“Have you gone mad?”
Doubt and despair speared through him. “Perhaps.” In truth he worried the dark mood that came more and more frequently might be a preview of insanity. “All I ask is for you to tell me this is not Professor Grisby.”
“This is not Professor Grisby.” Weston handed back the paper. “In case you’ve forgotten, he’s dead.”
“So there’s nothing in this article that makes you uneasy?”
“Other than the fact that another scientist might lose his life while trying to control electromagnetism? No.”
“But—”
“Ashbury, I’ve done as you asked. I hate to be rude but I have an appointment.” He stepped around his desk, obviously intent on seeing him to the door.
Despite Weston’s reassurances, Stephen’s unease remained. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Rather than taking Weston’s hint to leave, he remained where he was and read the article again. Weston was right. The simple words on the page described several other scientists. Why did he think of the professor when he read it?
Weston stood beside him and tapped the paper Stephen held. “I’m telling you, that can’t possibly be the professor. We saw his body that night. We attended his funeral. We watched his sister and her family grieve. Surely you haven’t forgotten that.”
“No.” Their grief was something he’d always remember. Professor Grisby’s sister had sobbed uncontrollably. The sound had broken his heart. Her oldest child, still a young girl, was the only one who’d remained composed. Despite her dry eyes, her grief was palpable. The sag of her shoulders, the grim set of her mouth, her large, empty brown eyes staring straight ahead. The devastation seemed to have shaken her world.
“Then you know this has nothing to do with Grisby.”
Stephen stared into Weston’s eyes, trying to absorb the surety Weston had, but failing. “I’m going to see what more I can discover.”
Weston shook his head. “You are the most stubborn—”
A knock at the door interrupted him.
“What is it?”
A servant stepped into the room. “A messenger has arrived for Lord Ashbury.”
Stephen frowned. He couldn’t imagine why any of his messengers would come here to speak with him. “I’ll let you be on your way,” he told Weston and moved to the door.
Weston followed him. “A messenger?”
He paused to look at his friend, surprised at his sudden interest. “Must be from one of my associates. We’re in the middle of investigating a few problems.”
Before he got to the door, James, one of the lads who worked for him, stepped forward, hat in hand.
“Sorry to bother you, my lord, but the man we’ve been watching for arrived at the warehouse near the docks. You said you wanted to know immediately.”
“Well done.” Stephen turned to Weston to say goodbye, regret filling him at the loss of his friend, wishing things were different. “I apologize for interrupting your morning.”
Weston frowned. “Who have you been watching for down there?”
“No one you know. I’ll bid you good day.” Stephen moved toward the door.
“That’s a rough area.”
“Indeed.”
“You’re not going there alone?”
“James will be with me.” Stephen looked at Weston, wondering what was going through his mind.
“He’s a boy.” Weston pointed out the obvious.
“He’s tougher than he looks.” Stephen nodded at the lad. The hope he held that Weston might assist them was a fragile thing.
Weston tugged on his watch fob to check the time. “I can’t possibly accompany you. I’m already late.”
Stephen pushed back the disappointment with a polite smile. It should be enough that Weston had considered it. “Of course.” The loss of a friend, of someone he’d thought he’d always be able to count on, still hurt. “We’ll be on our way.”
“Wait.” Weston stuffed the watch back in his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you should go down there without more support.”
“Are you offering to accompany us?”
Weston sighed. “I suppose I am.”
With a smile and a lightness in his heart, Stephen gestured toward the door. “I’d appreciate your assistance. I’ll explain along the way.”
***
They arrived near the dock in Stephen’s carriage, but stopped short of Hook Lane, the area where Simmons had been seen. Stephen didn’t want the carriage to draw attention.
“So this Simmons person is bothering Miss Bradford?” Weston asked as they alighted.
