The Royal Assassin (16 page)

“You've had great success, Adam,” I said. “Wish us the same progress tomorrow.”

“I also looked into the removals company whose name was painted on the side of the cart seen at the burglaries. It's a large firm. Turns out a cart was stolen last summer during the heat wave. Two Londoners were hired a few days before they and the cart went missing. The firm would like the cart back, but so far it's vanished. The men never returned to work, nor have they been spotted.”

“Good work, Fogarty. That's all for tonight,” Sir Broderick said.

We all began setting down our teacups and rising, looking at each other in confusion. I wasn't the only one who'd expected a long session planning how we could stop an anarchist attack two days hence. But without Blackford, and without knowing the grand duke's schedule, we couldn't plan for the inevitable assault.

“Georgia.” Sir Broderick beckoned me over to his chair. I drew as close to the fire as I could stand. “Try to get Blackford to come to tomorrow's meeting. This was originally his idea, keeping the Russians safe. We need to know what he knows about the grand duke's movements.”

“I'll visit him in the morning before I go to Hereford House.”

He smiled. “You're being almost as bold as Emma. Dropping in on a man, especially that early in the morning and unchaperoned.”

“Emma and I drop in on you at all sorts of odd hours.”

He struck the armrests of his wheeled chair. “This is your chaperone here. Blackford provides no such assurances.”

“Or Sumner,” I added, thinking of Emma.

“We know how that will end.”

“I hope so. Emma will be ruined if he doesn't marry her.” I caught myself wringing my hands and forced them down to my sides.

“Then let's hope the anarchists don't find out their part in our investigation so they both live.”

I didn't need to hear that. Sickened and terrified by the thoughts running through my head, I ran from the room, neglecting to say good-bye to Sir Broderick, Jacob, or Mrs. Hartwick. I threw on my hat, cloak, and gloves and dashed out of the house.

I was so distressed as I hurried along the pavement that I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until a strong grip pinned my arm.

I
loosed an audible gasp as someone reached out from behind me and took me prisoner. Swinging around, I kicked my attacker in the shin and then stomped on his foot.

“Georgia, stop it.”

I blinked and stopped my foot from connecting with his other shin as Sumner shoved me into the alleyway between two houses. “Sumner. What's wrong?”

“They're on to us. We need to get Emma out of the robbers' hideout.”

Robbers' hideout? Weren't they following anarchists? “What's she doing there?”

“They took her prisoner. Griekev and Ivanov.” He looked down. “Georgia, I can't save her alone. I need help.” His words came out on a sob.

“We'll help you. Come back with me to Sir Broderick's.”

“It's not safe. I might have been followed.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me. I have an idea.”
Taking his arm, I rushed us back to Sir Broderick's doorstep, our heels clicking in unison.

Jacob opened the door looking surprised. We shoved past him and shut the door. “Where's Sir Broderick?”

“Right here.” He glanced at us from a point just beyond his lift. “You'd better come into the parlor. Mrs. Hardwick, more hot tea, please, and bread and ham. Jacob, the medicine chest.”

I took my first good look at Sumner and my heart sank. He was thinner, bruised, and his shirt was marred with blood. His forehead and one ear were cut. The eye on the scarred side of his face was nearly swollen shut. If he looked like that, what had happened to Emma?

We led Sumner to a chair in the parlor, and while Mrs. Hardwick saw to tea and food and Jacob had Sumner remove his shirt to deal with his injuries, I ran upstairs to the study.

Once again I got the butler when I telephoned Blackford House. “I need to speak to Blackford immediately.”

“His Grace is not at home.”

“Stevens, this is a matter of life or death for Sumner and Emma. Where is he?”

“Life or death?” His tone changed from stuffy to shaken.

“Yes. Emma is being held prisoner and Sumner has asked for our help. Ours and His Grace's. We have to save her.”

“Oh, dear.” There was silence on the line while Stevens dithered. “One moment, please.”

It was the longest moment I'd ever experienced before indistinct sounds came over the line. Then I heard the words, “Where are you, Georgia?” in Blackford's stern tones.

