The Runaway McBride (34 page)

When their eyes met in an unwary glance, both looked quickly away. Every nerve in Faith’s body tightened unbearably. She took a breath. “Listen to me, Harriet,” she said. “I’m going to take you to Madame Digby’s so that you can choose the material for your dress.”

There were no whoops of delight from Harriet. She seemed to sense Faith’s alarm. “Where will you be, Faith? ”

“I’m going to find the beadle and tell him about the man who is following us. No, don’t talk. Just listen. We may not have much time. Tell Madame Digby that you are to stay with her until either I or your mother comes to fetch you. Whatever you do, don’t leave Madame Digby’s.”

Harriet’s lips quivered. “Faith—”

“No! No argument, no questions. Be a brave girl.”

The harshly spoken words silenced Harriet. Faith dared not soften toward the girl. It was one thing to be the target of some demented killer and quite another to involve an innocent child.

“Don’t look back, just walk on,” she said.

A jumble of thoughts revolved in her mind. She could scream at the top of her lungs and cry “Murder,” but she couldn’t be sure that anyone would rush to her aid. Most people would freeze or start asking questions and by that time it might be too late. This killer was tenacious. This killer had silenced Robert Danvers and possibly her mother as well. Now he was intent on silencing her. But the man who was gaining on them could not be the principal actor in this drama. He was an underling. The principal had to be a member of her mother’s last expedition.

So how did she know the man who was following them? It came to her then. He was Basil Hughes’s steward, the man who had collected donations for the next expedition to Egypt.

Her knees were knocking together by the time they arrived at Madame Digby’s shop. She was only half aware of the well-dressed patrons who were passing her in the arcade. All her senses were focused on the man who was following them. When they stopped, he stopped.

“Harriet,” Faith said, “remember what I told you? ”

Harriet nodded.

Faith waited a moment. Ladies were approaching the shop. “Now!” she said in a forceful undertone.

Harriet seemed to understand what was required of her. She inserted herself into the group of ladies as though she were with them, and she disappeared into the shop.

Faith let out a quick breath. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t the least bit heroic. Left to herself, she would have run like a hare, but she had Harriet to think of now. The steward could not pursue both her and Harriet, and she was wagering that she was his quarry, not the girl.

Steeling herself to appear natural and unaware of the steward’s presence, she strolled down the length of the arcade, all the while her eyes searching for the uniformed beadle or a possible accomplice of the steward. What she couldn’t understand was what they meant to do with her. Kill her? Abduct her? Beat her to teach her a lesson? And why were they holding off?

They wanted the diary, she thought bitterly. All this for Madeline’s diary, and she still did not know what secrets were hidden in its pages.

She was almost at the end of the arcade when she saw the beadle in his dark uniform and hat trimmed with gold braid. He wouldn’t be armed, but she was. The thought made her reach into her reticule and withdraw her revolver. Hiding it in the folds of her coat, she made her way toward him.

He was a young man, and that surprised her. She thought a beadle would be older, more experienced. “Yes, miss,” he said, his brows faintly rising. “How may I help you?”

She was shaking so violently she could hardly get the words out. “Officer,” she said, and stopped when his gaze flicked momentarily to a point beyond her shoulder before coming to rest on her face again.

Like an animal of the wild, her instincts took over. She brought up the gun, but she was too late. An arm like a vise locked her from behind, and a cloth soaked in a sweetly cloying substance was pressed to her nose and mouth. The revolver slipped from her fingers, and she sagged against the man who was holding her.

“Make way for the lady,” she heard the beadle shouting. “Make way.”

The smothering cloth was removed from her face, and she was swept into someone’s arms.

“The lady has fainted,” the beadle cried. “Make way! Make way!”

The last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness was someone hoisting her into a hansom cab.

James dragged his fingers through his hair and began to pace. He and Roderick were in his aunt’s library in Berkeley Square, waiting for the appointed hour to arrive for the exchange to be made: Faith for Madeline’s diary.

After visiting Miss Begg, he’d arrived home to find the house in an uproar. Faith had been abducted by two men in the Burlington Arcade, Harriet told him. She made an excellent witness. Faith had known someone was stalking her and had ordered Harriet to remain with Madame Digby. But Harriet had never been known to meekly follow orders—thank God!—and she’d witnessed the whole thing, so she’d told Roderick when he came racing into the arcade with Aunt Mariah and Margaret at his heels.

The scoundrels had subdued Faith in broad daylight with a rag soaked in ether. James suspected it was ether, because one of the beadles was subdued in the same way before his coat and hat were stripped from him. These villains were not afraid to take risks. They’d left the note, addressed to him, pinned to the beadle’s waistcoat. Thankfully, Roderick had had the presence of mind to tear it open and read it, otherwise he might have called in the police.

James picked up the note and scanned the few lines on it. The sum of it was that there would be dire consequences for Faith if the police were called in, and that the exchange would be made at eleven o’clock that night on the north side of Westminster Bridge. Be there alone. Bring the diary.

His eyes flicked to Roderick. His brother was frowning in concentration, tracing columns and assiduously writing down letters as he tried to decode Madeline’s last message to her husband. It didn’t seem important now. Even without the diary, he could prove motive. Miss Begg had given him more than enough for that. But he still could not prove that Basil Hughes had murdered Madeline or Danvers. If it came down to it, he might have to take the law into his own hands. The only thing that mattered now was keeping Faith alive.