“Yes. We finally located him only to realize he’s involved in something far larger than threatening Miss Bradford. He’s been on a spending spree of late which indicates he has access to money. He’s buying enough food for a group of people. Whoever he’s working for had sufficient funds and connections to arrange for the switch of the two prisoners at Newgate. Someone willing to wait ten years for Simmons to be released from prison. All of that suggests a large operation. Simmons isn’t smart enough to succeed in such an endeavor alone. At any rate, he needs to be stopped. The danger to Miss Bradford and her family cannot continue.”
“Ah, yes. The delectable Miss Bradford. She seems to be at the heart of this matter.”
Stephen glared at Weston, but held his tongue. Weston’s description of her as ‘delectable’ angered him more than it should. He couldn’t possibly be jealous.
“What ho,” Weston said with a smile. “The lady is the true issue here. Has a woman at last captured your attention?”
“Weston, please. Focus. James will outpace us if we don’t hurry along.” Stephen was willing to say anything to silence his questions.
Weston chuckled but walked faster. “What is Simmons after? Why does he bother Miss Bradford?”
“He told her he wants ‘the rock’ but hasn’t been descriptive enough for her to know to what he’s referring. Her father had a rather extensive rock collection, so we’re assuming Simmons is after something in that.”
“Interesting.”
“One of the specimens in his collection is a lunar meteorite.”
Weston stopped and grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Grisby searched for that type of rock prior to his death.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you think it’s the same type Grisby wanted?”
Stephen nodded.
“Quite the coincidence,” Weston murmured.
“Isn’t it?”
“That explains why the newspaper article upset you. You’ve already got the professor on your mind.”
Stephen didn’t bother to respond, grateful Weston had made the same connection he had. Perhaps he wasn’t losing his mind after all.
They continued on, winding their way through the crowded, narrow street. Dock workers, clerks, and all manners of people went about their business, paying little heed to them. Carts piled high with goods jammed the lane with their drivers hollering to clear the way. James looked back once or twice to make certain they followed.
“Right over there, my lord.” James stopped and pointed across the street.
The two-story brick and wood building had seen better days. The high windows were coated in soot and grime. The boards were rotting in places. Two huge doors sealed the front of the building with a large padlock and chain, visible even from where they stood.
“Picking that will be quite the challenge,” Weston observed. “And me without the proper tools. I trust you have yours?”
Stephen smiled, knowing full well Weston didn’t possess such tools. “I do, but I don’t want to risk being seen. Is there another entrance, James?” he asked.
“Yes, around back. There’s a smaller door on that side.”
“Let’s take a detour. I don’t want to risk Simmons spotting us.”
The trio backtracked through the muddle of people and buildings and at last drew within forty yards of the rear entrance. Th
ey paused to study the area which was nearly deserted except for two boys.
Stephen recognized Hubert, another of their associates, who was tucked in the corner of a nearby entryway, munching on a cone of chips. The other boy slouched against a doorway two doors down and seemed oddly familiar. The boy shifted, and something about his stance caught Stephen’s attention.
“Christ!” Shock stole his thoughts.
“What?” Weston asked, looking again at the two street urchins.
“Miss Bradford,” Stephen ground out, anger pouring through him.
“Where? The two boys...” Weston’s voice trailed off as he watched a moment longer. “Impressive. I wouldn’t have looked at her twice if you hadn’t recognized her.”
“Blast the woman! Her impatience is unbelievable.”
As they drew closer, the rear door of the warehouse burst open. Simmons rushed toward Abigail. Apparently he’d recognized her as well.
Stephen’s heart stopped as he sprinted toward them. His feet felt mired in mud as he watched the scene unfold. He knew he couldn’t reach her in time.
Simmons grabbed Abigail before she had a chance to flee. He started to shake her, but caught sight of Stephen and Weston bearing down on him. He jerked Abigail in front of him so they both faced Stephen. Simmons’ knife blade gleamed as he pressed it to her throat.
Abigail’s gaze met Stephen’s, and he could see the fear that gripped her.
