by Liana Lefey
“Was he captured?”
“Yes. He’s wounded, but not too badly.”
“Good, then he can talk. I assume he’s being held in the larder?” It was the safest room for an interrogation—no windows. At the other man’s nod, Will began descending the stair.
The sound of breaking glass brought him to a halt just as he reached Richards.
Richards pulled out his knives and silently bade him wait. While he continued his descent, Will dug the pistol from out of his pocket and readied himself. A moment later, there was the sound of a struggle. A shot rang out.
It was already over by the time he arrived. The fallen intruder lay in a puddle of scarlet. “Won’t last long,” muttered Richards. “I had no choice but to take him in the gut. Better ask your questions now and be quick.”
That anyone had managed to get past Gonson’s perimeter was a surprise. Though he knew it was likely, Will hoped his own people hadn’t suffered any casualties. Kneeling beside the injured man, he saw the wound was indeed mortal. If the fellow didn’t first die of blood loss, an infection would surely finish him off. “Who sent you?”
The man remained silent, his lips tight and his eyes fixed on a spot above.
Determined not to lose an opportunity to gain information, Will held out a hand toward Richards. A second later, the warm haft of a blade slapped into his palm.
The intruder’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t do it. You need—”
His words ended in an agonized scream as Will plunged the business end of the knife into his side.
“You’re already dead,” Will whispered as soon as the man drew breath. “But I can make your passage a lot more painful if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t know nothing,” the man spat. “Nothi—aaaaaaugh!”
Hot blood gushed against Will’s hand. Careful. Don’t want him to die just yet.
“Boucher,” gasped the man, squeezing his eyes shut. “It was Boucher!”
“And where is she now?”
No answer. He twisted the blade a little, inured to the other man’s pain. “Tell me!”
“I don’t—I don’t know! I swear she don’t tell us nothing!” said the bleeding man, defeat in his eyes. “We gets all our orders from Fergus!”
Will bent closer. “And who is ‘Fergus?’”
“Her right hand,” wheezed the dying man. “He’s the only one she trusts.”
“Where can I find this Fergus?”
“A wine cellar under the Dove’s Nest. There’s a hidden passage in the back.”
The Dove’s Nest was a fairly decent tavern at the east end of Covent Garden. “And that passage leads to…?”
“The catacombs under the church across the road—but there’s no way into them from there. The church sealed it after the floor collapsed. It happened before I was born.”
“You said the passage is hidden. How do I find the entrance?”
Brown eyes widened, staring into Will’s. What the dying man saw there must have told him there was no hope. “There’s a door at the end of the third row. It looks like a wine rack attached to the wall, but the bottles is all empty. It slides out of the way if you pull it to the right. That’s where you’ll find The Devil’s Hole. I’ve been through only once. I never want to see it again. I swear I don’t know nothing else—please!” whined the man piteously, his blood-slick fingers clutching at Will’s hand.
Nodding, Will pulled the knife free, wiped it and his hand off on the fellow’s sleeve, and stood. “We need to see if any of the others tell the same story.”
“What shall I do with this one?” asked Richards, taking back his blade.
“Let him make peace with God.” Will watched as the fallen man’s eyes closed tight and his waxen lips began to move in fervid prayer. “When he’s gone, come find me.”
Richards grunted assent and squatted down beside the dying man.
As Will walked away, to his surprise he heard Richard’s voice join softly with the intruder’s in reciting The Lord’s Prayer. He hurried to the larder to find out what, if any, information could be gleaned from the other captive.
This one was in much better condition—and far less cooperative. In the end, all Will was able to determine was that the other man’s tale of a hidden bolt-hole was true. The obdurate fellow insisted he knew not where it was and had heard of it only in rumor.
Will could tell he was lying. Sighing, he addressed Benjamin and Gerald. “He’ll offer no further information—at least not without persuasion—and we have neither the time for that nor the leisure to risk him sending a warning from his cell.”
