A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis (27 page)

“Get yerself down here, Detective.” Minnow’s words echoed through the interior and out into the air. Fanny appeared in the aisle and waved him in. Rafe climbed down and dipped his head into steerage. “You have any idea what Huxley wants?”

“About fifty quid.” Minnow looked happily relaxed at the helm. “He’ll have the rest of his money just as soon as I win the competition.” He winked at Fanny. “And what do you think of my chances, lass?”

“There are inventions—and then there are very great inventions.” She smiled. “Your submarine is a marvel, Professor.”

Minnow was so pleased that he passed the bottle around. Rafe took a long nip, and wiped the lip. “Are you going to take her down?”

“Canal isn’t reliably deep enough. Wait until we’re past the lock and out on the river—perhaps when we reach Henley-on-Thames.”

Rafe passed the whiskey to Fanny. “Aunt Vertiline owns a charming place in Nettlebed, just down the lane from Henley. I spend weekends there when I’m off. Do a bit of rowing, even started a vegetable garden.”

Fanny managed a swallow before she sprayed whiskey over him. “Good God.” She gasped from the whiskey fumes. “I can’t picture it, Rafe. You and some little doxy from town toiling in the garden.” She snorted. “Really?”

“King’s lock ahead,” Minnow called out. “I need the two of you above deck to raise the gates.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Rafe swiveled around in tight quarters and ran straight into the cold steel of a pistol pointed at him. He did not recognize this minion. The dark suit identified him as one of Mallory’s men. One who had obviously tucked himself away in the rear of the sub and awaited the professor’s arrival.

Rafe shoved Fanny behind him. “We’ve got a stowaway.” These blokes were patient, as well as resourceful, and there appeared to be an army of them. They had the manpower to track them over distance and the intelligence to anticipate every possible move. For the first
time since this cat-and-mouse game began, a current of fear shot through his bones.

Minnow glanced over his shoulder. “Hold on there, I’m going to have to ask ye to leave my ship.”

The man with the revolver ignored the request. “Hands up, where I can see them.” He rifled through Rafe’s jacket and pocketed both weapons. He nodded upward. “You heard the professor. Lock’s ahead.” Fanny climbed up first. As he passed by the gunman, Rafe noticed several missing fingers. The gunman addressed the professor. “If you want to see your crew alive, mind you keep your eyes ahead and your hands on the controls.”

The moment the
Horatio
glided into the Thames, the submarine accelerated with the current. The dark-suited man prodded them down the hatch and into steerage. “Just keep this bucket of bolts above water and head downriver.” He stood watch just outside steerage and waved his pistol about.

Rafe squeezed onto the bench seat next to Fanny and the professor and kept his own vigil on the fingerless bastard. When Minnow reached for a lever he got a pistol stuck in the back of his head. “Leave me be! I’m adjusting the ballast, we’re forward heavy.”

Rafe knew this section of river. They were almost upon Henley-on-Thames. He probed their captor again. “Since you’ve got the big stick—where are we headed?”

He received little more than a thin-lipped grin.

Fanny elbowed him in the side and he caught a wink from Minnow. Rafe waited for his next cue. Obviously, the professor had a diversion in mind. He just prayed he
saw it coming two seconds before the tight-lipped natty bloke.

The craft rocked violently to one side as the sub’s nose dove underwater. “Ho there! Something’s wrong,” Minnow yelped.

Rafe sprang from his seat and made a grab for their captor’s gun. The force of his lunge caused a brief, midair wrestle before they landed on the floor and skidded down the narrow passageway. He two-handed the man’s gun hand as they rolled side to side with the sway and lurch of the watercraft. Minnow shouted something to Fanny as he struggled to regain equilibrium. The back of Rafe’s head cracked against the hull and he saw stars. Blindly, he struck out and managed a blow to the assailant’s head.

Rafe blinked several times—Fanny was overhead wielding a giant wrench. Good God. Rafe got in another punch before he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped for the best. A loud
thunk
did the job. The natty bloke slumped on top of him, deadweight. Fanny helped roll the gunman off. “Bloody brave of you, Lieutenant Cutthroat.”

