Elizabeth Thornton (33 page)

“Strolling around. There’s plenty of people out there already.”

“This is it, then.” Daniel stood up. “Come on, Harriet, Mother. Let’s see if we can draw off this Cassius fellow. Abbie—”

“I know,” she said. “Don’t take any foolish risks. Believe me, I won’t.”

They all looked at each other, nodding and passing silent messages with their eyes, as though they could read minds. Then Daniel ushered Harriet and his mother out and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Give them five minutes,” said Giles.

She nodded. They’d rehearsed each step so often, she had it down pat. Box 10 was in the upper circle, one floor above. They were in the dress circle, in the box Daniel had rented for the season. While Daniel and her mother and sister went one way to draw off Maitland’s watchdog, she and Giles would slip out and go in the opposite direction, toward the stairs. When they were out of sight, Harriet and her mother would stroll back to their own box
and lock themselves inside. On the assumption that Maitland’s man would keep “Abbie” under surveillance at all times, Daniel would be free to take the other staircase and meet them in the vicinity of Box 10.

She had thirty seconds to convince whoever was inside that box to deal with Daniel. She had to be the one to enter the box, Daniel had pointed out gravely, to reassure George’s abductors that they were following orders. But if it was too much to ask—

It wasn’t too much to ask, she’d protested. He and Giles would be right outside. Nothing would happen to her, not when Daniel had the book. And until he saw George’s face, he would not hand it over.

And that’s as far as they’d thought things through.

“Ready, Abbie?” asked Giles.

She would never be ready for this. “Quite ready.”

Giles opened the door and gave a quick look to the left. “Our little ploy has worked,” he said, and stood aside to let Abbie pass. “Don’t look toward Harriet,” he warned.

She stepped into the hallway ahead of Giles. The place was crowded with patrons, and the babble of their voices and laughter echoed from the high ceiling and was thrown back against the walls. The babble inside her own head was no less deafening.

She felt Giles’s hand on her elbow, urging her forward, but she took only a few steps and halted.

“What’s the matter, Abbie?”

She’d caught sight of a Guard in a blue tunic. She shook her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. I wonder—” She blinked up at him “I wonder if it was wise to let Harriet impersonate me. Giles, look at her. Is she all right? What do you see?”

Shock registered in his eyes, then he swiftly turned
and looked beyond her. “No, Abbie, you’re wrong. Everything—”

“What?”

“Cassius. What the devil is he doing? He’s leaving.”

She threw caution to the winds and turned around. After a moment she found him. Maitland’s man was walking toward the far staircase with a blue-coated Guard’s officer at his elbow.

A Guard in a blue tunic. Now why did that alarm her? Something hovered at the edge of her mind, but she could not bring it into focus. Her heart was racing so fast, she could feel her pulse pounding in her throat.

Her eyes darted around the corridor, taking lightning impressions. There were two other Guards in blue coats, not together, but converging casually on Harriet. Daniel hadn’t seen them yet. He was looking her way, and the expression on his face demanded to know why she and Giles were hovering around instead of making for Box 10. He said something to Harriet, then started toward her.

“Go to Harriet,” she told Giles. “Tell her to remove the wig. And whatever you do, don’t let those Guards take her away.”

“What?”

“Do it
now
!”

All the color faded from Giles’s face, and he immediately thrust himself into the crush of people, elbowing them aside as he made for his wife. Fear rooted Abbie to the spot. Guards in blue uniforms. Colette. The Palais Royal. The memory was there just out of reach. What was it? What
was
it?

“I believe we have an appointment, Miss Vayle?”

She thought she screamed, then realized she couldn’t have because no one was looking at her. With skin
prickling and the fine hairs on her neck rising like a cat’s fur, she slowly turned to face the man who had addressed her.

He was looking along the corridor, toward Harriet, then he dropped his gaze to her. His teeth gleamed white in his tanned face as he smiled. “You’re late, Miss Vayle.”

