“But with Gloria we can—”
He stopped her with a kiss. Time was short, and they had much to do. “I will not say goodbye, but only ‘until we meet again.’ Which, I hope, will be shortly after sunset, aboard Athena.”
“Oh, Andrew—”
The pain in her voice nearly undid him, and it was only the thought of her joy when they returned with Jake, whole and unharmed, that allowed him to walk away and return alone to his room. There, he collected the lightning pistol that she had made for him with her own hands. It had not exactly been an engagement gift, but to him it was as precious as the pearl ring that had not left her finger since he had slipped it on. The pistol held her confidence in him, and her concern for his safety, as well as gears and rods, barrel and grip … and the power cell that gave it life.
He could not take her with him, thank God. But he could take the weapon she had made him, and use it wisely.
Into his boot he slipped the knife that Mr. Bowie had made for him in the Texican Territories, and slipped one or two devices of his own manufacture into the pockets of his tweed coat and those of his trousers. They were small, about the size of a walnut, but if one but pulled a pin, they produced a flash and a bang that could disorient even the most seasoned soldier.
When he was ready, he found Tigg and the captain waiting in the guest parlor off the hotel’s lobby. Though not half an hour had passed since they had parted ways, Captain Hollys had just received a reply from the Master of Prisons. Andrew scanned it quickly.
My dear Sir Ian,
I am honored that you solicit my help in such a delicate matter, and if you will permit me, perceived you to be a man of integrity and moral fortitude during our tour today. I will proffer your proposal to his lordship the Minister of Justice, whose unhappy duty it is to oversee these matters, and will convey his reply to you personally.
Please meet me at the door of the church of San Barnaba at sunset. There is a particularly fine painting there of the Holy Family by Veronese that would be worth a moment of your time. You will, of course, come unarmed, and unaccompanied by the delightful young ladies and gentlemen of your acquaintance.
I remain, sir, your servant,
Paolo de Luca, Master of Prisons
Andrew looked up as he folded the letter. “Do you think they will actually go through with it? Bring Jake to trade for you?”
“They are fools if they do not.” Ian Hollys pocketed the letter, then sighted down the barrel of his pistol and broke it to check there were no bullets inside, before he handed it and his ordnance bag to Tigg.
“Sir—” Tigg began in some surprise.
“I am not unarmed. My Smith and Wesson thirty-eight is in my rib holster, and there is a Scots sgean dhu that belonged to my grandfather in my stocking. Come. It wants an hour to sunset, and I wish you both to take up your positions as soon as possible.”
Casually, affecting interest in the scenery around them, the three men strolled along the canal and then zigzagged down several narrow lanes. When the alley would have decanted them into the large square in front of the church of Saint Barnabas, Ian leaned against the wall, looking over his shoulder and around the corner to scan it for signs of ambush.
“If you are to meet on the steps, any attack would likely come from outside,” Andrew suggested. “There is no cover in the church’s immediate vicinity, but one could lie in wait in the surrounding alleys, as we are doing right now.”
“But why ask me to go in, ostensibly to look at a painting?” Ian mused. “Unless the rules of sanctuary apply here as they do in England, making it a safe place to perform an exchange.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” Andrew agreed. “Though I am not inclined to observe the rules at the moment.”
“You can’t kill someone in a church, sir,” Tigg murmured, sounding a little shocked.
“We are authorized to kill, Lieutenant,” Ian said. “That does not mean we shall do so. I should prefer to disable instead, if at all possible. But in self-defense, one must do as one must.” He gazed out at the square, where families strolled and where the umbrellas of cheerful cafes sheltered tables in colorful groups, where people were drinking tea and stronger beverages at the end of the day. “I do not think it wise to post one of you inside. There is too much risk of discovery. But I believe they will come from the direction of the Ministry, which would put their arrival in that quarter.” He pointed to the corner behind the church. “If one of you takes a seat at that café and the other conceals himself behind the wall opposite, you will both be within hearing. We can stage our own attack in that alley, acting as though we are being set upon and robbed.”
“Dibs on the café,” Tigg said. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Andrew, but the Master of Prisons has already seen you with Captain Hollys. Unless he was at that ball, too, he hasn’t seen me.”
In Andrew’s mind, the young man was far too happy about engaging in all this skullduggery. Nevertheless, he allowed the younger man to boost him up the wall, where he squeezed between iron railings that were clearly meant more for decoration than protection, and took up his post.
Tigg took a seat outside the café and ordered lemonade. He had barely taken the first sip when footsteps echoed in the alley. Two people. Andrew risked a glance over the bricks and his shoulders sagged in relief at the sight that met his gaze.
And immediately, compassion welled in his heart.
Jake looked dreadful. His skin was white, and in the few weeks he had been incarcerated, he had lost weight, to the point where his cheekbones looked sharp and his elbows stuck out under his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His cotton pants were soggy and green at the bottom, and he was barefoot. Bruises discolored what Andrew could see of his ankles, and his eyes—
Jake’s gaze met that of Tigg with a sense of recognition like a shock, and the boy stiffened. His head moving as though on ball bearings, Tigg looked away, pretending interest in a flock of pigeons landing upon the cistern in the middle of the square. He took another sip of his lemonade.
