“Everleigh!” Prissy gasped.
Mimi sniffed. “Really, sir. That is quite enough.”
“Come, Sophie,” Prissy said. “Let us wait in the carriage.”
“Sit down, Lady Priscilla,” Lord Everleigh said.
She looked around. “But it is filthy. I will not—”
He pointed the pistol. “You will sit down.”
Prissy obediently slid back onto a table. She glanced at the others with an uneasy expression. “Everleigh, what are you playing at? I don’t like it.”
He stroked a finger along the gun’s barrel. “Oh, my dear, it will only get worse from here.”
Prissy’s brows pulled together, and she held her lips tightly as if she were going to break into tears. She looked at Mimi and Sophie, wanting an explanation. “I don’t . . .” She blinked, not knowing what to say.
“Do you want to tell her, my lady, or shall I?” Lord Everleigh said to Sophie.
“Prissy, Lord Everleigh is a murderer.” Sophie spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of glorifying his actions or give her sister fuel for the hysterics that were surely near to spilling out.
Mimi drew in a breath.
Lord Everleigh gave an extravagant bow.
“But . . .” Prissy looked at Sophie as if waiting for her to confirm this was all a joke. Seeing that her sister was serious, she looked at Mimi. “No. I can’t believe it.”
“You will,” Lord Everleigh said. He gave a sneer, stalking toward her. “Very soon.”
Prissy cowered back.
“Stop it,” Sophie said.
He turned the pistol toward Sophie, moving in her direction. “Shall I? Shall I stop? Have I gone too far, my lady?”
Sophie knew he wished to frighten her, that he derived a twisted sort of pleasure from the power he held over them. She held her head up and didn’t allow her fear to show.
“Sophie . . . ,” Prissy said.
“Just do what he says, and remain quiet,” Sophie told her. She didn’t take her eyes from Lord Everleigh’s pistol, staring at it in frozen fascination. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.
Footsteps sounded, and Hans Hofman entered the room.
Lord Everleigh turned away, and Sophie’s insides clenched. Her shaking started in earnest now.
Hans looked around the room with a horrified expression, his eyes growing wider as he took in the situation. “Vat is this, Everleigh? Vat have you done?”
“They know, Hans,” Everleigh said in a calm voice, shrugging a shoulder and smoothing down his mustache with the tips of his fingers. “It can’t be helped.”
Sophie looked back to the other exit. Maybe while the two men were distracted, speaking to each other . . . She caught Prissy’s gaze, motioning to the doorway with her eyes.
Prissy looked behind at the exit, then back to the men, shaking her head.
Mimi sat quietly on the other side of the room, petting Dorrit, but her face was ashen. Her composure was an act to keep her granddaughters calm. She was nearer to the exit than any of them.
Perhaps Mimi could make an escape. Sophie caught her grandmother’s eye, tipping her head toward the doorway.
Mimi gave a small shake of her head. She’d not leave her grandchildren behind.
Hans scrubbed his palms over his cheeks. “Everleigh, it must stop. We cannot keep . . . I cannot.” He motioned to the structure overhead. “I agreed only to burning the building. Nobody vould get hurt; ve vould have our railroad.” He lowered his hands and looked at the women. “But this. This has gone too far.”
“Do you want to hang, Hans?” Lord Everleigh spun the revolver in a slow rotation on his finger, watching it with a casual air. “I hear the long drop snaps a man’s neck almost immediately, but not always. Then, of course, you must slowly suffocate as your brain is deprived of blood and oxygen.”
Hans’s already pale face looked even whiter. “No. Of course not.”
Sophie caught Prissy’s gaze and darted her eyes to the exit again. Run! She tried to will the word from her thoughts to her sister’s. Go now!
“They are the only ones who know.” Lord Everleigh waved the pistol toward the women. “The police will never figure it out. This is the last of it, Hans. It ends today.”
Hans glanced at the ladies and back to his friend. After a moment he gave a reluctant nod.
Sophie’s blood went cold.
Everleigh smiled, patting Hans on the shoulder. He turned to face them. “Now, where to begin . . .” He glanced at his companion, spreading his hand as if being generous. “Would you care for the honors?”
Hans still looked sickened, but he clenched his jaw and nodded, looking resolved to what he must do.
Sophie tensed, ready to fight or run.
Hans looked between the women, and his gaze settled on Prissy. He started toward her.
Prissy scrambled back over the table, falling in her haste to escape. She fought against her skirts, struggling to her feet, and ran toward the door.
Hans chased after her, grabbing her by the arms.
Dorrit started barking.
Lord Everleigh started toward Sophie, but hearing the dog, he changed direction, veering toward Mimi and raising the pistol.
Mimi pulled the dog close against her chest.
Energy surged through Sophie. “Do not touch my grandmother!” She ran at Lord Everleigh, grabbing on to his extended arm.
She’d hoped to pull off his aim or disarm him, but he was much stronger than she’d believed. He twisted and gave a shove that sent Sophie backward. She crashed into a broken chair and hit her head. Something sharp dug into her ribs, and for an instant, she couldn’t draw a breath. She shook her head at the haziness and tried to get to her feet, the instinct to protect her family stronger than the pain. But her movements were sluggish.