“Understood,” murmured Gerald.
Will strode from the larder, shutting the door on the outraged captive’s protest. With any luck, the frightened man would change his mind in time to save his own skin. If not…
He had no qualms about ordering such a creature’s death. The unrepentant brute had been sent to commit murder. Doubtless, he’d done it before. Boucher wouldn’t send an inexperienced assassin to rid her of her greatest enemy.
Reports trickled in over the next hour. An astonishing number of men had been sent to make an end of the Archangel. No fewer than half a dozen skirmishes had occurred in the streets and grounds surrounding the house. Three of his colleagues had been wounded, one badly enough his death was predicted before dawn.
It angered Will to see such a waste of life. Boucher had a lot to answer for, and he’d make certain she did so.
Chapter Nineteen
The sound of shouting outside had drawn Jacqueline to the window almost the minute she entered the salon to take position for the first watch. Pulling back the curtain, she saw three men struggling in the street below. The sun had already set, and it was getting dark, but she could clearly tell two of them were attempting to wrestle a third to the ground.
A shot rang out almost the same instant the window in front of her exploded. Screaming, Jacqueline leaped back and tripped, sending a table laden with figurines crashing to the floor. Moments later, muffled shouts sounded, and footsteps pounded the boards beneath her ear. Gentle hands lifted her, pulling her up and away from the debris.
Slowly, she focused her senses. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding!” Mrs. Orson pointed to her neck.
Jacqueline pressed a palm against the smarting flesh. It came away smeared with red. “It’s not a grave injury,” she insisted. Just then, several more people came running into the room. “Stay back!” she shouted, flinging out her hands to ward them off. “Keep away from the window!”
A gasp of dismay broke from Mrs. Wicklen, and Jacqueline remembered the blood on her hand. “It’s only a cut.” Rising, she wiped it on her skirt, leaving a dark streak on the fabric. It didn’t matter. “The children and the other staff need to be warned. We must follow the plan we discussed earlier today.”
No one budged.
“Move!” Ignoring the stinging along the left side of her face and neck, Jacqueline herded everyone out. More shouts echoed outside in the street and she paused, tempted to go back and see what was happening. Good sense prevailed, however. Whatever was going on out there, she had a duty to her girls in here, and that must come first.
As her folk scattered, she made her way to the far hall. I must see to the youngest… On the way, she spied Agnes sitting in front of the door to Sally’s makeshift jail cell. “It’s just a few scratches,” she said in response to the other woman’s shocked exclamation. “Someone shot the window by which I was keeping vigil. We are under attack.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered the woman, startling her. “I’ll come and help you with the wee ones.”
“No.” Jacqueline jerked her chin at the door. “You must get Sally downstairs to safety and see that she does not escape or cause trouble.”
A black look crossed the cook’s face. “She deserves to reap the fruit of her traitorous labors. I say we tie her up and leave her.”
“Though she deserv
es it not, we will show her the same care as we would anyone else here.”
Grumbling, Agnes opened the door. “Get up, slattern!” she bellowed.
Sally emerged, bleary-eyed and squinting against the lamplight. “What’s happened?”
The cook grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out into the hall. “Someone’s just tried to kill the headmistress. We must go downstairs with the others. I’d as soon have left you, but she won’t allow it. You’ve her to thank for the kindness.”
Jacqueline stared at the girl’s chalk-white face and round, terrified eyes. “Go with Cook and cause no trouble or I will let her lock you away someplace where you cannot do any harm.”
“Oh, ma’am!” wailed Sally. “Lord have mercy upon us all. If they are here, it’s too late.”
A chill ran through Jacqueline. “What do you mean?”
“They’ll get in,” said Sally, her voice rising to hysteria pitch. She turned watery eyes on Agnes. “I picked your lock and pressed your keys in clay while you were asleep.” Her gaze swung back to Jacqueline. “I gave the molds to a man at market the next morning. She could have had dozens of keys made. They’ll get inside and kill us all.”
