“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, twisting around to stare at the empty bed. “You caught me by surprise, is all.”
“Caught Giles by surprise, too. He thought his papa was dead.”
“Quickly, can you tell me what the gentleman looked like?”
The boy shook his head. “Giles sleeps across the way, and the man kept his back to me.”
Ethan straightened, staring at the empty bed.
“Arthur Rhodes might have seen something.” Mark threw back his covers. “He’s in the bed next to Giles’s.”
Mark and another sleepy-eyed boy led him to Arthur, who remained huddled beneath thin covers.
Everyone in the dormitory was awake now and they padded over on bare feet. They formed a semicircle around Ethan, waiting. Getting out of this place without alerting their keepers was all but impossible now. He might as well make the best of it and work on coming up with a plausible excuse for his presence.
Ethan set his candle on the bedside table. “Mr. Rhodes, do you have a moment, please?”
No reply came, but from the motion under the covers, Ethan guessed he’d just been told no.
“I’m concerned for Giles,” he said. “Do you have a description of the gentleman he left with an hour ago?”
More silence.
“Artie,” Mark said, jabbing the boy in the shoulder, “I think you should answer his lordship. Giles was your friend.”
The covers slowly lowered, and Ethan recalled the freckle-faced boy, who was afraid to stick his hand in Sydney’s bag. Brilliant. He had to pull vital information from the most timid orphan in residence.
Ethan knelt beside the bed. “What is upsetting you?”
“I can’t tell you, sir.” Tears clogged his voice.
“Gentlemen,” Ethan glanced at the small crowd, “give us a moment, please.”
“You heard him, lads. Let’s give Artie some space.” Mark shooed them all back to their beds.
Even though his body vibrated with tension, Ethan produced a calm, confidential tone. “Arthur, you and I are friends now. Yes?”
“I-I suppose so.”
“As my friend, you are under my protection. Understand?”
The boy nodded.
“If a certain gentleman, who took your friend Giles, threatened you in any way, I want you to know that I would kill him if he ever tried to harm you.” He chucked the boy under the chin to take the sting out of his words.
“You would?”
“Of course. Friends watch out for each other. Always.”
“He’s going to hurt Giles?”
Ethan squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s focus on finding them. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
The boy shook his head.
“Do you think the man was as tall as me?”
“Maybe even taller, sir.”
“Did he have brown hair?”
“No. His was as black as I’ve ever seen.”
“How about his build? Was he stocky like me or lean like your schoolmaster?”
He thought for a second. “More like Monsieur.”
“Can you think of anything else that would help me identify him? Anything at all?”
Arthur swiped his nose. “The way you talk. You sound a lot like each other.”
“You mean my accent?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he happen to mention anything about their destination? A city or foreign country? A boardinghouse or seaside cottage? A carriage or ship?”
“Yes!”
Ethan’s heart smacked against the wall of his chest. “Which one?”
“Ship,” Arthur said with excitement. “He promised Giles that he’d get to travel on a ship.”
“A ship, not a boat. Is that right?”
He nodded. “Lots of sails.”
Ethan’s mind buzzed with possibilities. The boy’s description of Giles’s father sounded an awful lot like Lord Latymer. From the beginning, they had suspected the baron of having a connection to Abbingale, but at no time had anyone conceived of this situation. Could Latymer truly be the Clarke boy’s father? If so, what was Giles doing here and why did Latymer have to secret the boy away? Or was this an attempt at redirection?
Then he recalled Cameron Adair’s prediction about Latymer leaving the country.
“Did the gentleman mention the name of the ship, or when it might set sail?”
The boy searched his mind. “No, sir.”
Ethan pushed to his feet. “You have my deepest gratitude for your bravery.” To mark the solemnness of the occasion, Ethan presented a leg and bowed lower than he’d bowed in a very long time. “Now, I must be off.”
Pivoting on his heel, he turned to leave and was met by a group of hopeful young faces.
“Can we go with you, sir?” one boy asked. “To help save Giles?”
Ethan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
“Please, sir,” another said. “We’re tired of losing our friends during the night.”
“What do you mean?”
“They disappear in the middle of the night and never return.”
“How many have disappeared?”
Mark spoke up. “One every few weeks or so. Just the gifted ones, though.”
“Gifted ones?”
Everyone’s attention swiveled back to Mark. The boy’s pockmarked face reddened. “Like me, sir.”
“How are you gifted?”
“It’s just a title Monsieur uses.” He closed the distance between them and whispered in Ethan’s ear. “Monsieur uses the term to distinguish those of us who shouldn’t be here.”
“And why is that?”
The boy hesitated.
“Your secret is safe with me. I swear it.”
Clearing his throat, Mark said, “Because we’re not orphans.”
Before Ethan could question him further, a shrill voice cut through the chamber.
“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Drummond marched down the center aisle.
Ethan whispered to Mark, “Where might I find the schoolmaster?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Mark whispered back. “We haven’t seen him since your visit yesterday.”