The Master of Prisons yanked Jake back into step, and Andrew distinctly heard the clink of a fine-gauge chain, though none was visible. Had the poor boy been tethered to his captor to prevent his breaking and running? It seemed likely. It would make their task somewhat more complicated, but would not deter them in the least.
On the other side of the square, a pair of men who had not been there a moment ago lounged against the same wall where Ian had reconnoitered the scene. A third had put his boot up on the church steps, adjusting its laces. And there, another held the door for the Master of Prisons and Jake, and followed them inside.
Three—and a half, if you counted a starved and barefoot young man—against five. Andrew supposed the odds could be worse. He cleared his throat and Tigg cleared his in return.
They had nothing to do but wait.
And wait.
Tigg paid the bill and got uneasily to his feet. From his cramped position on the ledge, Andrew could hardly contain himself a moment longer. How long did it take to release one prisoner and take another into captivity? The church steps were empty, and there were fewer people in the square, mothers and fathers having taken their children home with the deepening of twilight.
The bells began to ring, a cacophony of warning, and the bridge behind him rose with agonizing slowness. Again Andrew felt the disorienting sensation of the ground moving—but the feeling in his stomach was entirely eclipsed by his increasing unease.
Something had gone wrong.
“I believe I shall visit this lovely church,” Tigg said to the garden wall, and strolled across the square and up the church steps. Andrew swung down with much more grace than he had scrambled up. They were merely tourists, he thought as he joined Tigg. If their quarry were in the midst of negotiations, they would simply conceal their faces by inspecting the nearest painting, and take their leave.
Inside, twin sets of pillars marched down the nave, sheltering a number of old ladies in black kneeling on th
e marble in prayer. The benches for the Sunday service had not been put out on a weekday, leaving the great open expanse of the transept in clear view.
There was no sound except for the murmuring of the ladies, and, leaving Tigg admiring a Madonna set into a niche next to the door, Andrew walked the perimeter and checked each chapel, expecting every moment to surprise his quarry. When he reached the front doors again, he found Tigg shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t like this.”
Andrew nodded, his jaw tense. “They’re not here. Did anyone pass you?”
“No one, sir. I don’t understand it. Those miscreants in the alley the way we came were gone by the time I crossed the square, but the two at the church went inside. How can five men disappear?”
“Let us search again.”
But a second search revealed nothing but the priest, who emerged from the confessional with yet another old lady, who joined her companions in prayer.
“May I be of some assistance?” he said in heavily accented English, perceiving them to be from foreign parts.
“We were to have met some friends here, monsignore, but we cannot find them,” Andrew said with an ease he did not feel. “Have you seen a military man in the company of a boy of about eighteen, with reddish hair?”
The priest shook his head, clearly sorry to have to disappoint them. “We will be singing vespers soon, so I must go. Perhaps they have found their way into the crypt? We have the finger bone of San Barnaba enshrined there—it might interest you to see it.”
Andrew and Tigg looked at one another. If one were to have a secret meeting, a crypt sounded like a capital place to do it. Following the priest’s directions, they went around to the back of the altar and down a staircase beneath, lit by lamps set into niches.
The finger bone of Saint Barnabas may have been there, lying in state, but Captain Hollys and Jake were not. Andrew stood in the cramped, cold space in front of the elaborately decorated altar that held the casket, his flesh nearly creeping on his bones. “Where could they have gone?” he asked the saint.
From above could be heard the sounds of singing, something in the construction of the spiral staircase filtering and transporting the old ladies’ voices into a sound that was almost celestial.
“Sir, over here,” Tigg said. “Round the back. Bring a lamp.”
Behind the casket’s resting place Tigg knelt on the stone, his keen eyes having seen in the thick shadows what Andrew would likely have missed. Andrew raised the lamp.
A metal ring as thick as his thumb was set into the stone. “Help me lift it,” Tigg said.
When the trap door was hefted back, they peered into the abyss to see the flicker and shine of the lamp’s flame on water, moving restlessly at the base of a ladder some six or eight feet below.
“Oh, no,” Andrew breathed.
19
“Elizabeth Seacombe, now is not the time for an unseemly display of misplaced independence.” Claire leveled her best Belgravia stare on her ward, which had no effect whatsoever on the green eyes flashing with temper.
They had not yet left the hotel—a fact that was grating on Claire’s nerves enough without Lizzie’s rebellion added to the roiling in her stomach. She had promised herself that she would not bring Gloria in to rescue Jake unless they had no other choice. Hence, their efforts were to be concentrated on stealing the Stalwart Lass from the impound field while they counted on the success of Ian’s mission.
But one did not need six people to steal an airship.
“I am sixteen years old, Lady—too old to be treated like a child and sent to my room.”
“Preparing Athena for lift is hardly the equivalent of being sent to one’s room,” Claire snapped. “It is a vital part of this rescue.”
“It’s you getting me and Maggie and Claude out of the way.”
“Nothing wrong with that, old girl,” Claude put in. “I’m all for getting out of here with skin intact. Place has gone cold on me, rather.”
