A Lady's Secret Weapon (28 page)

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.

His stomach heaved and his sight filled with black and white spots. Unconsciousness pushed at his mind, demanding entrance. Oblivion was both a temptation and a nightmare. He couldn’t give in to his body’s demands. Not yet. Not until Sydney was safe.

Scuffling noises sounded behind him. He pushed away from the floor with his good arm. Ghostly images eddied in front of his face. Ignoring them, he sat back on his heels, reaching between his legs for his knife. The air shifted around him, and he whipped his head up. His eyes registered the cloaked figure before they blurred again.
Sydney.

“Not supposed to be here,” he whispered, swaying.

“And miss my opportunity to save you again?” a raspy voice asked.

He blinked several times to clear his vision, but her hooded image wavered in and out of focus. “Are you hurt?”

A gloved hand cupped his face. “All’s well, my love.”

He tried to shake his head. The movement was sluggish. “Giles missing,” he managed before lurching forward.

A steel pike jammed into Ethan’s shoulder, thrusting him awake. “Son of a—”

Cool hands clasped his face. “Look at me, Ethan,” Sydney demanded.

His gaze slashed around, not recognizing the room. “Where am I?”

Her fingers dug into his cheeks until his attention settled on her. She no longer wore the black cloak. “You’re still at Abbingale. In a small parlor located on the first floor. Your shoulder is dislocated, and Mrs. Fielding is attempting to make an adjustment.”

“By cutting the damned thing off?” He angled his head around to see how much was left.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s trying to help you.”

“Besides, my lord,” the apothecary said behind him, “severing the limb is only necessary if the patient is uncooperative.”

Ethan twisted in his chair to glare at the owner of the impertinent remark; Sydney held tight, but he still caught a glimpse of Helsford lurking near the apothecary.

“Now, I’m going to release you,” Sydney said. “But you must relax and sit perfectly still.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Mrs. Fielding cupped her hand over the top of his dislocated shoulder, positioning her thumb to the center of his shoulder blade. “The worst part is over, my lord. Removing your fitted coat likely hurt you far more than will snapping the ball back into its socket.”

“I’m weak-kneed with relief, Mrs. Fielding.” He clenched his teeth together, then nodded his readiness to Sydney. She released his face, though she continued kneeling in front of him.

“Lord Helsford, would you mind taking your position?”

“My pleasure.” He moved to Ethan’s right side.

“Helsford?” Ethan heard the double
en
tendre
behind his friend’s words. “If you so much as touch me—”

“His lordship has agreed to be my assistant, if necessary,” Mrs. Fielding said. “Now, what I’m about to do will feel a little strange and might be uncomfortable, but you should not feel any significant pain. If you do, let me know immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sydney scowled at his militant tone.

With her hand still on his shoulder, Mrs. Fielding grasped his wrist, where it hung at his side. Slowly, she lifted his arm in a wide arc, and the bone rotating beneath his skin did, indeed, feel strange, like the moving parts of a clock not quite aligned. She reached the hundred-degree angle and stopped.

“I’m going to need your assistance after all, Lord Helsford.”

His friend smirked. “Interesting to note Danforth’s mind is not the only stubborn part of his body.”

“Shut up, Helsford.” Sweat raked down his spine, and the discomfort in his arm began to build.

The earl bent at one knee and pushed three fingers into the front of Ethan’s armpit.

“Ethan, look at me.”

He trained his eyes on Sydney, on the emerald sphere of her irises. Somehow staring into her eyes gave him the strength to endure their manipulations. A small twitch in his cheek was the only outward sign he felt what they were doing.

Pop!

A harsh, relieved breath escaped his nose.

“What was that?” Sydney demanded.

“His shoulder rotating back into place.”

Sydney sent him a smile and squeezed his hand before climbing to her feet.

“You did well, my lord,” the apothecary said.

“Are you talking to the jackanapes kneeling on the floor or me?” Ethan asked.

“Both, I suppose.”

“All he did was stick his fingers in my armpit.”

Helsford rose. “All you did was stare longingly into Miss Hunt’s eyes.”

“A difficult feat with your clumsy fingers digging around.”

“Boys,” Sydney scolded, carrying a small pillow and a couple torn lengths of sheet.

“Where’s your walking stick?” he asked, scowling.

Helsford grinned, ear to ear. “She used it to thrash the matron.”