Elbowing her way through the last of the boys, Mrs. Drummond’s eyes widened when she noticed Ethan in their center. “Lord Danforth,” she glanced around, her expression anxious, “what are you doing here?”
The plausible excuse he needed failed to materialize. When faced with an impossible situation, especially one involving a woman, Ethan reverted to his tried-and-true weapon—charm and a seductive smile.
“Good evening, Mrs. Drummond. How nice to see you again.”
She waved the boys away. “Back to bed with you. Now.”
Dejected, they shuffled away, glancing back several times before climbing into their narrow beds.
The nurse leveled her steely eyes on him. “Explain your business here, my lord.”
Not wanting the boys to see the lengths he would go to in order to win the nurse’s silence, Ethan indicated a nearby exit. “Shall we?”
She hesitated a moment before nodding. Once they were away from young ears, Ethan began weaving his spell.
“I know my visit this evening might seem a little unorthodox.”
She sent him a confused look. “What do you mean unorthodox?”
“Irregular. But, I assure you,” he set his hand to the center of her lower back and deepened his voice, “my reason for being here is a very good one.”
His nearness unsettled her, and she took a small step away but did not completely break contact. “And what reason would that be?”
They were nearing the staircase. He reduced the gap between their bodies. “You recall that I’m considering making a dona
tion to Abbingale.”
The nurse glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and then nodded. She didn’t move away.
“It’s been my experience to tour an establishment during the day to get a sense of the operation. Then make a clandestine visit at night to see behind the curtains, so to speak.”
“Sounds as if you’re spying on us.”
“In a way, I am.” He produced a warm, conspiratorial smile. “We’re talking about a good deal of money, Mrs. Drummond.”
The rigid line of her lips loosened, not into a smile but something infinitely more friendly. Again, she scanned the area with a nervous eye. “You should not be here, my lord.”
“You’re right, of course.” Pausing near the staircase, he stood close enough to smell the starch in her clothing. “But one can never be too careful. I’m sure you understand.”
“If you leave now, I won’t inform Matron about your visit. Dither around here any longer and I’ll be forced to say something.” Her steely command was edged with breathless anticipation.
He leaned forward, his stomach muscles tightened and his throat clenched to hold down the bile. The hand at her back urged her forward. He pressed his lips against her cheek and produced a long, flesh-prickling breath. Then he lingered two seconds longer than was appropriate. When he lifted his head, slowly, he made sure his most intimate smile was in place. “Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. I shall not forget your kindness.”
She swallowed hard, moving away. “Good night, Lord Danforth.”
“Good night—” Pain sliced into Ethan’s skull, and his legs buckled.
The nurse gasped, staggered back, and then crumbled to the floor.
Ethan shook his head to clear his vision and managed not only to make it worse, but to send another shooting pain into his left eye and down his spine. He sensed a forbidding presence next to him and attempted to get to his feet. Another mistake that made him drunkenly fall to his backside.
“Up with you, guv’nor.” A large pair of hands seized his arm. “We’ll take you some place nice so you can rest. A lo-o-ong rest.” The man chuckled.
Ethan struggled, though his half-blinded attempt was pathetic. His attacker decided to take the easier route, and he slammed his massive boot into Ethan’s side, hurling him down the stairs. His right shoulder connected with a corner of a stair, and he heard a sickening pop—then nothing but his body thudding down the remaining stairs, followed by a thwack when he bounced off the landing wall. Unable to break his momentum, he started rolling down the next set of stairs. As luck would have it, he managed to grab a sturdy baluster, bringing his headlong flight to a violent halt.
Footsteps pounded down after him. Closing his eyes against his swirling surroundings, he made to grasp the hidden knife inside his boot. His right arm wouldn’t move. He tried again. Nothing. The bastard’s fingers clawed into his hair, forcing Ethan’s head back at an unnatural angle. The swirling increased.
Jaw clenched, he grappled for the knife with his left hand. Twisting his body, he lashed out three times in quick succession. A loud bellow accompanied by several curses rent the air. The man’s grip on Ethan’s hair disappeared.
Opening his eyes, he blinked several times. His focus slowly returned and the first thing he noticed was the blood spurting from his attacker’s thigh. A good sign for Ethan, a very bad sign for the injured footpad. Within a few short minutes, there would be no more blood left to eject from the wound. He shuddered. This could have been Sydney’s fate last evening.
Backing down the stairs, Ethan said, “I would suggest you have that looked at. Now.” Though he knew the man would never make it to a surgeon in time.
His attacker glared at him, with shocked, faintly glazed eyes. “You bloody well killed me.”
“I do believe I was provoked.” Ethan stumbled down the last two stairs; pain sliced through his arm.
Sweat streamed over the other man’s temples, giving his colorless face a waxy sheen. “I’m going to crush your scrawny neck.” He charged after Ethan, but the amount of blood he’d already lost made him clumsy and his aim off.
Ethan moved out of the way at the last moment, and the big man went hurtling to the floor. He did not get back up.