Normally that would have gotten him a smile, at the very least a grin. But Fanny’s worried gaze darted toward steerage. “I’m not so sure the professor has the sub under control.” She set down the heavy tool. “In a moment or two we might all drown.”

Rafe scrambled to his feet. Holding on to both sides of the passageway, Rafe made his way into steerage. “What’s wrong, Professor?”

“I canna get the valves to shut. We’re taking on too much water.” Rafe squeezed in next to Minnow and they both put their weight against the hand crank. Nothing.

Minnow shook his head. “We’ll be sunk soon if we don’t lighten the load.”

“There’s at least twelve stone of deadweight in the back. Let’s start with that.” Rafe moved to dispose of the gunman as Minnow called after. “Watch the hatch, Detective, we’re nearly under.”

Lifting the body up through the hatch proved close to impossible. Chilly water poured in as the river lapped against the very edge of the raised opening. Rafe poked his head out. It was nearly dark. Just ahead, the few soft gaslights of Henley reflected off the river’s edge. “Fanny, I need you to help me keep the body upright.” Fanny pressed her back into the job, enough to keep the body vertical so Rafe could shove the man up through the hatchway. The surge of cold river water revived the unconscious gunman, who began to cough and spurt water. Rafe hauled the moaning man onto the deck and rolled him off the submersible.

Back inside the sub, Rafe closed the hatch. “I wager he’ll swim ashore and live to stick a gun in my face another day.”

Fanny frowned. “Let’s hope not.”

“Did that help any?” Rafe shouted down the passage.

“Not near enough.” Minnow grumbled. “Might be able to keep her afloat if she were unmanned.” As if on cue, the ship nosed down again. “I’ll be steering her ashore, Detective.”

The professor throttled the engine down and headed the craft toward the riverbank. “Going to try to beach her.” Their captain looped a tie on the steerage wheel. “Best abandon ship straightaway. I won’t chance running aground in a bad spot—don’t want us trapped under a boat slip.”

Minnow was up the ladder in a trice. “Either we go now or we never get the hatch open again.”

Water gushed into the hold. They were soon, all three, soaked to the bone. Minnow pressed his sturdy back to the hatch cover and Rafe squeezed past the large man and through the opening.

He stood on the deck in a foot of river water and held the door open for Fanny and Minnow. “Christ almighty, she’s headin’ downriver. If she sinks, I’ll never find her. I need to turn her in.” Minnow stepped back down into the hold.

“Be quick about it, Professor.”

“You two go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Fanny shook her head. “We musn’t leave him, Rafe.”

“I’ll get you to the bank and go back for him.” Rafe had no idea if his impromptu plan was even possible. He only knew one thing. Fanny would be safe on land. Rafe shed his coat. “Come on now. The worst is over.” Reluctantly, she stepped to the edge. Rafe grabbed her hand. “We’re already cold and wet. On the count of three—jump.”

Fanny swam well until her dress tangled in her legs. “Rafe!” She reached out to him and he grabbed hold before the heavy skirt dragged her under. He pulled her
close. “Keep stroking, Fan—kick if you can.” Slowly, they paddled their way to shore. With their last ounce of strength, they climbed the muddy bank and found a spot of lawn. Fanny was a mass of shivers. She swept wet hair from her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. “Whose park have we intruded upon?”

He shook his head. “I hardly know a soul here. I’m more of a weekender.”

Rafe could just make out the sub, barely afloat, some hundred feet downriver. “I must try and help the professor. Stay put and don’t move—no matter what. Minnow and I will work our way back here.”

Rafe took off at a run, crossing the broad expanse of lawn, until he was even with the sub. He slipped and slid down the bank and into the water. Either he was swimming extraordinarily fast or the sub wasn’t moving. A few more strokes and he reached the underwater craft. The hatch was now entirely underwater. Rafe turned the wheel and the round cover opened easily enough. “Bollocks.” The hold had completely filled with water. His heart as well as his hopes sank. An inventor drowned by his own invention. The maniacal madmen could not have planned his demise any better.