He was handsome, very handsome. If Hugh was El Centurion, this man was the Charioteer. Nemo. She’d come face-to-face with Nemo.

Where was Daniel? Where was Giles?

Don’t cower!
she warned herself. She knew intuitively it was the worst thing she could do.

“You know my name,” she said for something to say, “but I don’t know yours.”

Again, the white teeth flashed. “There’s no point in introducing myself, Miss Vayle. We won’t meet again. No, don’t look alarmed. All I meant was, I’ll be leaving England in a matter of days.”

His words chilled her. If he was leaving in a matter of days, that meant his business in England would be over. Why was he telling her this?

She flinched when he took her elbow and began to escort her toward the stairs. It was her right elbow, and that meant that the pistol concealed in her muff was pointing away from him. It was just as Harper said. She’d got too close to her opponent, and he had disarmed her.

In the same pleasant, conversational tone, he said, “I presume that was your sister back there?”

“Yes.”

“Did you really think I would fall for that trick?”

“Where is my brother?”

“He’s waiting for you in Box 10.”

She was silent as they began to ascend the stairs. She
felt defenseless with his hand on her elbow, controlling her movements. He knew about the gun. She was sure he knew about the gun. He was playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse.

Something else was wrong. He hadn’t asked about the book. He wasn’t interested in the book. Then why was he here? What did he want with her?

As they reached the top of the staircase, he looked over his shoulder and his hand tightened on her elbow. She felt him tense, and her own arm moved faster than her brain. She lashed out with her muff and struck him in the chest just as he lunged for her. A knife fell out of his hand, and as he staggered back, she hit him again.

A woman screamed. Some gentlemen made ribald catcalls. They thought this was a lovers’ tiff. Abbie took off along the corridor. She was terrified, but she couldn’t give up now. She pushed people out of her way, uncaring of their angry protests. When she came to the box she wanted, Box 10, she looked back the way she’d come. There were too many people crowding the corridor for her to determine whether he was closing in on her or not.

Where was Daniel? Where was Giles?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed into the box. There was no one there. She was numb with grief and shock. They’d never had any intention of trading George for the book. They must have known it was worthless all along. Then what was the point of bringing her here?

As the answer came to her, she frantically groped for the key in the lock. There was no key. She was trapped. What did this mean for George? What would it do to their mother? How could she ever forgive herself for persuading her family to do things her way?

Blind rage drove out fear. She stepped back from the
door, slightly to one side where she could not be easily seen. After throwing off her muff, she raised her pistol with both hands and leveled it. Her thumb pulled back the hammer, and her index finger curled gently around the trigger.
Harper, oh Harper, what do I do now?

She did not have long to wait. The edge of the door swung inward inch by inch. Hold your fire! Hold your fire!

Her nerve broke, and just as she pulled the trigger someone called her name. “Hugh!” she screamed.

He was standing in the corridor, unharmed, when she stumbled out of the box. Her ears were ringing from the report of the shot, and she breathed in the acrid smell of gunpowder. The people nearby took one look at her and began to scream as they ran for cover.

Hugh’s voice was awful. “Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

Her hand was sticky. Frowning, she looked down and saw that Harriet’s priceless gown was smeared with blood. Tears filled her eyes. The gown was ruined, just as she’d known it would be.

Pain, across the back of her hand. Where had that come from? Someone was trying to take the pistol away from her, but she fought him off. A mist swam before her eyes. As her knees buckled, strong arms closed around her.

“Abbie, what is it?”

Hugh’s voice. She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. “Don’t let him get away.”

“Who?”

“The Charioteer.”

“Who is the Charioteer?”

He was the man who had murdered Colette, the same man who had assaulted her in Bath. He hated women.
She didn’t know why she knew this, but she was convinced of it. This whole charade tonight had been for her benefit. And he would try again.

Then where did that leave George?

She tried to fight the mist so that she could explain all this to Hugh, but it sucked her into a sea of darkness.