“Stay back,” Simmons called out. “Ye don’t want her hurt.”
Stephen’s footsteps slowed. “Let her go,” he demanded.
Simmons smiled. “Leave off or I’ll slit her throat.”
Weston grabbed Stephen’s arm and brought him to a halt. “Do as he says,” he whispered. “We outnumber him by far so we’ll free her soon enough.”
Abigail’s frightened gaze held Stephen’s as Simmons backed away. Stephen had never felt so helpless. The pair disappeared around the corner of a narrow alley.
Hubert darted out from the entryway in which he’d hidden, fright etched in his face. “I’m sorry, my lord. It happened so fast. He had that pig sticker and—”
“No fault lay with you, Hubert,” he reassured the boy. “Stay here with James.”
“No! I want to help.”
“Me too!” James added.
Stephen hesitated for only a moment. He didn’t want anyone else in danger but the more eyes they had looking for Simmons and Abigail, the better. “James, take the far side of the building, and Hubert, take the other. If you see them, follow but keep your distance!”
The two boys dashed away as Stephen and Weston sprinted toward the alley where Simmons had dragged Abigail.
As they passed the door from which Simmons had emerged, it opened again. Two large men stepped out, blocking their path.
“Where do ye think ye’re goin’?” One of the ruffians towered over Stephen, blocking the sky from view.
“You didn’t mention this part of today’s outing,” Weston muttered from beside him.
“Wasn’t planning on it myself.”
“You get the bigger one.”
“Of course,” Stephen reluctantly agreed. Hoping to use the element of surprise, he hooked his booted foot behind the large man’s ankle and shoved him back.
The man didn’t budge.
All too aware of time passing and Abigail being taken farther and farther away, Stephen tried again, this time adding his fist into the equation. His opponent staggered but caught his balance.
He glimpsed Weston landing a blow on the smaller man and hope brought him strength. He slapped the man’s fist away then boxed his ears. The big man staggered back, no doubt distracted by the ringing in his ears. Stephen delivered a quick uppercut to his chin followed by a swinging kick to his abdomen.
The man tottered for a brief moment before crumpling to the ground. Stephen turned to see Weston standing over his adversary who showed no sign of moving.
“You’ll have to tell me where you learned to fight like that,” Weston said as he brushed off the lapel of his jacket.
Stephen merely nodded, then tore down the alley where Abigail had disappeared. Weston’s booted footsteps pounded right behind him. At the mouth of the alley, Stephen slid to a halt and looked up and down the busy street but could see no sign of them.
“There!” Weston pointed toward the docks.
Abigail seemed to have gathered her wits and had become a dead weight, making progress difficult for Simmons. Stephen nearly smiled at the sight. Simmons had no idea what he was in for if he managed to take her. The lady was a force unto herself.
With Weston behind him, Stephen darted around workers, carts, and horses, following as closely as he dared. He spotted Hubert approaching Simmons from the other direction. The boy gave Stephen a quick nod to acknowledge he’d seen him, then pulled his hat down low and hurried along. Hubert rammed into Simmons as though he hadn’t been watching where he was going.
Simmons lost his grip on Abigail, and she slid to the ground. Simmons turned to yell at the boy, threatening him with his knife.
Hubert held up his hands, palms out. But rather than moving out of the way, the boy turned and stumbled, managing to maneuver himself between Simmons and Abigail.
Simmons grabbed the lad and shook him. Then he stared at the street urchin for a long moment. Simmons appeared to recognize the lad. Stephen quickened his pace, trying to weave through the crowded thoroughfare to reach them.
Abigail started to crawl away, hat in hand, which caught Simmons’ attention. He stepped in front of her and shoved her back with his boot while still grasping Hubert’s jacket with one hand, his knife in the other. Hubert lurched forward as though Simmons’ movement had unbalanced him, but the way he put his shoulder into it, Stephen knew it was an act.
