge of the back garden.
Swearing, kicking, scratching, Mrs. Ainsley fought like a demon to dislodge her assailant.
“Let go of me, you filthy guttersnipe!” she screamed, nearly choking on her rage and frustration.
She grabbed hold of Raven’s hair and—
“Release yer bloody hold on ’im, you witch.” Moonlight illuminated the silver glint of a pistol snout hovering just above the center point of Mrs. Ainsley’s forehead. “Or I’ll spatter yer brains te Kingdom Come.”
Hissing some very unladylike words, she did as she was told.
“Well, well, well.” The overlarge silhouette of Griffin suddenly materialized from the mist, his shadow falling over the scene. “It seems that His Lordship’s little raggle-taggle army is out in full force tonight.”
“Don’t let her escape!” huffed Raven, rubbing at his scratched and bleeding face as he hurriedly rose. He grabbed Eddy and retreated into the gloom before adding, “The witch is a damn varlet.”
“Lies! Shoot the dirty vermin—they were trying to rob me!” cried Mrs. Ainsley.
“Oh, I think not,” replied the Runner, keeping his pistol pointed at her.
“H-How dare you! I’m the wife of Bertram Ainsley, a governor of the Bank of England, and I’ll have your head on a platter if you don’t escort me home this instant!”
“Given why I was summoned here, it’s far more likely that I’ll have your head in a noose,” countered Griffin.
“Weasels!” A worried shout from Wrexford clawed its way through the bushes.
“Safe and sound, milord!” answered the Runner, “though they’re beating a hasty retreat.”
“Never mind that. I’ll see to them later.”
“Is Mr. Sheffield—” began the Runner.
“He, too, is safe and sound, though a bit bruised.” Wrexford pushed through the branches. “Well done in nabbing this miscreant.”
“Oh, it wasn’t me, milord.” Griffin chuckled. “It was your urchins who captured the lady. They deserve an extra few shillings for their gallant services tonight.”
“Be assured they will be well rewarded.”
A cough. “By the by, you should know that at least one of them has somehow acquired a firearm. I’m not sure my superiors would like it if they knew some of London’s guttersnipes were armed.” Another chuckle. “And clearly dangerous.”
“You may leave that in my hands as well. They’re of no threat to the citizens of the city—or to your reputation,” said Wrexford, before turning to address Mrs. Ainsley.
The lady had scrambled to her feet and was now brushing the dirt from her cloak with an air of icy nonchalance that made his blood boil.
Fury over all the death and destruction she had caused welled up in his throat. But all he allowed himself to say was, “You’ve run out of options, madam. It’s now time to answer for your crimes.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, milord,” replied Mrs. Ainsley.
“In the fear and confusion wrought by Manchester’s kidnapping of your friend and then your wife, you must have misinterpreted my actions.
I was only trying to help, and when Manchester’s lies unhinged my brother, I simply saved the government the task of bringing him to justice. ”
Wrexford restrained the ungentlemanly urge to plant her a facer.
“As for accusing me, you have no proof of my involvement in any wrongdoing,” she added. “I assure you, my husband will hire a very skilled solicitor—and he has a great many friends in high places.”
“As do I,” answered the earl. “But I won’t need them, for you’re wrong about having no witnesses to your perfidy.
I had two companions with me earlier, and they were stationed just outside the vault’s door.
” A pause. “One of them was Archie Campbell’s genius son, who will swear by all that is holy that he remembers your voice, as it often plagues his nightmares. ”
The announcement finally chased the look of smug sangfroid from her face. “You’ve been hiding him—” she sputtered, then regained her composure. “He was always a bright lad. He’ll realize that if he testifies against me, he’ll go to the gallows as well.”
“On the contrary,” countered Wrexford. “The government will have no desire to rake up the Lisbon Conspiracy scandal and look like incompetent fools for the second time. They don’t give a damn about Archie Campbell’s son, for nobody believes the rumors that a mere child was the artistic genius behind the old scandal.
You, however, have proved to be a serious menace, and they will seize the opportunity to hang you from the gibbet as a common criminal for the murder of your lover, Damien Manchester. ”