Ethan started to share Helsford’s smile and then realized he’d put her in a situation where she had to defend them both. Shifting his gaze to the floor, he tested his right shoulder. The movement hurt like hell, but at least he could use his arm again.

“Not too far,” Mrs. Fielding warned.

He halted the action.

“Once a shoulder dislocates, the joint is forever unstable and you can easily dislocate it again. Especially right now.”

“Brilliant.”

Sydney handed the pillow to the apothecary, who placed it between his injured arm and torso.

“My lord, please bend your arm for me.” Mrs. Fielding helped guide his arm into the position she wanted.

Sydney held out one end of the torn sheet to the apothecary and together they devised a secure sling for his arm. Then they used the other length of sheet to immobilize his arm against his body.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked, feeling like an invalid.

“Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Fielding tied off the strip of linen. “It’s important that you not use your arm for three weeks. Once you remove the sling, you must not lift anything heavy for at least two months, for the reasons I’ve already mentioned.”

Helsford did one of those disbelieving air snorts. He knew better than most what such confinement would do to Ethan’s mental state.

“Three weeks? Are you certain?”

The apothecary’s lips pressed together. “You might be able to remove it in a fortnight.” Her next words were directed at Sydney. “Though I don’t advise it.”

Ethan’s stomach roiled at the thought of going through such nauseating pain a second time.

“If you have ice available to you, I suggest you use some on the shoulder for a few days to reduce the swelling. Same for the lump on your head.” The apothecary picked up a small portmanteau that acted as a medical bag and dug out a brown bottle. “I know a few exercises that will strengthen the shoulder and reduce the stiffness. I’ll pay you a visit when it’s time to remove the sling and share them with you.” For the first time, she appeared unsure. “If it pleases you, my lord.”

“It pleases him, Mrs. Fielding,” Helsford said. “May I walk you out?”

Surprise widened her eyes. “Thank you, my lord. But that’s not necessary. I’m used to navigating the city on my own.”

“Mrs. Fielding,” Ethan interrupted. Exhaustion rode heavily on his chest. “Helsford wants to pay for your services in private and ensure you get home safely.” He flicked his hand toward his friend. “If you don’t allow him his gentlemanly due, he becomes intolerable.”

She glanced between him and Helsford, then nodded.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fielding,” Ethan said. “I think.”

“You’re welcome, Lord Danforth. I think.” She handed him the brown bottle. “For the pain.”

Ethan read the label. Laudanum.

Sydney walked with the apothecary for a while, speaking to her in a low voice. At the door, she bid the healer farewell and then returned to his side. “How do you feel?”

He shifted awkwardly in the hardback chair. “Like that’s the closest I ever want to come to having a limb severed.”

She stared at him. “You paint quite the picture.”

“What were the two of you whispering about?”

“Do you always inquire about private conversations?”

“When I believe they’re about me.”

She sighed. “You have a severe concussion, Ethan. Mrs. Fielding warned me to watch for certain symptoms.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“How long was I out?” He couldn’t keep the self-disgust from his voice.

“Not long.” She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead; her fingers continued a featherlight trail down his cheek. “Time enough for us to send for Mrs. Fielding and wrestle you into this chair.”

Rubbing his splintering forehead, he said, “I don’t recall anything after seeing you running down the corridor.” Except the paralyzing fear. He recalled that.

“You rammed into Mrs. Kingston, sending her gun flying,” she said. “Lord Helsford was racing up the stairs at the same time and subdued the woman.”

“
After
you clouted her.”

She sent him a quelling look. “Matron’s being interrogated by Lord Somerton at the moment. Mrs. Ashcroft, Miss deBeau, and Amelia are attending the boys.”

“The bodies?”

“Removed.”

“It’s nice to know all I have to do is take a wee nap and everything is taken care of by the time I wake.” No wonder Somerton had reservations about him for the chief’s position. When Cora had needed him, he’d lain senseless in a warehouse for days. At the most critical moment tonight, he got a bump on the head and fell unconscious, leaving the woman he loved to fight for her life. Could he be anymore inept?

He almost groaned out loud. Did he truly love Sydney? He must. Why else would he put up with her stubborn, managing ways? Her kindness and selflessness. Her aching kisses and lush, warm body. A resigned breath poured from his lungs, and his hand fell away.