“That boy’s going to get himself killed!” Weston said.
Simmons shoved at Hubert again, obviously desperate to grab Abigail before she escaped. But the lad didn’t budge. The snarl on Simmons’ face said his patience had come to an end. He stabbed Hubert in the abdomen.
“No!” Stephen yelled, but he was still too far away to be heard above the din of the street.
Hubert’s shock at his injury lasted only a moment, then fury took over. The boy punched and kicked to defend himself, landing a solid blow to Simmons’ leg.
A few passersby stopped when the scuffle crossed their path and within seconds a small crowd had gathered, partially obscuring Stephen’s view. One man cheered for Simmons, while another shouted encouragement to Hubert. No one attempted to stop the madness. The crowd seemed anxious for the fight to continue, making it even more difficult for Stephen and Weston to reach them.
Stephen lost sight of the action as the press of bodies closed around them. “Save the boy,” he called to Weston. “I’ll find Abigail.”
He waded into the crowd, his heart in his throat, hoping he could save her before Simmons used that knife on her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fear and anger warred inside Abigail. She lashed out at Simmons with her feet, anything to draw his attention from the boy. Her reward was a kick to her thigh. She grunted in pain but didn’t stop.
She refused to let Simmons harm the lad any further, not when he’d been trying to save her. Using her heavy boot, she struck out again with all her might. Simmons cursed at her as he staggered back. She struggled to her feet, appalled at the cheers from the crowd encircling them. Couldn’t they see the boy had been stabbed?
Desperate to find someone to aid her, she scanned the mob. The crowd parted briefly, and she caught sight of Stephen elbowing his way toward her. Relief flooded through her. She looked back to the boy and saw Lord Weston approaching him. Tears filled her eyes as she realized help had indeed arrived.
Simmons spotted the two lords as well. His foul language and knife divided the crowd quickly. Disappointed onlookers booed as he fled the scene.
“Stop him!” Abigail cried out, but no one listened, probably because of
the bloody weapon he waved about. Within moments, he’d disappeared.
“He’s getting away,” she told Stephen as he reached her.
Another boy appeared at Stephen’s side, bouncing on his toes, eager to help. “I’ll follow him, my lord.”
“All right, James, but stay back. Do not let him see you.” The lad took off before Stephen had finished speaking.
He turned back to Abigail and pulled her into his arms for a long moment. She felt him draw a deep breath, making her realize how worried he’d been. At last he eased back to study her face. “Are you all right?”
“‘Tis the boy who was stabbed.”
“But are you hurt?”
“Only bruised.” She raised a hand to straighten her cap only to realize how much she was shaking. Now that Stephen had arrived, her racing heart started to slow, the knot of fear in her stomach loosened, but her leg throbbed from Simmons’ kick.
“Get back,” Lord Weston called out to the crowd, and people began to disperse. “Go on about your business!”
“Let us get you and Hubert to safety,” Stephen said, his arm still around her as he guided her forward.
Hubert’s pale face shook Abigail to the core. She watched in dismay as he put a hand to his stomach and his fingers turned red with blood. When he caught sight of it, his breath came in shaky gasps. Lord Weston supported him as he faltered.
Images from her father’s death mingled with the sight of Hubert, bringing tears to her eyes. She started toward him, fear coiling inside her once again.
Stephen stopped her, those green eyes steady on hers. “Abigail, you must be strong. If Hubert sees you upset, he’ll think his injury is worse than it is. Stay strong for me, all right?”
She blinked through her tears, holding Stephen’s gaze as she attempted to calm down. After another deep breath, she glanced at Hubert, and the sight of his shaky smile helped clear her mind. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Had to be the hero, didn’t you?” Stephen patted the boy’s shoulder in a show of affection once they reached him. “I suppose you’ll want extra pay for this.”
Herbert’s face flushed as he smiled up at Stephen. “All in a day’s work.”
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 15