The first thing I spotted was Colin squatting a short distance away peering through a roof access door. I leaned over and waved at the two boys to let them know I had made it safely, but neither seemed much interested. I figured I would have to pay them for a better response.
I glanced back at Colin and was startled to find him staring in my direction. I had thought my arrival appropriately furtive but had apparently overestimated myself. He gestured down with his open palm and I knew he meant for me to stay low. Keeping my legs bent and my hands on the roof, I moved rather like an ape who has yet to master walking upright.
“What’s all over your face?” Colin asked the moment I reached him.
“Mud,” I grumbled. “Courtesy of your urchins.”
He chuckled. “They’re good lads. And how’d you do with the corporal?”
“I got it.”
“Excellent!” He cuffed me before turning and glancing back through the doorway he’d been holding open with the toe of a boot.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re allowing the Nesbitt-Normand case to solve itself.” He grinned. “A carriage driven by Edwina Easterbrooke’s houseman and bearing both Miss Easterbrooke and a package the diameter of an oversized hatbox left the Easterbrooke flat little more than an hour ago. It made its way inside this warehouse, where it has been waiting patiently ever since.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Not what.” He looked back at me with a smirk. “Who.”
“It’s just as you said then—they mean to get rid of their hostage.”
“Precisely. Now listen closely, because we’re only going to get one chance at this. There is a catwalk running along the perimeter of the ceiling just a few steps below us. I’m going to wedge this old whore of a door open just enough for us to get inside. We need to witness everything that happens here tonight.”
I nodded as he set to work easing the door open one millimeter at a time. It was painstaking work, with the door giving grudgingly, but at least it wasn’t screeching under his duress. I looked at the hinges, amazed at their continued silence, and was surprised to find them glistening as though after a recent rain. “Did you put oil on those?” I whispered, wondering where he would have found any.
“No. Piss.”
“What?!”
“The acid makes a passable lubricant for rust.” He shrugged. “And I had to go anyway.” He worked the door to just about the halfway point before quietly sidling inside. “Not a word,” he mouthed under his breath.
I shook my head as I stepped in behind him, making sure not to brush against the door or its frame. We left it like that, gaping like a toothless rummy, and I knew it would stay that way until someone else came along and recoaxed those hinges back to life—one way or another.
Colin pulled me down beside him and I caught my first glimpse at the catwalk itself. It was wrought iron and not even four feet high, which meant we would have to move about on our hands and knees. A notion my joints were already loathing.
I gazed down and saw a single carriage on the warehouse floor amid a sea of stacked crates and boxes. Rows of skylights glowed with the moon’s frosty brilliance, bathing the great space below in diffused light. A small lantern flickered near the carriage, seemingly serving no other purpose than to further banish the darkness. I couldn’t see anyone nor could I detect any movement within the carriage itself, as its curtains were drawn, without even the faintest sliver of light peeking from within.
Colin beckoned me with a wave and we began to make our way through the silent darkness high above the warehouse floor. My knees objected almost at once, but I determined to pay them no heed as I worked to keep Colin from disappearing from sight.
A sudden clatter on our left startled me, but Colin took advantage of it to move quicker. I had to redouble my efforts to keep up with him and was relieved when he finally slowed and came to a halt. He pointed a short distance ahead to a metal ladder attached to the wall that descended to the floor. Given the steadily increasing clamor coming out of the darkness, it seemed that now was as good a time as any to make our move. It took another minute before I recognized that the thunderous racket was the sound of one of the warehouse doors grinding open. I only hoped it was to allow someone entry rather than for Miss Easterbrooke to leave. The thought of accomplishing nothing after all this effort felt intolerable.
Colin grabbed hold of the ladder and swung himself onto it, quickly dropping from sight. I followed suit, clinging to those cold metal rungs as I made my way down, all the while hoping the ladder was well attached to the wall passing inches from my face.
My feet found the floor faster than I had anticipated and I arrived at Colin’s side just in time to hear another carriage clatter past on the other side of the crates we were hiding behind. A low, deep voice urged the horse to slow and then stop, and before the animal even settled Colin started creeping forward on the balls of his feet. I stayed right behind him, though he had yet to signal me forward.