The sinking submersible groaned and exhaled a last pocket of air from deep under water. In a burst of bubbles, the professor erupted from the open hatch much like a whale breaching in the sea.

Rafe stared, mouth open. “Christ, Professor, you had me worried! I thought you’d neatly done Mallory’s job for him.”

Minnow turned around in the water and gasped for more air. “I couldna open the hatch from inside. I found a small air pocket to catch a few breaths, but I’m glad ye came along when you did, Detective.”

He and the professor swam back to dry land. That is, Rafe swam, and the professor did something that resembled a paddling crawl. From the bank they both turned for a look back. The only evidence of the submersible was the periscope that poked above the Thames’s surface.

“She’s caught up on something underwater. There may yet be hope to salvage her.” A bit of light glowed in the professor’s eyes. Rafe helped Minnow scramble up the side of the bank.

Fanny stood up and waved. “There she is.” Rafe returned the gesture.

Minnow looked him in the eye. “How did you ever let a lass like that get away?”

Their waterlogged shoes made squishing sounds with every step. Rafe shook his head. “It’s a rather long and foolish tale.”

“I’ve no doubt of that, Detective Lewis.”

Shivering from head to toe, Fanny hugged herself. “Rafe, where—” She wrinkled her nose and sneezed. “W-w-where do we go from here?”

He sighed. “Aunt Vertiline’s little country manor. It’s no doubt the safest place we could stay tonight. Our man overboard likely made it to shore and has already wired his cohorts.”

A breeze whipped up off the Thames and appeared
to travel straight through Fanny’s wet clothes. Her teeth chattered. “How f-f-far?”

Rafe scooped her up in his arms and started up the curved mound of lawn. “Not far. Coming, Professor?”

Minnow cast a longing glance back to the water and followed after them. They trudged inland from the river, along a narrow dirt lane dotted with old brick homes. Walled yards and thick foliage sheltered them from the river’s chill. By the time they reached the service entrance to the house, Fanny was nodding off.

Rafe knocked before entering to warn the housekeeper. “Mrs. Coates?” He carried Fanny inside the larder, up a few stairs, and into a warm kitchen. “Have a seat, Professor.”

Minnow stretched out along a table bench, kicked off waterlogged boots, and peeled off soggy hose.

“Lord have mercy, Mr. Lewis.” His housekeeper shuffled along the brick floor, fastening her robe.

“Ah, Mrs. Coates. We’re going to need blankets and a bottle of whiskey—immediately.”

Minnow grunted. “Now yer talking, Detective.”

Rafe looked down at Fanny, who could barely keep her eyes open. She’d gotten a few hours of sleep on the train, but could use a long night’s rest. Rafe yawned. They all could. The personal revelations could wait another day.

Chapter Twenty-four

F
anny awoke to birds chirping and pried an eye open. From the looks of it, she was in a strange room, in a strange bed. But the mattress was soft and the comforter most comforting. Several chatty wrens perched on a ledge just outside the windowsill. Her gaze traveled from small panes of wavy glass, along a swirl of flowered wallpaper to—

She started at the sight of a small person standing in the room. A child with large round eyes stared without blinking.

She lifted her head. “Hello.”

No answer, only a hint of a smile in green eyes flecked with copper. The short pants and the bowl haircut gave him away. “My name is Miss Greyville-Nugent. But you may call me Fanny.”

Still no response, but the eyes did appear to grow wider, if that was possible. “Shall I try to guess your name, then?” Ah, now there was a familiar sort of grin.
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and pretended to think very hard. “Might your name be . . . Fenwick?”

The boy shook his head violently.

Fanny wrinkled her brow. “No, I suppose not.” Propped on an elbow, she realized she had no sleeping gown on. Whoever had put her to bed had taken off her clothes. She remembered soaking wet garments and drew the covers close. “Might you be a lieutenant colonel in the dragoons? A Melvin Stewart?”

The child laughed, a golden sparkle in those emerald eyes. Just like—Fanny’s gaze traveled to the man standing in the doorway.