“How long ago was this?”
“More than a fortnight ago,” answered the weeping girl.
Jacqueline breathed deeply as the tightness in her midsection eased. “Then we are safe.” She smiled at the look of consternation on the traitor’s face. “I recently took the precaution of having all the outer doors fitted with new locks.”
The girl’s relief was evident, but it was also short-lived. “It won’t stop them. Not forever. She’ll send a picklock or have her men simply batter their way in.”
“We will be ready for them,” Jacqueline replied. “Agnes, take her down. I’m going to fetch the little ones.” She didn’t wait for a response. The children were already awake when she came in, in spite of their bedtime having been more than an hour ago.
“We heard noises upstairs,” said Angela.
“Don’t worry, darling. All is well. We just need to go downstairs for a little while.”
“I’m afraid.”
Jacqueline knelt and took the little girl’s hand. “I know, sweetheart. But I’m going to stay with you—all of you—until everyone is in the dining hall. Don’t worry about changing your clothes,” she told another. “Just put on your robe or take your quilt with you. Hopefully, we won’t have to be out of bed for long.”
But as she led the girls down the hall, the sound of breaking glass reached her from behind the door of an empty playroom on their left. A sharp thwack! told her a bullet had struck the wall. They are firing on my school!
“Shall we play a game?” she asked brightly. “Everybody get down as close to the floor as you can and crawl like a kitty all the way to the stairs. The first kitty there will get a lovely surprise when we reach the dining room.”
Thwack!
She dropped to her knees and crouched. “Everybody, down!”
“What’s that noise?” asked another child.
“Remember the talk we had this morning, Judith?”
The little girl’s eyes widened. “The bad people?”
She nodded. “Now, we must all be like quiet kitties. To the stairs, my loves.”
The number of bullet impacts she heard as they crawled to the stairs was alarming. How many people had Boucher sent? As soon as she reached the dining hall, she gathered the staff on hand. “Are all the children accounted for?” One by one, they answered in the affirmative. “Good. Can someone tell me how Dr. Horton’s patients are faring?”
Mrs. Coburn relayed that most of the sick girls were well on their way to recovery—with the exception of Janet. “She’s not going to get much rest with this lot down here.”
“I fear that cannot be helped,” Jacqueline told her. “This is the safest place for them to be. I assume Mrs. Sloane is at the front door keeping watch. Who went with her?”
Agnes informed her she’d taken Elsie and Henriette along. “I’ve sent Molly and Mr. Young to have an eye on the back gate and Dulcie to keep watch for them at the kitchen courtyard door and help relay any messages. We’re prepared to barricade it. I doubt anyone can get through the gate with the new lock and chain, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Eglantine and Mary went to mind the door to the carriage house.”
“Are they armed?”
“Everyone has a pistol,” replied Agnes.
“Excellent. Agnes, I want you to leave Sally with me while you join Dulcie. That gate is our weakest point. If anyone is to gain entry by brute force, it will be there. Do you have the new keys?”
Agnes nodded. “Prudence gave me a set.”
“Begging your pardon, Headmistress,” said Mrs. Orson. “But sealing that door won’t do much good if they break through the gate. Even with it locked and barricaded, they’ll only break the windows in the classrooms to get in. We cannot possibly hope to defend—”
“Yes, I know,” Jacqueline interrupted gently. “Should our enemies breach the gate, Mr. Young will strike the braces holding up the entryway between the courtyards. Mr. MacCallum warned that should they fail, that entire section of the wall will come down.”
“They’ll climb over the debris.”
She shrugged. “I cannot prevent that, which is why everyone is gathered here. If they manage to make it to the inner courtyard, they will have only one way to reach us.” She pointed to the big double doors. “I’m going to stay here with you, and together we will defend this room.”
“Excuse me, Headmistress.” It was Mrs. Wicklen who, from her waxen cheeks, looked to be in imminent danger of fainting. “How long are we to stay here?”