Hurried footsteps rushed toward us from the direction of the grinding door as we plastered ourselves against the tower of crates. I cautiously leaned into a crevice of light cast between the gap along two rows of boxes and caught sight of Edwina Easterbrooke’s man, Alvin, rushing past. I was certain he had gone by too quickly to have spied us, yet my heartbeat ratcheted just the same.
Colin moved off in the same direction and I trailed him, trying to keep my footsteps in a steady rhythm with his. Even so, I had to slow down, as it seemed the tap, tap, tap of my shoes echoing against the wood floor would surely give us away. I was considering removing my shoes entirely when I glanced up and realized I had lost Colin. Stacks of crates stretching more than fifteen feet above me formed so complete a maze that I could no longer even be sure if I was heading in the right direction. The cascading moonlight did little to dispel my confusion as it struck the tops of the towering containers, diffusing itself at oblique angles but never quite reaching where I was stumbling about.
My heart thundered in my ears as I stopped for a moment and struggled to get my bearings. I couldn’t spot the warehouse walls through the jumble of boxes and began to fear that I was moving in an ever-increasing circle. I cursed myself for being so careless as I pulled the foul-smelling cloak tighter around myself and began slowly creeping along, all the while listening for anything that would help me decipher my whereabouts. Drawing my breath with methodical precision, I strained to catch a murmuring voice, the snort of a horse, or even a carriage wheel clicking idly against the floor. Something . . . anything . . .
I snuck across an intersection of boxes and was on the verge of hazarding another breath when a hand clamped over my mouth at the same instant an arm seized my chest, yanking me backwards and nearly arresting my heart. “Ssshhh,” Colin hissed, his lips raking my ear. He released me and pointed to the left through a tiny space between two enormous crates. I could just make out a bit of Edwina Easterbrooke standing in a small circle of light by her carriage. She was not more than twenty feet from where we were, wearing a most grim expression.
“This has become a torment,” she suddenly spoke up. “I have had enough.”
Colin edged forward between the two spires of crates, sliding his boots across the floor with exquisite slowness to keep from making so much as a whisper of sound. I followed him, moving in tandem to ensure I was equally stealthy. As I peered over his shoulder I saw that Alvin was standing next to Miss Easterbrooke with an oversized package cradled in his arms. It was indeed the size of a large hatbox, only there was a furious commotion coming from inside: low whining and the occasional pop against its side, none of which was lost on Miss Easterbrooke. With militaristic precision, she spun on Alvin and jerked an arm toward his face as though about to backhand him.
“Mum?” he said.
“Let her out.”
“No!” came a familiar voice from somewhere to our left, but Alvin paid it no heed. He set the box on the floor and wrenched the lid o
pen, and immediately a small cream and black muzzle popped up to sniff the stale air. The compact face looked to be wearing a smile and appeared quite unperturbed at having suffered such ignominy. In an instant the pup reared back and leapt free of the case, revealing a sweet little feminine form, trim and stylish, with a perfect corkscrew tail at her nether end. Lady Priscilla Elizabeth Windsor Hanover Nesbitt-Normand was in our presence.
I started to smile until the little dog abruptly turned and came charging toward us, her tongue lolling to one side as her tiny tail beat a happy rhythm only she could hear. It was as if the pug knew we had come to rescue her.
Before Alvin could start after Lady Priscilla, Colin stepped from our hiding place and scooped the little pug into his arms, slipping the small bit of dried pig hide that he’d been holding into her mouth. “Well, well,” he purred. “Aren’t you just the most beautiful little girl.”
Edwina Easterbrooke swooned, sagging backwards against her carriage as Alvin scuttled over to attend her. I moved out of the shadows behind Colin just as I heard a voice say, “You schtupid woman. You let dem follow you here. Dummkopf.” A look of unbridled disgust was evident on Elsa’s face.
“This was her idea!” Edwina Easterbrooke howled. “It was her!”
“Shut up,” Elsa warned.