Faith,
he silently called to her.
Where are you?
He called to her again and again. Ether, he knew, was a powerful narcotic. Was she still suffering its effects, or were they sedating her with something else?

His throat tightened in fear.
Faith! Wake up! Fight it!

 

 

She came to herself on a moan of pain. Her head was ach
ing; her stomach was heaving. She knew she was going to be sick. Dragging herself up, she blinked rapidly, trying to take in her surroundings. At first, she thought she was dreaming. This wasn’t her bright and airy bedroom in Berkeley Square. This was a dank and dusty wine cellar. The only light came from a gas lamp at the top of the rickety stairs, and her bed was no more than a pallet stuffed with straw.

As she tried to rise to her feet, a wave of dizziness swept through her. She waited a moment then tried again. She was clinging to one of the racks when the door at the top of the stairs opened. The man she knew only as the beadle poked his head in, but he did not descend the steps.

“I thought I heard something,” he said.

His cheerful tone of voice made her want to spit. “I’m going to be sick,” she said. “And I have to use the facilities.”

“My, my, we are genteel, ain’t we, Your Highness? There’s an old lavatory down that way.” He pointed to the darkest area of the cellar, a darkness that seemed to Faith to go on forever. “But I can’t promise you’ll want to drink the water. Come to think of it, I can’t promise that there will be any water. This place is due to be demolished.” He half turned away and spoke over his shoulder. “Oh, by the way, there is no way out except through this door, so don’t get any ideas.”

He shut the door with a snap, and she heard the key turn in the lock.

Memories were coming back to her. She’d heard that voice before, when she’d left Lady Cowdray’s house in Chalbourne. He was one of the men who had come upon her at the waterfall.

Or maybe she was confused.

Her mind was hazy, her reactions were blunted, and objects were wavering as though she were half blind. How much ether had she inhaled? She was lucky to be alive.

The last thought spurred her to make her feet move. Lurching from one stack of wine bottles to another, she finally reached the far wall. There was no door on the lavatory, but she could just make out a sink and a thronelike water closet. He was wrong about the water. It gushed from the tap but smelled so vile she could not bear to splash it on her face.

Having taken care of her most basic needs, she came out to the light, supported herself by leaning against the wall, and tried to put her thoughts in order. She didn’t know why she was here or what they meant to do with her, but it seemed prudent to make herself scarce.

A bubble of panicked laughter caught in her throat. There was no way out except through that locked door, and if she didn’t get out soon, she would die of thirst.

Wine. She could drink the wine.

It took her five minutes to discover that every bottle was empty. She should have realized that the people who had lived here were not going to leave anything of value behind. She tried to moisten her lips, but her tongue felt like old leather, and she couldn’t summon the spit. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. The angrier she got, the more her head cleared. A plan began to take shape. It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was better than doing nothing. She couldn’t simply stand there like a tethered goat, waiting for the tiger to pounce.

She reached for an empty wine bottle and carried it, one slow step at a time, to the top of the stairs. After reducing the gaslight to a peep, she set the bottle down on its side on the top stair. Satisfied that everything was in readiness, she descended the stairs, picked up another wine bottle, and threw it with as much strength as she could muster against the stone wall, where it shattered with a gratifying crash. Then she began to scream. She screamed and screamed and screamed.

She heard the thunder of running feet, then the door was flung open. She screamed again. Cursing fluently, her captor started down, lost his balance when he stepped on the wine bottle, then pitched headfirst down the stairs. At the bottom, he made a feeble effort to rise, then collapsed in a heap. Faith did not wait to see more. Hand over hand, she hauled herself up the stairs, flung herself through the doorway, shut the door, and turned the key in the lock.

She took a step back and stared at the door. She’d done it! She’d actually done it! Her success made her heady. But it was momentary. Two men had abducted her. Where was the other one?

Trying to stay alert, she groped her way to a door, pushed through it, and came to a stop. Her abductor had told her that the house was due to be demolished, and it looked as though workmen had already begun the process. There was a cantilevered staircase that lurched alarmingly away from the supporting wall.

A cantilevered staircase. A derelict house. Images were flashing one after another inside her head. She’d been here before. A killer was after her. She had to get away.

The gas lamp flickered and went out. Her eyes flew wildly from one grotesque shape to another. That was all she could see: shapes. All her other senses became acute. She could hear someone breathing. Then she smelled it, the sickly sweet aroma of ether.

Her feet moved the moment before he charged her. She bounded through the front door and with a sob of pure terror flung herself into the cover of darkness.

She did not go very far. Though she could see lights in the distance, the darkness was made all the more eerie by a mist that clung to her face like a flimsy veil. Behind her she could hear the movements of her abductor—the steward, she supposed—who was thrashing at the shrubbery in an effort to flush her out.

He was coming closer.

Biting down on her lip to stifle a whimper, she inched her way forward. The shapes of bushes and trees slowly emerged from the fog. Beneath her feet, gravel crunched, and she knew she was on the approach to the house.

Suddenly, out of the mist loomed the great wrought-iron entrance gates. She sucked in a breath and stared, then cautiously pushed through them.

Then she remembered everything.

James
, her mind screamed,
I’m in your nightmare!

He answered her at once.
Listen to me, Faith
.
You must tell me where you are
.

She sobbed the words aloud. “I don’t know.”

The voice in her head was urgent and commanded her attention.
Look around you
.
Describe what you see
.