“Sophie, stay down!”
She must be imagining Jonathan’s voice. He couldn’t really . . . She shook her head again, feeling dizzy as she pushed herself up to a sitting position to lean back against the wall. The room was blurry, but she could still make out the details.
At least half a dozen blue uniforms of police officers filled the doorway. Sergeant Lester jerked Hans away from Prissy, and Jonathan crossed the room toward Sophie at a run.
She let her eyes close as relief made her limp. We are saved. She breathed out a heavy breath.
Hearing a shout, her eyes flew open in time to see Lord Everleigh spin, his pistol aimed at Jonathan.
The constables drew back.
Jonathan stepped to the side, blocking Sophie.
Lord Everleigh grabbed Prissy, holding an arm around her waist and pulling her toward the exit. He turned the gun toward Sophie’s sister. “You will let me through.”
The constables moved aside, leaving the exit clear.
Lord Everleigh frowned, apparently not liking his chances of walking through the police, even with a hostage. He backed up, instead moving toward the other exit.
Prissy stumbled backward.
“Don’t even think about moving.” He jerked the pistol up in a demonstration that made the entire room flinch.
He’s getting away! Sophie looked frantically around the room, but nobody dared charge the man while he held a gun to Prissy’s head.
Lord Everleigh backed up farther, a conceited curl on his lip.
Prissy was utterly terrified. Her face had flushed, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She made a whimpering noise.
From the far side of the room, Dorrit barked.
And just like that, Sophie knew what to do. Her heartbeat sped up, and she focused. The timing must be just right.
Lord Everleigh took another step back.
Now. Sophie whistled. “Biscuit, Dorrit,” she called in a sing-song voice.
&n
bsp; Dorrit leaped from Mimi’s lap and ran toward her, moving behind Lord Everleigh’s feet just as the man stepped backward.
The small dog was just near enough to make him lose his footing. Lord Everleigh stumbled, spreading out his arm to keep his balance.
The instant the gun was no longer aimed at Prissy, Jonathan pounced, tackling the man to the floor. He wrestled the pistol from his hand.
Sergeant Lester handed off his prisoner to another officer and sprang forward to catch a swooning Prissy before she hit the ground.
Mimi snatched up Dorrit, cooing over the confused animal as the police shackled the criminals.
An instant later Jonathan’s arms were around Sophie.
She wept against his shoulder, shaking and clinging to him as tightly as she could.
“You’re safe now, Sophie. It’s over.”
“He . . . Lord Everleigh . . .”
“He can’t hurt you now.” He shifted, sitting on the ground and pulling away to examine her head. His eyes tightened as he moved the hair from her forehead. “This should be treated by a doctor.” He drew out a handkerchief from his jacket and pressed it to her head.
“Mimi? Prissy?”
“They are unharmed.”
Sophie felt supremely foolish, but she could not stop weeping. Her eyes and nose were dribbling, and she was making a hiccupping sound.
Jonathan pulled her against him, his arm tightening around her. “That was brilliant, you know,” he said. “Calling the dog.”
His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear. She nestled closer, wincing at the pain in her side but not wanting to pull away and see what caused it.
“Sir, the suspects are on their way to H Division. And the other ladies wait in the carriage.” Sergeant Lester’s voice sounded above Sophie’s head. “I thought perhaps Dr. Peabody should have a look at ’em before they return home.”
“Very good, Sergeant,” Jonathan said.
“And Lady Sophronia?” the sergeant said. “She is well?”
“She will be,” Jonathan said. “Tend to the other women, Sergeant.”
The sergeant’s footsteps grew fainter as he moved away.
“Come along, Sophie. It’s time to leave now,” Jonathan’s voice rumbled again.
Her weeping had finally stopped, but she did not feel fully settled. “Will you hold me just a bit longer?” she asked, feeling silly at the request.
Jonathan laid his head on hers, careful to avoid her wound, and drew her closer against him. “As long as you’d like.”
Chapter 23
Sir Dennington sat back in his chair, a pleased smile on his face. Jonathan, Sophie, and Sergeant Lester had just finished delivering their report. The three sat across from the chief inspector, Sophie between the two men.
Two days had passed since they’d apprehended Lord Everleigh, Hans Hofman, and Duncan the carriage driver and charged them with the murders, but the business was far from finished.
The men would be granted a trial, and they would naturally hire the best barristers in the country to defend them. Jonathan didn’t believe it would do any good. Not when three members of Lord Mather’s household would give testimony. He frowned, not liking the idea of the ladies having to recount their experience in front of a magistrate. But all three of them had insisted, and if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that arguing with Sophie, Lady Priscilla, or the Dowager Lady Mather was a futile endeavor.
Jonathan glanced at Sophie. Though she claimed to be perfectly recovered, he knew her wounds still pained her. The puncture in her side from the broken corset bone in particular caused her to wince when she shifted, and her eyes still seemed a bit unfocused. Doctor Peabody had told her to expect headaches for at least a few weeks.