“I won’t . . . ,” Edwina gasped, a hand fluttering to her throat as though to protect herself from attack. “She came to us. She knew I wanted to breed my little boy. He is a former champion—” Her eyes looked desperate. “You know that, Mr. Pendragon. You’ve met him.” Colin just stared at her. “She said Lady Nesbitt-Normand would never agree to it. That she disparaged my Buster Brown.” Miss Easterbrooke sagged even farther against Alvin, who held her emaciated frame without the slightest show of effort. “I am simply destroyed.”
“You’re a fool!” Elsa snapped.
“That horrible woman said she would deliver Lady Priscilla to us in exchange for the pick of the litter. I swear it.” Miss Easterbrooke, on the one hand, looked so frail that I feared if Alvin released her she might simply tumble apart. Elsa, on the other hand, appeared to be suffering from no such attack of feebleness. With the low-slung stance of a bulldog and the ferocity of a sow bear defending her cub, she made me begin to fear for us all.
“Der is nussing wrong vit da little lady. I have seen to dat. No harm done.”
“And yet,” Colin finally spoke, “I suspect Lady Nesbitt-Normand would view it differently.”
“Oh, please, Mr. Pendragon”—and now Edwina Easterbrooke began to shake, her face turning a blotchy pink even as her eyes grew heavy with tears—“you mustn’t turn me in. You simply mustn’t. I know I’ve done a terrible thing, but I was a pawn! This would ruin me, Mr. Pendragon. I am a woman of years. I beseech you.”
“Miss Easterbrooke has spoken nothing but the truth, sir,” Alvin muttered, raising his broad face and staring directly at Colin.
“How dare you!” Elsa roared.
“That’s quite enough.” Colin turned and handed Lady Priscilla to me.
Elsa sized him up a moment, as though measuring her options, before finally letting out a labored sigh. I exhaled in tandem and nearly jumped when I felt something soft and wet brush the back of my hand. Lady Priscilla was licking the salt and fear from my skin and I wondered if the little pug understood the trouble she had caused.
“The way I see it,” Colin said easily, “there are two choices. Either we all take a trip to Scotland Yard and let a magistrate sort this out, or you can agree to abide by my determination right here and now. I shall leave the lot of you to decide.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Pendragon,” Edwina Easterbrooke chirped at once. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
Elsa did not respond, holding her ground, though it was clear she was doing so with much less force.
“Very well then.” Colin looked to Miss Easterbrooke. “You and yours shall be tasked with looking out for the health and well-being of Lady Priscilla for the rest of her life.” He playfully cuffed the dog’s ears. “If she should ever disappear again, or become inexplicably ill, or develop an unexplained limp, or hiccup, or even fart before she reaches a ripe old age, it shall be upon your head. Am I clear?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, fresh tears softening the great angles of her face. “But however shall I do such a thing? I hardly know Lady Nesbitt-Normand.”
“Then I would suggest you become her closest confidante,” Colin sniffed.
She blanched at his tone, shrinking back against Alvin again. “Yes.” Her eyes dropped to the warehouse floor. “Of course.”
“As for you”—Colin shifted his gaze to Elsa—“it will be simple. You will go back to the Nesbitt-Normand estate tonight, pack your things, write a lovely, maudlin note explaining how responsible you feel for Lady Priscilla’s disappearance, and be gone from the whole of England before anyone in the household rises. And should I ever spot your sour face in our charmed city again I shall have you permanently shipped back to Prussia before the Kaiser can get word to his beloved grandmother. Is that clear?”
“Gehen bumsen sich, Du bombastisches Arschloch!” she blasted back.
“Reizende Methode, damit eine Dame spricht,” he shot back.
“Please . . .” Edwina Easterbrooke pulled herself free of Alvin’s supporting grip. “Please do as he says. I shall pay you to go. I shall give you a hundred pounds.”
Elsa’s face slowly shed its look of revulsion as she considered the offer. “You vill pay me von hundred und fifty or I vill not go.”
“Y-y-yes,” Miss Easterbrooke stuttered. “Fine. Come with us now.”
