“I have the rock. Now take me to the girls.” They’d nearly reached the hackney that waited down the street.
“Hand over the stone and I’ll send yer dear sisters home to ye.”
“Not until I see Sophia and Olivia for myself.” She clenched her fists, prepared to fight him if necessary. He might be stronger than she, but he couldn’t possibly be as determined.
The driver of the hackney remained huddled beneath his cloak, his hat low on his forehead. She knew not to expect any assistance from him. He’d already ignored their conversation on the drive here.
“Just give me the rock. I’ll leave ye here and go free them. They might even arrive home before ye do.” Simmons’ cajoling tone was anything but reassuring.
“Take me to them. Now. When I see they’re safe, I’ll give you the rock.”
“Let me see the bloody thing. How do I even know you have it? Don’t force me to use this knife.” He pulled the blade from his pocket.
She swallowed hard, her stomach in knots. Left with no choice, she retrieved the rock from her pocket and handed it to him. Would he realize it wasn’t the right one?
He held it up to the dim light cast by the hackney’s lantern and her nerves stretched taut.
Without waiting for him to decide if he recognized it, she stepped up into the hackney and sat. She was coming with him whether he approved the rock or not. If necessary, she’d threaten him with her pistol and force him to take her to the girls, but only as a last resort. She knew too well the gun was no guarantee that her plan would go her way.
“If ye would’ve given this to me the first time I asked, we wouldn’t be takin’ this ride,” Simmons grumbled as he climbed in beside her.
She breathed a shaky sigh of relief.
He glanced around as though to see if they were being followed, then ordered the driver to depart, not yet telling him their destination.
Abigail shivered. The dampness in the air seeped into her body. Or perhaps it was fear that made her tremble. She had to hope that whatever plan Stephen had would be successful for she didn’t believe she could do this on her own.
The hackney made its way slowly through the foggy streets. The driver ignored Simmons’ calls to hurry. When they finally drew to a halt, Abigail guessed they were somewhere near the docks, though the fog made it difficult to discern. The air smelled briny, and a fog horn sounded in the distance. She studied the unfamiliar buildings, searching for signs of occupation.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
“Pay the driver.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ye ’eard me. Pay the bloody driver.” Simmons jumped down from his seat. “Then I’ll take ye to those sweet sisters of yers.”
The way he spoke of them made her skin crawl. She stepped down then dug into her pocket to find the proper coins, grateful she carried some with her. As she reached in, the cold steel of her father’s pistol reassured her.
She handed the money to the driver. His hat hid his face almost completely, but what she could see appeared much younger than she’d remembered.
“Thank ye,” the driver said as he tipped his hat to her with a wink. “Ta-ra. See you soon.”
She stared up at him, wondering at his words. Could he be one of Stephen’s associates? Before she could ask, the hackney jolted away at a fast clip, leaving her standing by Simmons. A little flame of hope flickered inside her. She had to believe Stephen would soon know where she was and come to her aid.
“Where are my sisters?” she demanded. Sophia and Olivia must be frightened out of their wits by now.
“In here.” Simmons withdrew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door of a large, dark building.
Abigail warily stepped inside the dark interior while Simmons locked the door behind them.
The strike of a match broke the eerie silence. The glow of a lantern emitted a small circle of light, easing back the darkness.
“This way,” he directed her as he lifted the lamp and moved toward the rear of the building.
The large open space appeared empty except for three tall objects draped in canvas. As they passed them, the dim light revealed several doors at the back of the warehouse, most of which were shut.
Muted voices could be heard from behind the door where Simmons stopped. Abigail held her breath as she listened closely, desperate for the sound of Olivia and Sophia.
He pulled out another key and unlocked the door. With a gesture for her to go first, he held the lantern with one hand and withdrew his knife with the other. Did he expect her sisters to cause trouble or did he intend to use that on her?
“Get back, all of ye,” he said in a loud voice, “else I’ll be using my blade to carve out yer hearts!”
Shocked by his threat, Abigail opened the door.
Loud gasps drew her gaze as Sophia and Olivia rushed toward her. “Abigail!”
She gathered both of her sisters in her arms, relief weakening her knees. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, we’re fine,” Sophia said, her trembling form clinging to Abigail.
“We’re so glad you found us,” Olivia added, her face buried against Abigail’s shoulder.
But they weren’t the only ones in the small room. Far from it.
As she held the girls, others moved forward out of the dark corners. Nearly a dozen children filled the small space, all boys except for Sophia and Olivia. They ranged in age from perhaps as young as five to closer to the twins’ age. All had the look of street urchins or orphans with their thin faces and ragged clothes.
“What on earth is going on?” Abigail glared at Simmons. “Why are you holding these children?”
The man watched the boys, his knife at the ready. “Stay back and none of ye will be ’urt.”
“Release them at once,” Abigail demanded.
“They’ve volunteered to participate in a very important scientific experiment.”
“We did not!”
“He’s tellin’ ye a lie, miss!”
Abigail turned at a familiar voice to find Hubert nearby. “What are you doing here?”
“Long story, miss.”
“Let us go!”