Nemo was descending the stairs when he heard the shot. He hoped she’d killed the bastard. Templar wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be attending some tedious meeting on Greek and Roman coins. In fact, he was to be the speaker. That’s why he’d chosen this particular night to take care of the girl. Obviously, his information had been false.

It was one more proof that he was dealing with incompetents. From now on, he would rely on no one but himself.

To appear as natural as possible, he paused to do what everyone else was doing. He looked up the stairs to where the sound of the shot had issued. People were puzzled, but no one was alarmed. Someone mentioned a young buck’s prank with a firecracker. He had a good idea of what had happened. He’d watched her enter the box. Now I have her, he’d thought, but he’d drawn back when he saw Templar approach from the other direction. That’s when he’d decided to make himself scarce.

There was no sign of his “Guards” in the dress circle. Their task had been to cause a distraction so that he could get to the girl. He’d known she wasn’t stupid. He’d expected her to take some precautions to protect herself, but he’d thought he would take her by surprise and deal with her almost as soon as she left her own box. So many people crowding around. So much panic. It would have
been over in seconds, before anyone was the wiser. He’d been on the point of sauntering over, when he saw the woman remove her wig. And he was stunned.

Then he’d spotted his quarry right in front of him, and she’d dropped into his hands like a ripe plum. That’s when he should have slipped the knife between her ribs. But he’d been so confident that she was no match for him that he’d taken chances he would not normally take. He’d wanted her to look into his eyes before he knifed her. He’d wanted her to know who he was, see the terror in her eyes. He’d wanted her to understand that the chase was over and he was making the kill.

People were beginning to drift back to their boxes. After casually glancing around, he opened the door to his own box. It was only six doors along from the girl’s box and would have served him well if everything had gone as planned.

“Did you hear the firecracker, Uncle?” he said, then he entered and locked the door. There was no one else in the box.

He’d picked up his knife in the confusion and had slipped it into the sheath strapped to his arm. He checked it now to see that it was secure. Under one of the chairs was a damp towel. He used it to remove the thin layer of greasepaint that made his face look tanned. In his coat pocket he found his gray wig. When he was ready, he put on his hat, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and picked up his cane.

Bitch! He’d been too complacent, too sure of himself. That pale, colorless, stupid English bitch thought she could outwit him. She’d tried to cross him. Next time he would make no mistakes. This wasn’t a mater of expediency now, it was a matter of pride. Grown men trembled when they heard his name. He would not be bested by a
mere girl. In two days, his mission would be over and he would be returning to France. There was plenty of time to take care of the girl first.

He needed no mirror to know how he looked. But looks weren’t everything. He had mastered facial expressions and gestures so that he could pass for any age. Now he looked like a sober middle-aged merchant banker.

He unlocked the door and opened it a crack. As though speaking to someone in the box, he said, “I’ll see you back at the house then.”

He didn’t overdo it but managed to convey his advancing years by slowing his movements and, literally, watching his steps.

They were coming down the stairs, and he paused to let them pass. Templar was still very much alive, unfortunately, and carried the girl in his arms. They did not spare him a glance. The mother was weeping into her son’s shoulder. The sister, a brunette again, and her husband were white faced and grim. He’d watched them all come and go this last week and felt that he was beginning to know them intimately.

Now they would think that the younger brother was dead. He would be soon enough. It was too bad the girl would never know for sure. Maybe he’d tell her before he slit her throat.

The Vayles and Templar soon outdistanced him. Outside the theater, he lifted his cane and a hackney pulled up. He took it to Covent Garden and, after paying off the driver, entered the theater. A few minutes later, he exited by a side door. He’d shed the wig but kept the cane. His movements were no longer slow, and he didn’t watch his steps. He looked about thirtyish, and no footpad in his right mind would want to tackle him.

It took him ten minutes to walk to the little house he
had rented in his first week in England. This was the only time he would use it. No one knew where to find him now, not even his closest associates. But he knew where to find them.

He would change his clothes, then have something to eat at one of the many coffeehouses in the Strand.