“Von hundred fifty pounds,” Elsa reiterated.
“Yes, yes,” Miss Easterbrooke repeated as Alvin helped her back into her carriage.
Elsa turned on Colin. “Ich hoffe du fäule in der Hölle,” she seethed.
“If I do”—he offered a tepid smile—“you’re sure to be right there with me.”
The Easterbrooke carriage lurched forward, heading for the door of the warehouse before Elsa had the chance to hoist herself back up onto her own. She reared back and whipped her tethered horse, and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed that cruel streak in her before. If she had any propensity toward animals I had yet to see evidence of it.
“We shall return the prodigal daughter to Lady Nesbitt-Normand first thing tomorrow morning,” Colin called after Elsa, “and will look forward to noting your absence.”
Elsa hollered something back, but there was far too much clattering of hooves and wheels to hear what it was.
“Extraordinary,” I muttered as we started out.
“That woman is as delicate as an ox,” he said. “She’d do better to train bulls than small dogs.” He turned to me and his nose curled. “Let’s do get that vile cloak back to the lads and have them take dear Lady Priscilla to Mrs. Behmoth. She can coddle the pup ’til morning. It’s time for Lady Stuart to make good on her promise of value for us.”
“At this hour?” I yanked out a handkerchief and wiped at my face, cleaning the mud off as best as I could.
“This hour”—he frowned at me—“is perfect. The lady is bound to be at home.”
I stuffed the cloth into a pocket of the cloak and glanced at my watch. We had little more than sixteen hours left. He had to be right about Lady Stuart.
CHAPTER 31
Getting a carriage out of Wapping proved harder than we’d expected, which forced us to walk some distance down Fleet Street before Colin finally managed to hail a decrepit coach to take us back to Lancaster Gate. We said little as we clattered past Saint Paul’s before taking a hard right and passing through Covent Garden and Oxford Circus. While Colin absently teased a half crown around his hand, I worried that no one would even answer the door at Lady Stuart’s house. Given that the moon had already crossed the center point of the sky, I knew midnight was near.
By the time we reached Lancaster Gate it was to find the street entirely empty. Rows of street lamp
s flickered from within their glass cocoons, their gentle hiss the only sound beyond the hollow echo of our horse and carriage. Even the wind seemed to be holding its tongue, without so much as a leaf rustling.
Our driver stopped in front of Lady Stuart’s, her dahlias awash in moonlight, revealing a display in variant shades of gray. There was a distinct order to the house and grounds that seemed to reflect a certain willfulness. I hadn’t noticed it before, but as we arrived at this inconceivable hour to confront her with the captain’s letter I was struck by the force of it. Had she been playing us for fools all along?
Colin handed the fare to the driver and I watched as the coach pulled away, the clacking of the horse’s hooves gradually receding down the street. The moment was abruptly ruptured by the sound of Colin pounding on the door, sending me hurrying up the walk after him. On such a quiet night I was convinced he would wake the whole of the neighborhood.
“Colin . . . ,” I hissed before realizing the dearth of alternatives open to us.
He wisely ignored my brief reproof, remaining focused on the door, and before another moment could pass he raised a fist again and applied the whole of his considerable determination against it. “If we don’t get an answer in one minute,” he growled, “then we shall bang on every window until someone in this blasted house responds!”
I nodded, knowing he meant it. Once again the thought occurred to me that perhaps no one was in the house, stirring a cold discomfort in my belly. Had this clever woman known we would come back? My nerves began to fray as the sweep hand on my watch soldiered on. Even when Colin let loose with both fists in a barrage of frustration and outrage I feared we had been defeated. We had simply run out of time.
“Cut that bloody bangin’ before I blast your buggered head off!” an outraged male voice bellowed. “Who in the bleedin’ hell is out there?”
“Colin Pendragon and Ethan Pruitt, and I will thank you to open this door at once.”
“The hell I will. Sod off, ya shite.”
“Not until I speak with your daughter!” Colin hollered back. “Now open this ruddy door or I will do it for you.”
The Bellingham Bloodbath Page 22