“Don’t listen to ’im!” Their voices rose, all in disagreement at the claim Simmons had made.
“Here now! You filthy little—”
“Do not speak to them like that.” Abigail refused to stand by and listen to him berate the poor boys, regardless of the knife he held. “Release them at once!”
“Not a chance,” Simmons said. “They’re devotin’ their lives to science.”
“What? Are you out of your mind?” Abigail’s outrage knew no bounds.
Simmons laughed, an unpleasant sound. “Yer not the first to ask me that.”
Abigail had had enough. “Children, come along. It’s time to go.” Fear pulsed through her but she kept an arm around each of her sisters and moved toward the door.
Simmons set the lantern outside the room and blocked their path, still wielding his knife. “None of ye are leavin’.”
Sophia gasped as Olivia shouted, “You told us you’d free us when our sister arrived.”
Her heart sinking, Abigail tightened her grip on the girls and addressed him. “You have the stone. Now let us go. All of us.”
She phrased it as a statement, not a question. For the briefest moment, she’d forgotten of what this man was truly capable. He’d killed her father. She needed to remember that. The children’s lives and her own depended on it.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere until my uncle has a look at the stone.”
Sophia stood in front of Abigail, blocking Simmons’ view of her hands. Without looking down, Abigail reached into her pocket, gripped the pistol, and cocked the hammer, easing Sophia behind her. “You’re leading us out of here. Now.”
Simmons’ eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the gun. “Give that to me. Remember what ‘appened last time. You don’t want to ‘urt someone again.”
“You�
�re right. I don’t. Lead us out.” Her heart pounded so hard she could barely hold the gun steady. His reminder of how she’d shot Stephen made her hands shake even more.
Sophia whimpered behind her.
“Ye’ve been nothin’ but trouble since day one,” Simmons said, his disgust obvious.
“Move. Now.” She gestured to the door with the pistol, her finger trembling on the trigger.
Simmons scoffed, but turned to walk out the door.
Abigail drew a breath of relief then gasped when he spun back and dove for the pistol. She gritted her teeth and tightened her finger on the trigger.
Olivia screamed and grabbed for Simmons’ arm but bumped Abigail in the process. The pistol went off, the blast deafening in the small room.
“Damn you!” Simmons cursed, holding his shoulder. “You shot me.” He yanked the now useless pistol out of her hand before she could stop him and tucked it in his pocket. “You and that bloody gun! Nothin’ but trouble. Now you can all rot in here.”
He slammed the door, leaving them in the pitch black of the small room. She heard the grate of the key turning the lock and the soft cries of one of the boys.
She pounded on the door. “Let us out of here!” With little hope, she found the handle and twisted. It didn’t budge.
The sound of fading footsteps made her heart sink. Now what was she to do?
***
Stephen paced the front step outside his home, unable to sit inside and wait. One of the servants should’ve been back by now. Where the hell were they? Something must’ve gone wrong.
As he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, the rattle of an approaching carriage gave him hope. He waited, straining to see through the mist.
But he soon realized it was Weston’s. Damn.
The conveyance pulled to a halt and Farley and Weston both alighted.
“I picked up Farley on my way here after I got your message,” Weston said, frowning. “Thought we might need assistance. What are you doing out here?”
“Simmons has Abigail.”
“Blast it all!”
“You might be overdressed for a rescue attempt.” Stephen frowned at Weston’s formal evening attire.
“I was on my way to a ball, but your message sounded urgent.”
“Do you know where he has her?” Farley asked.
Stephen quickly told them what he knew. Before he’d finished, footsteps pounded toward them out of the fog. Relief filled him as he recognized one of his footmen. “Here are our directions now.”
They piled into Weston’s carriage and were off, the footman directing them.
Farley scowled. “And here I thought I’d finally see the inside of your residence.”
Stephen smiled. “If we manage to save Abigail and her sisters, you’re welcome to visit any time.”
Soon they picked up another servant who told them where to turn next. Each servant had stopped where the hackney had turned a corner then ran back to where they’d left the previous one, leaving a trail just as Markus had promised.
In a short time, they passed a hackney whose driver hailed them. The man pulled off his hat, and Stephen was surprised to see Markus with a huge grin. One of Stephen’s other servants was with him as Markus had picked him up on his way back.
“I don’t know how you managed to replace the hackney driver, but I appreciate your cleverness.” Stephen shook his head in amazement, grateful for the boy’s resourcefulness.
Markus shrugged. “It’s amazing what a few coins can buy. Simmons took her to a warehouse near Pearson’s Lane, not far from the docks. A big warehouse from what I could see.”
Relieved beyond words, Stephen smiled. “Well done. Show us the way.”
He patted his pocket for the twentieth time. The meteorite was still there. As a last resort, he intended to offer it in exchange for Abigail and her sisters. Though he still hoped to discover who was behind this whole affair, the safety of Abigail and her family was his first priority. The last half hour of waiting had taken years off his life.
Markus turned around the hackney and they followed, the horses hooves echoing on the quiet streets until at last they halted outside a building near the docks.
“This is interesting.” Weston looked around with curiosity. “I received word earlier today of another address leased to Leon Smith and I think this is it.”
