by Candace Camp
The trip north was uneventful, though Thisbe was so on edge that she started at shadows. Once, catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, she whirled around, only to see a young man running to board a different train. She was struck time and again with an uneasy tingling at the back of her neck, not only walking through Paddington, but also in the early morning in Manchester, where she changed trains. Each time she glanced all around, but she could not find anyone watching her.
It was only her nerves. Why would anyone be following her? They had already taken Desmond; it would be of little use to grab her, as well. She doubted that any of the men would look upon her as a threat. Being underestimated was an advantage of being a woman as much as an annoyance.
Alone in her compartment, she was free of that uneasiness, but she could not relax enough to read or do anything but stare blindly out the window, worrying about Desmond. It was equally difficult to sleep that night; every time she managed to fall asleep, she was plagued by worrisome dreams. When morning came, she was bleary-eyed.
However, when the train arrived in Preston in the pale predawn light, she was instantly alert. She left the train and no longer glanced around uneasily. Intent on her goal, she marched over to store her baggage at the claims office. Then, penknife in her pocket and a reticule containing billiard balls, money and smelling salts—should Desmond be unconscious—she set out to find the man she loved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I AM NOT related to Anne Ballew.” Desmond glared at his mentor. “We’ve already gone through this. I told you last night before you knocked me out again. And if you keep pouring that bloody laudanum down my throat, my mind will soon be so scrambled I wouldn’t be able to help you, anyway.” He transferred his glare to Grieves, who stood beside Gordon, arms folded.
“No, no, no, dear boy,” Gordon protested and turned to scowl at Grieves. “He wouldn’t have slept for almost twelve hours if you hadn’t given him so much.”
The truth was Desmond had pretended to remain asleep for an hour after he’d awakened. A few minutes ago, when Grieves hauled him downstairs, Desmond had feigned an exaggerated grogginess even though he felt quite alert, even edgy. He wasn’t sure how this ruse would help, but his only path now was to stall and obfuscate as much as he could, and wait for some chance to get away.
At the moment, that seemed unlikely. His hands were still tied, and the end of the rope was lashed to one post of the heavy, straight chair in which he sat. It made it awkward to turn toward the third man in the room, but he twisted around to address him now. “Mr. Wallace, this is absurd. I can’t see anything more with the Eye than any of you. Anne Ballew was not my ancestor.”
“Oh, but she was,” Gordon assured him. “We’ve done our research. It wasn’t only talking to your aunt.”
“My aunt?” Desmond let out a groan, closing his eyes. “Those are folktales.”
“More than that, far more than that. Mr. Wallace traced Anne’s husband’s movements from London back to Dorset after the tragedy. The family went into hiding, changed their name and moved to Cumby-on-Mallow.”
“Where my mother grew up.”
“Exactly. There is a gap in the 1600s of a generation or two, but I’m certain that line contin—”
“You’d already done all this before you met me.” Desmond stared in disbelief. Perhaps his mind was moving more slowly than he thought; it took him a moment to realize the rest of the implications. “That’s why you took me on, isn’t? You thought I’d have the Eye or be able to lead you to it.” Amazingly, even though he’d already learned Gordon’s nature, it hurt to learn the truth. He had never been the one that Gordon chose to tutor. It had been Anne Ballew’s heir.
“I hoped you could,” Gordon admitted. “But that’s not the only reason I chose to tutor you. You’re incredibly bright.”
“I’m beginning to doubt that,” Desmond muttered.
“A hard worker. I’ve come to regard you with great affection. You’re practically a son to me.”
“A son? You abducted me!” Desmond’s voice rose. He was finding it more difficult by the moment to remain calm and clearheaded. Anger and impatience welled in him.
“That’s a harsh way to put it.”