“Claude is right,” Alice said, to Claire’s relief. “Claire is responsible for your safety. This is the best way to ensure it and to make a quick getaway, too.”
But Lizzie was beyond logic. “If you don’t let us help, I’ll take a water taxi over to the Lido and come anyway.”
Goodness. What had come over her?
Lizzie flounced away to the window and stood looking out over the water, her arms crossed and her fingers nervously tapping her elbows.
And then Claire knew.
“Darling, we are all worried for their safety,” she said quietly, crossing the room and slipping an arm around Lizzie’s waist. “But Tigg is an aeronaut now, fully trained and capable of defending himself. You need have no fear on his account.”
Lizzie’s lips trembled, but she was not willing to give in and concede that their dispute had an underlying cause unrelated to who was performing what duties.
“And while it distresses me that Captain Hollys was unwilling to hear my suggestions, he is also very capable. If anyone should be worrying, it is I. Andrew can hold his own, and has done so many times, but he is a man designed for thought, not action.”
It was some small comfort that Andrew was in the company of two of the most resourceful, brave, and intelligent men of her acquaintance. Surely among the three of them, they would be able to prevent disaster—or at the very least, escape from it.
“Be fair, Claire,” Alice said, pacing from window to door for at least the fiftieth time. “Mr. Malvern’s quick thinking saved your hide when you were swinging from the bow line during your escape from the mine, if what you told me once is true.”
“It is quite true.” Claire shuddered at the memory. “And I must trust that his quick thinking will aid in their present mission as well.”
“Are you really so worried for him, Lady?” Lizzie asked, searching Claire’s face.
“I am,” she confessed. “What woman does not worry for the man she loves? But I must say that I have given him far more cause for concern than he has given me. And as for you—” She brushed Lizzie’s blond hair back, attempting without success to tuck the ends into their chignon. “I fear that Tigg will share the same fate as Andrew, as will the fortunate young man who wins our Maggie’s affections.” When Lizzie smiled at that, and Maggie blushed, Claire went on, “In fact, the only person who will not experience such anxiety is the future Lady Hollys, whoever that complacent and rather dull creature may turn out to be.”
Lizzie giggled, but Alice turned so sharply at the end of her circuit of the room that the corner of the carpet flipped over. “If you girls are done making jokes, I think we should get on with it,” she said. “It’s after sunset. We won’t be able to fake sea-bathing, but we could pretend an interest in astronomy, if anyone can lay hands on a telescope.”
“There is one on Athena,” Maggie began, only to stop abruptly at the sound of footsteps coming rapidly down the corridor.
Claire’s knees went weak as Andrew and Tigg pushed open the door. Without a sound, Lizzie left her side and walked into Tigg’s arms—and, throwing propriety to the winds, Claire flung herself likewise into Andrew’s embrace. How blessedly warm he was, how solid, how alive! His arms went around her, tightly, as though she had been the one to put herself in danger, not he. But they only had a matter of seconds in which to indulge their emotions before Alice’s voice came from near the door.
“Where is Captain Hollys? And Jake? What happened?”
With an exhalation of breath, Andrew set Claire slightly away from him, at which point she saw the pallor of his skin and the despair in his eyes. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest.
“Andrew—they’re not—”
“Not dead, no. Not as far as we know. But they have been taken.”
“Taken?” Alice repeated, as if she’d never heard the word before. “Taken how? And where? By whom?”
The facts he proceeded to relate were simple. And damning. Each word brought home to them all exactly what they were u
p against.
Claire had to sit down.
Andrew poured a shot of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard and gave it to Tigg, then poured another for himself. “I am at a loss,” he said baldly once he had recovered from the first gulp. “We went in believing that we had out-thought them, that we had a foolproof plan. Captain Hollys was to have surrendered himself, and then Tigg and I would assist him in overpowering them all in the alley, leaving the captain and Jake both free. But they have bolted into a hole like the foxes they are, and I fear our resources may not extend to faking a ransom a second time.”
“Certainly not,” Claire managed from the corner of the sofa, where she had curled up, her arms wrapped around her knees while she did her best not to break down completely. “I am the only one who can claim a connection to the peerage—and no one is going to pay a ransom for me.”
This sad fact had been borne in upon her once already, in a locked room in Resolution, a town on the other side of the world. While her mother, Lady St. Ives, might have married into some semblance of security for herself, this happy state of affairs did not extend to her daughter. The estate simply did not have the funds for ransom. And while Claire’s means had improved markedly since that day in the Texican Territory, she doubted very much that, even if she offered these rascals everything she had, it would be enough to satisfy them.
“Count von Zeppelin might,” Maggie offered.
“Not after she scarpered in the night, against his wishes,” Lizzie reminded her, her voice muffled in Tigg’s shirt.
“Then the Dunsmuirs would,” Maggie persisted, her optimistic nature unwilling to concede defeat.
“They will not even receive Ian’s pigeon about his own ransom for days yet,” Claire said. “And even if they send it, I doubt the Minister of Justice will free him. He will simply make him disappear in the most permanent way possible, and either deny all knowledge of such a person, or send his condolences to the family.”
A Lady of Integrity Page 14