Seeing her in pain, Jonathan couldn’t help but feel glad the H Division holding cells had been so crowded the past days as they’d welcomed their newest occupants. The other prisoners hadn’t been impressed in the least with the men’s credentials, and Jonathan imagined sleepless nights as Lord Everleigh and Hans Hofman worried what might happen should they fall asleep. He hoped the pair of murderers, especially Lord Everleigh, had found his new cell at Newgate equally unforgiving.
“The commissioner was very pleased with your strategy,” Sir Dennington said. “Flushing out the killers through a newspaper article. He thought the idea ingenious.”
“And I hope you did not correct him,” Jonathan said.
“I did not.” Sir Dennington smiled. “I expect you’ll be promoted, Detective. And you as well, Sergeant.” He folded his hands across his belly, looking extremely pleased. “After my own advancement, of course.”
“That is wonderful,” Sophie said. She patted Sergeant Lester’s hand. “You are both very deserving of the recognition.” She turned to Jonathan, wincing when she twisted, and reached to pat his hand as well but pulled back, her cheeks going pink.
“And you, Lady Sophronia,” Sir Dennington continued. “Your help in this case was invaluable. And apprehending the murderers—”
“As I said, sir, my assistance was very minimal. You have an excellent police force.”
He nodded. “That we do, my lady.”
Once the interview was finished and Sophie had bid a fond farewell to Sergeant Lester, Jonathan accompanied her outside to the waiting
carriage.
The two hadn’t spoken since he’d brought her to the hospital two days earlier, and the air between them felt heavy with words unsaid. Words he didn’t know how to say. Feelings he couldn’t acknowledge. He felt a sick ache and a frustration at his own fears. Better just to let it end than risk being hurt. The investigation was over, and he had no reason to contact Lady Sophronia again. Was this goodbye?
Standing back as the carriage driver opened the door, Jonathan took Sophie’s hand to help her climb inside.
But Sophie paused before getting in. She turned, holding her other hand against her side as she did. “Detective, I wonder if we might walk for a moment.”
“In Whitechapel?” He glanced along the narrow street, at the crowds moving between vendors. Horse leavings and garbage piled in the gutters, and the smell of bodies and animals in close quarters hardly created the atmosphere for a pleasant afternoon constitutional.
“Perhaps we might find a cart with meat pies?”
Jonathan spread his hand in the direction of the food vendors.
Sophie gave instructions for her driver to wait.
As they made their way through the crowds, Jonathan kept a hand at the small of her back and an eye on the bag hanging from her elbow. Though it was still day, the area was not safe for a young woman in a costly gown.
They purchased meat pies and continued on, walking in silence as they ate. He didn’t have a route in mind, but after a few moments, Jonathan realized they were walking toward Spitalfields and steered her in the direction of the Porky Pie. At least there, they could speak in relative privacy. He sensed she had something to say, and perhaps he did as well. If he could only find the courage.
Finishing his meat pie, he crumpled the greasy paper into a ball. His hands were sweaty as he tried to put words in his mind to the things he wanted to tell her. They arrived on Wentworth Street, and Sophie glanced up the road. “Oh, I know where we are.”
“Perhaps a drink?” he suggested.
Sophie nodded, breaking off a piece of her pie’s pastry and biting into it.
Luckily the pub was quiet before the evening rush. Jonathan and Sophie sat at the same table they had the first time they’d come. That night seemed an eternity ago, when in reality it had been only a week. The server with the scarf around her hair brought their drinks, and once she left them alone, Sophie set down the last of her pie.
Jonathan handed her a handkerchief for the grease.
“Detective, I promise I did not authorize that
article to be published.” She rubbed the handkerchief on her fingertips.
“You do not need—”
“Please, let me explain.”
He nodded.
“I left my notebook unattended. I should have been more vigilant with the information you entrusted me with. The newspaper editor found the pictures and my notes and printed them without my permission. I would never have done that to you, Jonathan.”
The sound of his Christian name on her lips made him pause, his heart catching.
“The investigation means more to me than just information for an article.” She folded the handkerchief on the table. “You mean more to me.”
She didn’t look up, but her cheeks darkened at the last sentence, turning her words into cannonballs, smashing holes in the barricades around Jonathan’s heart.
“I should have known it was something like this,” he said. He looked into his glass as he spoke. “I should have given you the chance to defend yourself instead of forming a conclusion and—treating you as I did.”
“You felt betrayed,” she said. “I do not blame you for your anger.”
“I should not have lost my temper. It was inexcusable.” You mean more to me as well. He thought the words but could not make himself say them.
They sat in silence for a moment. Jonathan took a long drink and set the glass back on the table. “Sophie, that folder you gave me—”
“I should not have been so presumptuous,” she said. “It was no business of mine; I just wanted to know . . . to understand you better.” Her cheeks were aflame.
“I thank you for it,” Jonathan said. He reached for her hand. “It was . . . it meant . . .” He shook his head, frustrated that the words didn’t sound right. “I needed it.”
She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad.”
He finished his drink and glanced at the window, not wanting to be in Spitalfields after dark. “We should go.”
As they walked back, Sophie slipped her hand through his arm.
Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1) Page 23