“With luck, we’ll not only be able rescue Abigail and her sisters, but discover the identity of Mr. Smith.”
Markus led the way to the entrance of the warehouse.
“The offices are probably in the rear of the building. That would be the most likely place to hold the girls,” Weston said.
“You take Farley to investigate the back,” Stephen said. “Markus and I will see if we can get in the front door.”
Weston looked down at his elegant evening attire and sighed. “I like this jacket, but clothes can be replaced. Let’s go, Farley.”
“Keep watch, Markus,” Stephen bid the boy. “I’ll see if I can open the door.” He could only hope they’d arrived in time.
CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR
“Vincent, what is going on out there?”
“That woman shot me!” Vincent slammed the door of a neighboring room behind him and looked down at his arm. Anything to avoid looking at his uncle’s face. The sight of the scars still turned his stomach.
“Miss Bradford? How resourceful of her.” Uncle Joseph stepped closer to examine Vincent’s arm in the dim light of the lantern. “It appears to be merely a flesh wound. Nothing serious.”
“It bloody freakin’ ‘urts!”
“I’m sure. There are some rags over there if you care to wrap it.”
His uncle’s lack of sympathy only stirred Vincent’s anger more. “She’s a pain in the—”
“Vincent, do you have the stone?”
It was all he could do not to throw the damned thing at his uncle. His single-mindedness was enough to make a man want to punch something. Instead, he clenched his jaw and handed him the rock. He moved to the pile of rags, searching for a clean one with which to bind it.
His uncle handled the stone with reverence, hefting it in his hand as though to determine its weight. He limped over to the table against the wall where a collection of coils, circuits, and resonators lay along with a myriad of other items Vincent could not name.
While Vincent admired his uncle’s knowledge, his obsession with electromagnetism made him uneasy. How he could waste so many years tinkering with a bunch metal parts? Nothing had yet come of the devices he’d built, or the promises he’d made Vincent.
Muttering under his breath, Vincent wrapped a long piece of linen around his arm. “Could you help me tie this?”
But his request was lost on his uncle who turned the stone over, peering at it closely. The glow of the lantern on the table lit the good side of his uncle’s face.
With a sigh, Vincent managed to tie the binding one-handed with the aid of his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to leave this place—the bratty kids, the blasted woman, and his obsessed uncle—and grab a pint at the pub down the street where he knew he could find a sympathetic ear. However, his uncle had forbid him from visiting such places, insisting on secrecy. Vincent had agreed at the time, but he’d had about enough of this. He hadn’t survived his time in prison only to answer to Uncle Joseph’s every tedious demand.
He wanted freedom but had yet to figure out a way to get it. Not without money—preferably a lot of it. Uncle Joseph was his best chance for wealth.
“This stone is quite interesting.”
The proper diction of the words grated on Vincent’s nerves. While he’d be forever grateful to his uncle for arranging the switch in prison, his uncle wouldn’t have bothered had it not been for the unique set of skills and information Vincent possessed.
Vincent nearly smirked as he thought of his own cleverness. In reality, he’d stolen his uncle’s notes and papers ten years ago, hoping to sell them, but events had prev
ented him from doing so. He was in sole possession of all those years of research. That bargaining chip was what had kept him useful to his uncle and forced him to arrange the switch.
Now he was returning the papers in small doses—enough to keep his uncle happy. Uncle Joseph might be smart when it came to books, but Vincent was much smarter when it came to looking out for himself.
“Unfortunately, this is not the correct stone.”
“What?” Rage filled Vincent, numbing the pain.
“Can’t you do anything right?” His uncle shook his head. “You’re no better than your mother.”
Hurt mingled with anger as his uncle’s words struck an old wound, but Vincent shoved it aside. “Are you sure?”
Uncle Joseph turned to him with a ‘you’ve disappointed me once again’ sigh of which he seemed so fond. “Of course I’m certain. Let us speak with Miss Bradford and obtain the proper stone. It seems I must do everything myself.”
Vincent held his tongue, knowing from experience that any protests would only bring another lecture. His uncle donned his cloak and pulled up the hood, carefully arranging it to cover most of his face, then reached for his cane. Not once did he look at Vincent’s arm or ask as to his well-being. He merely pointed toward the door with his cane.
With a curse, Vincent approached the door, determined to make Miss Bradford pay for her lie.
***
Abigail’s chest tightened as panic took hold. Several of the boys behind her whimpered and Sophia’s breath hitched. The darkness was disorienting and added to her worry.
“I’m so sorry, Abigail,” Olivia said. “I didn’t mean to bump you. I was only—”
“It’s all right. You were trying to help. Perhaps he’s wounded worse than he seemed.”
“I hope so,” Sophia said vehemently. “He’s absolutely dreadful. What are we to do now?”
Abigail couldn’t think. She had no idea what she could do or say to calm the frightened children. The idea of being locked in this dark room for any length of time was horrifying.
“It’s all right,” she said automatically. Then she repeated it in a firmer voice, saying it for herself as well as the children. “It’s all right. We simply need to devise a plan to escape. Hubert, where are you?”
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 29