“As long as it takes for Mr. Woodson’s help to arrive. There is plenty of food in the larder, and we have access to the well for as long as we can hold the inner courtyard. Agnes has had the kitchen staff drawing water all afternoon in preparation.”
“But how will we know when the help comes? How do we tell friend from foe?”
“Our allies will know the code word Mr. Woodson and I agreed upon this morning.” She laid a reassuring hand on Mrs. Wicklen’s shoulder. “He is sending help. We must be patient and hold our ground until it comes.”
…
Jacqueline’s lack of response had Will very worried. His note had been sent hours ago. And neither had his friends tried to contact him. “Something has gone amiss.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“Richards, please. Enough with the ‘my lord,’” he said, rubbing his temples in an effort to relieve the pressure in his head.
“Not until this is ended, my lord,” the dour-faced man insisted. “Then we’ll go to the pub and have a pint as equals.”
“I swear you enjoy baiting me.”
The other man’s expression remained unchanged.
“Very well,” Will conceded. Restless, he again began pacing the room’s length. “I don’t like it. This was too easy.”
Richards’s brows shot up. “A dozen men tried to take your life tonight. Two of the bastards got away, and Benjamin was mortally wounded. I’d hardly call that ‘easy.’”
“As much as she wants him dead, she ought to have sent more—either more men or better skilled.” Anxiety gnawed at his insides. “I need to see Jacqueline.”
A new voice spoke. “I would not advise leaving the premises.”
Turning, Will saw his friend John Loxdon standing in the doorway. “About bloody time.”
The other man chuckled. “I came as soon as I could. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Will began explaining the situation. The look on his friend’s face grew graver with each moment. When he mentioned he was impersonating the Archangel, however, Loxdon’s telltale hiss of indrawn breath made him stop. A prickle of intuition crept up his spine. “You know him, don’t you? My God, do you have any idea how much time I could have saved if only I’d—”
“Boucher thinks
you’re him?” Loxdon cut in.
He nodded. “But he’s not her only target. There’s a girls’ school—”
Alarm wrote itself on Loxdon’s face. “Bloody hell, she knows about the school, too?”
“Yes. There have been several nasty incidents. Yesterday, she managed to poison the milk delivery. Fifteen children are ill, one of them was at death’s door when I left. Dr. Horton is caring for them.”
“This is bad. Very bad, indeed. If she knows about the school, then she knows who its headmistress is.”
“Yes, Boucher knows. She sent a letter demanding the name of the Archangel this morning just after the girls became ill. That’s why I’m playing the role of Lord Huxton. We told her he’s the Archangel. Jacqueline sent word to the real one several days ago telling him to stay away until this is resolved. He’s gone to the country.”
The other man let out a snort. “In a pig’s eye, he has. He was in my office this evening asking me to have my people watch the school.”
The blood all but froze in Will’s veins. “He called?”
Loxdon nodded sheepishly. “Happens to be a very old, very good friend of mine.”
No matter how much he wanted to, there was no time to explore that nugget of information. “Where is he now?”
“Likely already there.”
“A bloody mess, that’s what this is!” exploded Will. “I sent several of my people to have an eye on the place while I’m here acting as bait. God willing, they won’t mistake him and your men for enemies—whom I’m certain are present, as well. This is a disaster. We have to go at once.”
“You cannot,” said Richards, speaking for the first time since Loxdon’s arrival.
“He’s right,” agreed Loxdon. “If she thinks you’re him, she’ll have people waiting for you.”
“I don’t care if she’s opened the bloody gates of Hell and set every demon in it on me,” he snapped. “Jacqueline is there, and I’m bloody well going. I sent her a message hours ago. She ought to have replied long before now. Something has gone wrong. Now, I’m leaving, and you’re not going stop me.” Turning, he made for the door. Behind him, he heard Loxdon swear before following him.