Nausea surged into Ethan’s throat, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. For several seconds, he fought a silent battle and slowly the bile receded, leaving a raw, burning trail behind. The bastard had hit his head hard enough to give him a damn concussion. On top of that unpleasant realization, his right arm hung uselessly at his side and hurt like hell. Then a muscle in his crippled arm spasmed, and Ethan nearly blacked out.
Good God, he didn’t need this now. With Giles Clarke missing and talk of ships, Ethan suspected he had minutes to locate the boy, rather than days. He bent to sheathe his knife and pain splintered in his head and arm. Clenching his teeth, he cupped the elbow of his injured arm with his hand and felt a modicum of relief.
“Lord Danforth,” a new voice called from above.
Careful not to make any sudden moves, he swiveled enough to peer up the stairs and found Abbingale’s matron descending. One of her hands glided along the handrail and the other was hidden behind her skirts. She stared at the macabre scene below as if it were nothing more than a spilled cup of tea.
“Mrs. Kingston.” Recalling the nurse’s sharp gasp, he glanced beyond the matron’s shoulder for signs of the other woman.
“Mrs. Drummond can no longer help you, my lord,” she said with an amiable smile.
His muscles went taut. “Why is that?”
“The moment she set you free, she was no longer of any use to us.”
“Us?” He nodded toward the dead man, knowing he was more likely a hired footpad than a mastermind. The more questions she answered, the closer he would come to unraveling the mystery surrounding this place. “You and this gentleman?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
She continued forward in an even, unfaltering descent. Nothing in her tone or expression matched her matter-of-fact I-kill-people-every-day words.
“Perhaps you should stop where you are, Mrs. Kingston. I should also like to see what’s in your left hand.”
She complied without hesitation, halting several stairs above him to point a pistol at his head.
“It is merely a precaution, my lord. I would much prefer not to have another mess to clean up tonight.”
“Nor do I wish to be a mess.” Precious minutes were slipping away. “Mrs. Kingston, I hate to cut our reunion short, but I have a missing boy to find.” He eyed her calm facade. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find him. Giles Clarke? Or, if you prefer, Adam Smith?”
“Your skill at prevarication should be commended, my lord.” She waved him back against the wall before continuing her descent. “During your visit yesterday, I detected nothing amiss with your performance as an overindulged nobleman.”
“High praise from someone who knows a bit about the subject.”
“Am I to assume Mrs. Henshaw was also performing?”
Ethan would love to confirm her suspicions, but there were still too many unanswered questions and unknown people involved. Until he knew more, he would minimize Sydney’s exposure.
“Mrs. Henshaw was an unfortunate victim in my scheme.” A wave of dizziness washed over him. He braced his shoulder blades against the wall to keep from pitching forward. “Since we are in a sharing mood, perhaps you might explain why the boys are coming and going from the property throughout the day.”
One of her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Monsieur LaRouche said you were a spy. Even though I did not fully believe him, I decided to initiate my plan a few days sooner than I had scheduled.”
“What sort of plan?”
“Killing him, of course,” she said, without emotion. “I didn’t mind him using the boys to courier government secrets to his various
French contacts around the city. But he changed the rules on his gifted boys. Once they’d out-served their purpose, he began selling them like slaves.” The gun in her hand trembled as a shudder tracked down her stout frame. “I found out where the last boy went, and I want no part of that kind of depravity.”
Ethan stared at the woman in fascinated horror. In the time it took to snap one’s fingers, the matron had explained all the mysterious goings-on at Abbingale. “You just killed him? A French intelligence agent? Do you really think they’ll let you live after tampering with their system?”
“Who would ever suspect me? If anything, you’ll be the one blamed.” She pointed her weapon toward the stairs leading down. “After you.”
Walking meant jarring his shoulder. Jarring his shoulder meant excruciating pain. Excruciating pain meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant death.
He carved his most charming smile across his face. “But we were getting on so well here.”
“I am immune to men and their charm, my lord. I think their attempts at seduction rather disgusting.” She raised her brows, waiting.
It was then he realized that pain was not his worst enemy. No, he had to face the shameful fact that, in his present condition and while she brandished a weapon, he might not be able to overpower this diminutive redheaded murderer. With his luck, he would faint the second he released his useless arm.
Gathering his strength, he pushed away from the wall in one fluid motion and took a step toward the stairs. A wave of lightheadedness hit him. He paused a moment until his equilibrium stabilized. At the far end of the corridor, another figure emerged from one of the chambers. Ethan squinted for a better look at the same time the figure faced him, taking in the chilling scene.
“No!” The figure ran toward them, cloak billowing out behind.
Time slowed. Realization blared.
Cloaked figure. Sydney.
“Stop!” But he was too late. Mrs. Kingston swung her pistol toward the new threat. Not stopping to think about the pain, he plowed into the woman. Her weapon fired, and Ethan waited for the answering feminine scream. None came, though that might be because his ears were filled with his own roar of pain as he and the matron crashed to the floor.
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