“Ethan,” she said in a stern voice. “Nothing is taken care of. We’ve set some things into motion, but there’s a great deal more to do. We still have no idea what’s truly going on here and now Giles Clarke is missing.”

“Dammit, how could I have forgotten?” He tried to stand and a wave of dizziness struck him. He landed hard in his seat, and a cold sweat broke out on his face. “Christ.”

“You didn’t forget. I daresay the pain has been a bit of a distraction,” she said, steadying him. “Amelia found William Townsend’s name on Abbingale’s subscription list.”

Grasping the opportunity to do something besides sitting there and getting sick, Ethan considered this information in conjunction with what he’d learned earlier. “The boys told me that Giles’s father had come to collect him.”

She pulled a chair closer and sat. “You think Lord Latymer is Giles Clarke’s father.”

“It seems rather fantastical, but the association would explain a great deal.”

“How so?”

“Latymer’s career was set. He could have easily risen to Foreign Secretary. Then for no reason that we understood, he became entangled in a French plot to kill his friend, the only individual who possessed full knowledge of the Nexus. Why would an ambitious, aristocratic gentleman give up his career and heritage?”

“To protect his son.”

“Precisely.”

“But what was he protecting Giles from?”

“Mark Snell said one of the gifted boys disappears every few weeks. That the gifted boys are not orphans.”

“There are other boys here who have families? Does that mean they’re being held against their will?”

“Mark’s revelation coincides with what we know of Giles Clarke and his mother. Someone was forcing Mrs. Clarke to monitor Catherine Ashcroft’s every move. And that same someone was likely using Giles to coerce his father into betraying his country.”

“A form of extortion?”

“Consider the attempt to kidnap Lord Melville’s grandson,” he said. “They kidnap the children in order to force their parent—or parents, in Giles’s case—to do their bidding.”

“How horrible.”

Not half as horrible as what he’d learned from Mrs. Kingston.

“What?” she asked, reading his expression.

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Does it have to do with the children?”

He nodded, and she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she wore her proprietress expression. “Tell me.”

“You were right to question LaRouche’s generosity when it came to caring for the children of his enemies. According to Mrs. Kingston, the Frenchman began selling some of the boys.” The tears glistening in her eyes proved he did not need to expound.

“And the other boys? The runners?”

“As we thought, they were part of an elaborate French intelligence scheme.”

Her expression took on a faraway look as if she was trying to imagine such an awful chain of events. “I must find the boys he sold,” she said in a broken whisper.

He leaned forward and kissed her trembling lips. “Yes, we must.”

Gratitude shone in her beautiful green eyes. “We?”

“Yes.
We
.” He sealed the promise with another kiss. “You might like to know LaRouche is dead.”

“How? When?”

“I suspect sometime yesterday. When LaRouche started trafficking the boys, he evidently crossed the matron’s moral threshold. She had already planned out his death. My arrival yesterday merely sped up the process.”

“What did your arrival have to do with it?”

“She didn’t get around to that part, but I suspect it had something to do with him calling me a spy. She must have seen her little enterprise crumbling before her eyes.”

“Good Lord. All that was happening beneath this roof, and I did not see any of it.”

“Not true.” He grasped her hand. “You knew something was not right here. That’s more than anyone else cared to notice.”

“Do you think Latymer’s going to flee England?”

“There’s nothing here for him anymore. One of the boys overheard him tell Giles they were traveling on a ship.”

“Cameron Adair was right.”

“So it would seem.” He studied her face. “Earlier, you did not mention what Mac’s doing.”

The last dim light faded from her features. “That’s because I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since our discussion in my study. Amelia is sick with worry, as am I.”

“He’s grieving and angry. The combination of those two emotions can be blinding at first. Once he overcomes the initial shock, they will help focus him.”

“On what?”

“Finding his brother’s killer, of course.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God.”

Angling forward, he curled his finger under her chin, tilting her head back until she looked at him. “You didn’t really think he would sit back and allow the Nexus to avenge Mick’s death, did you?”

Her breath shuddered. “I didn’t think that far.”

“That’s because you’re not a man,” he said softly. “Revenge is our very first consideration.”

“I could not bear it if I lost him, too.”

“He’s angry, not stupid. Unlike his brother, he knows who he’s up against.”

“Won’t Lord Somerton want to question Latymer before Mac,” she hesitated, “avenges Mick?”

“Somerton caught up to Mac after our conversation in your study.”

“And?”

“They came to an understanding.”