“How else could I put it?” Desmond drew a breath, pulling his voice back to reasonable calm. He needed to win this argument, not infuriate these fanatics. He could not allow them to push him into a rage. “Gentlemen, I fear this is pointless. I shan’t be able to use the Eye. I seriously doubt that anyone can.” Except perhaps someone in Thisbe’s line, but that thought was one to avoid at all costs. “If you will but think about it, Professor, you’ll see that your proof is suspect. You said they changed their name. Can you prove that? Can you prove that the Ballew name didn’t simply die out naturally in that community? Or migrate? You took a flying leap across several generations. That’s not research—that’s wishful thinking.”
“You’re wrong.” Wallace’s voice was fierce. “The research is correct. I found the Eye, didn’t I, despite its changing hands?”
“Yes, you did,” Desmond said, continuing his easygoing tone. “Perhaps I’m wrong about the research. But even if you are right and I am descended from Anne Ballew, doesn’t it seem unlikely that her powers would remain in her descendants? The talent she had has surely been watered down to almost nothing now.”
“There’s one way to find out, isn’t there?” Wallace strode to a cabinet and unlocked it, pulling out the carved wooden box Desmond had seen in the dowager duchess’s sitting room. Desmond stiffened at the sight of it; something hard and sharp pierced his chest.
“The Eye.” Desmond watched Wallace set the container on a small table and reverently remove the Eye, holding it up. Desmond’s breath quickened. The dawn light through the windows sent rainbows arcing from the glass, so beautiful Desmond couldn’t take his eyes from it. He remembered when the dowager duchess revealed it to him and Thisbe in London, how lovely it had been, but it could not compare to this exquisite dance of color and light. He wished that Thisbe could see it now. He wished... His heart squeezed in his chest.
“Look at it.” Wallace carried the Eye over to Desmond. “This small instrument carries all the power in the world. Can you not feel it? Don’t you want to see what it offers? A world beyond our wildest dreams.”
Desmond struggled to keep his face a blank. The truth was that something tugged at him deep inside, pulling him toward the Eye. He yearned to hold it in his hand and admire it. To look deep into its depths and see...everything that lay beyond. The truth, the meaning, the all-encompassing wisdom of the ages.
The need to discover had always been with him, but this was something more. Something different. This was a visceral thrum in his belly, an ache. He wanted to grab the Eye from Wallace’s hand. The man didn’t deserve it, wasn’t worthy even to touch it. The Eye belonged to him.
* * *
THE THOUGHT STRUCK him like a slap in the face, knocking him out of his bizarre trance. Good Lord, was the thing actually creeping into him, seeking to control him? He thought of Thisbe’s dreams, her fear that the Eye would overwhelm him.
Well, that was not going to happen. Maybe it wasn’t all a hoax; maybe the thing really did have power. But he was not about to let anything take over his mind and will. Nor was he willing to give these men the satisfaction of seeing how much the Eye tempted him. He brought the thought of Thisbe into his mind and focused on her image—her firm mouth, her resolute chin, the love and trust in her green eyes when she looked at him.
Desmond shrugged. “It’s a quizzing glass.” He went on in a coolly analytical tone, “Rather large, with some interesting facets. Elegant carving on the handle.” It afforded him a good deal of pleasure to see outrage flood Wallace’s face.
“You’re a fool.” Wallace jerked away the glass and returned it to the box.
“No doubt,” De
smond agreed, ignoring the fierce spurt of loss and regret. “Clearly, I’m not the one who should operate it. The best thing is to untie my hands and send me on my way, and we will all forget this incident. I shan’t bring charges against you for kidnapping, and...”
“You will do as I say!” Wallace erupted, his face flooding with red. Gordon took a nervous step backward.
“I won’t.” It was easier now, with the Eye out of his sight, though he still felt that edgy, impatient pull.
“You have to!”
Grieves stepped forward and backhanded Desmond, making his head ring, but at least it was a blow that didn’t knock him out. “He’ll do it. A bit more of this, and he’ll be begging to.”
“You think beating me unconscious will enable me to use the Eye?” Desmond directed his gaze at Wallace.
Grieves raised his hand threateningly, but Wallace snapped, “No. Don’t be a fool. Step back, Grieves.”
Gordon hastened to join the conversation, smiling in a benign way. “There’s no need for animosity here. I’m sure Desmond will come to his senses. Just imagine the fame, my boy, the respect in the scientific community. Think of the knowledge.”
“Think of the money,” Wallace added harshly. “That’s what matters. I’ll pay you. Five hundred guineas. That’s more money than you’ve ever seen, I warrant.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Yes, you will.” Wallace smiled thinly. “Eventually. You sit there and think about it. Think about what that amount of money can do for you. And think about the fact that it’s the only way you’re getting out of here.”
“You cannot keep me here forever.”
“I’ll be happy to end your visit if you like,” Grieves replied, grinning.
“The Morelands know where I am,” Desmond pointed out.
“Ha!” Wallace scoffed. “You’re a fool if you think people like that will stir themselves to help you.”
“They know you have the Eye, as well.” It occurred to Desmond, too late, that he shouldn’t have reminded them about Thisbe’s family. It might occur to Wallace that the owner of the Eye was the likeliest person to be descended from Anne Ballew, and the last thing he wanted was for Wallace to go after Thisbe. Quickly, he did his best to divert them from the possibility that the Eye had been passed down through Anne’s descendants. “The dowager duchess’s great-grandfather bought the Eye, and, however little right she has to it, that woman holds on to what she possesses. You want to go up against her? I wouldn’t advise it. The Duchess of Broughton will hunt you down like a wolf on a rabbit.”
Wallace sneered. “I am hardly frightened by the prospect of a doddering old woman’s wrath.”
Desmond snorted. “Then you’re the fool here.”
“You’ll feel differently after you’ve spent some time thinking about your choices.” Wallace nodded to the other men. “Gentlemen. Let’s leave Mr. Harrison to contemplate his future.”
Desmond sagged against the back of the chair after they walked out of the room. It was tiring keeping up this pretense of sangfroid. He didn’t feel cool or calm or reasonable. What he felt was an overpowering need to get out of this place.
That blasted Eye was too strong, too dangerous. He’d resisted its pull today, but he didn’t want to be put to the test again. He hadn’t felt its power when the duchess showed it to them before. He had wanted to examine the thing, to test it, but no more than he usually desired to understand things. But today... Maybe Thisbe’s fear regarding the Eye had infected him, but he didn’t want to experience that compulsion again. He no longer desired to see what the glass might show. He feared it.
What would happen when Wallace realized he wouldn’t get what he wanted from Desmond? He could scarcely allow Desmond to tell everyone Wallace had kidnapped him. The only way to get rid of that possibility was to get rid of Desmond.
And what about Thisbe? She was bound to come after him—he felt a little qualm, thinking she might believe he had voluntarily left her, but surely she knew him better than that. In any case, whatever she thought regarding Desmond, Thisbe suspected the Eye was here, and she would come for that. The idea of Thisbe winding up in Wallace’s clutches made it even more imperative that he get out of here now.
Twisting, Desmond worked at untying the rope from the chair. It was incredibly difficult to unfasten the tight knot with his wrists bound. The chair was heavy; he didn’t think it would be possible to break the back from it. Perhaps there was something in the room he could use to cut the rope. He glanced around the room for a letter opener or scissors—anything with a sharp edge. Could he manage to get a coal out of the fire and burn through it? Use the fireplace poker as a lever to break the chair?
He stood up. It was bloody awkward, as the short length of the rope would not allow him to stand straight, but he grasped the chair and began to pull it. Hearing a noise in the hall outside the room, he turned quickly.
“Thisbe!”
* * *
“DESMOND!” THISBE RUSHED across the room to Desmond. They’d tied him to a chair. Fury rose in her.
“No. Get out. Get out.”
“That’s hardly the greeting I’d hoped for,” Thisbe said drily and pulled Theo’s knife from her pocket.
Desmond’s eyes widened. “You’re armed?”
“Only with Theo’s penknife. I’m afraid it won’t do much damage, but it was the easiest to hide.” She sawed through the rope. “Oh! Look at your wrists. They’re bleeding.”
“I was trying to get loose.” He sounded faintly apologetic. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“I found a window unlocked,” she explained. “I’ve been creeping about the house looking for you. There!” The knife finally cut through the last fibers, and she pulled off the rope. “Here, you take the knife. I have another weapon.” She held up her reticule, which only made him look confused, but there was no time to explain.
“Here! I say!”
They whirled around to see Professor Gordon standing in the doorway. As one, Thisbe and Desmond charged him, and the older man stumbled back into the corridor. But as they turned to run, Zachary Wallace popped out of a door down the hall and started toward them.
“This way!” Thisbe whirled to run in the other direction, but stopped when she realized Desmond had gone straight at Wallace. Desmond punched Wallace, first in the stomach, then on the chin, and the other man folded.
Professor Gordon, recovering from his stumble, grabbed Thisbe’s arm, and she swung her reticule at him. She intended to hit his head but he dodged surprisingly quickly, and her blow landed on his shoulder.
Letting out a yowl, Gordon dropped her arm and grabbed his shoulder.
“What do you have in there?” Desmond asked in astonishment.
“Billiard balls.”
He began to laugh, then took her hand, and they started again toward the front door. Wallace struggled to his feet, facing them. Desmond unfolded the knife, his eyes and voice cold in a way Thisbe had never witnessed before. “Really? You want to try that? I believe I have the reach on you.”
“And I have the gun on you,” a voice behind them said. Thisbe and Desmond froze and pivoted slowly to see Grieves standing in the hallway behind them, grinning, a revolver in his hand. He strolled forward, keeping the weapon trained on Thisbe. “Now. Drop the knife.”
Desmond opened his hand and let it fall to the floor.
“And that bag!” Gordon pointed at the reticule in Thisbe’s hand, then returned to rubbing his shoulder. With a sigh, Thisbe dropped the purse.
“Now.” Mr. Wallace straightened his jacket. “Perhaps we can have a reasonable discussion.”
Thisbe glanced at Desmond, and he shrugged. “I hope you told the authorities where you were going.”
“Of course,” Thisbe replied coolly. “Grandmother is even now haranguing the prime minister—Mot
her, more practically, is doing the same at Scotland Yard. Worse for this lot, though, is that Reed and Theo are already on their way here.” She doubted that these men would know that Theo was crossing the Atlantic at this moment, but hopefully Desmond would get the message that she was lying through her teeth.
“Mmm. Bad luck for you,” Desmond told Grieves. “Thisbe’s twin has a wicked temper.”
“Theo’s very protective of me.” Thisbe looked up at Desmond, feeling wonderfully in tune with him. Despite their predicament, she couldn’t keep from smiling and taking his hand.
“Here, now, stop that.” Grieves frowned suspiciously. “Move on.” He waggled the gun in the direction of the room they’d just left. “Back in there.”
“You do realize, Mr. Grieves,” Thisbe said conversationally, “I could pay you a great deal more than Mr. Wallace. Release us, and I will double whatever he’s promised to give you.”
Grieves grinned. “That’s tempting. But if I let you go, how do I know you’ll pay me?”
“Grieves...” Wallace said warningly.
“You have my word,” Thisbe said. That, of course, would mean nothing to a man like Grieves. “I’ll give you these earrings as a token to ensure my payment.”
“I can take those from you, anyhow,” Grieves replied. “You. Harrison, get in there. Missy, you stay here.” He came forward and grasped Thisbe’s arm, his gun touching the back of her skull. He sent a challenging look at Desmond.
Desmond regarded him stonily, but turned and walked back into the room they’d just left, followed by Wallace and Gordon. Grieves directed Desmond toward the bookcase and pushed Thisbe down into the chair Desmond had occupied before, letting go of her arm but keeping his gun aimed at her head.
“Now, to the matter at hand.” Wallace removed the box from the cabinet and reverently took out the Eye.
“I told you I’m not going to use it.” Desmond crossed his arms.