“Sir Broderick's.”

“And Sumner?”

“He's here. Emma's been taken prisoner.”

“Stay there. I'll arrive with help as quickly as possible.”

The line went dead, and I rushed back down the stairs to the doorway of the parlor, where I met Jacob coming out with a basin of dirty water. “How is Sumner?”

“He'll live.”

“Sumner thinks he was followed here. Can you slip out the back way and bring Fogarty here without being seen?”

“Good idea, Georgia,” Sir Broderick called from inside the parlor.

“I'll be back quick as I can.” Jacob hurried off and I went into the room.

Sumner, bandages showing on his neck, arm, and chest, sat in a chair with a plate of cheese, ham, and buttered bread on his lap and a cup of tea by his side. A fresh shirt, obviously one of Sir Broderick's, strained over his shoulders and upper arms and didn't quite reach to button over his chest.

I took one curious glance at his muscular, hairy body before good manners made me look toward Sir Broderick. “I reached Blackford. He'll be here shortly.”

“Good. As soon as he, Jacob, and Adam Fogarty arrive, we can make our plans.”

Sumner set down his plate and began to rise. “We need to get down there now and rescue her. There's no time to lose.”

“Sit down. Eat. By the time you finish, they'll be here and we can listen to your intelligence and make our plan. We'll have her safe before daybreak.”

Sir Broderick's voice carried such command and assurance that Sumner sat down, but he still looked sulky. Then his hunger got the best of him and he began to gobble down the food.

Jacob returned with Adam Fogarty a few minutes later. Sir Broderick spoke as if we were in an Archivist Society meeting,
and in a way we were. “Adam, I think when we make our plans, your job will be to contact your friends at the Metropolitan Police and bring in reinforcements to make the arrests.”

Fogarty nodded. “My pleasure.” Then he paced across the room and back.

Mrs. Hardwick brought more food and Jacob helped Sumner polish it off.

When Blackford arrived, he brought two footmen with him. “I'm not sure how much manpower we need.”

“Plenty,” Sumner said, finishing his tea. “They have lookouts on all the surrounding streets. Their gang knows every alleyway and rooftop in the area. We need to capture the lookouts on the route we take to the building so we can take 'em by surprise.”

My first instinct was to dash to the East End and rescue Emma by force of will alone. Struggling with my desire to leap into action without a plan, I asked, “What happened tonight?”

“They were waiting for us. Griekev and Ivanov and some others. They knew about the Archivist Society. While Ivanov and his thugs beat me up, Griekev overpowered Emma and held a knife to her throat. Ivanov took her knife before Griekev dragged her upstairs and the rest tried to throw me in the cellar. I escaped to get help.” The air seemed to leave his body. “I left Emma behind.”

“We'll get her released,” I assured him, although I didn't feel as confident as I tried to sound. “How long have they been on to you?”

Sumner exhaled in frustration. “I don't know. We thought we'd been careful. We pretended to be a couple suffering hard times and willing to work at anything for the highest bidder. But they knew about the Archivist Society and our meetings here. And they knew you're a member, Georgia, pretending to be Her Grace's secretary.”

We had tried so hard to keep our existence secret. My first guess was that someone in Hereford House had betrayed us. From the look on Blackford's face, he had the same thought.

“How are we going to take the lookouts by surprise?” Blackford said.

“How many people are out on the street in that area at one or two in the morning?” I asked.

“Enough. Whores and their customers. People who work unusual hours. Bakers. At least the warehouses and breweries don't open until after four.” Sumner looked puzzled by my question.

“So any man loitering in the streets could be a lookout? What if these men were approached by a whore? Wouldn't that distract them from their task?” I gave him a smile.

Sumner returned the smile. “Yes.”

Blackford shook his head. His face had taken on an obstinate look the moment he realized my plan. “No. It's too dangerous.”

“Not if you fellows grab them while they're distracted.” What could be easier?

Sumner turned glum again. “Once we get inside, the building is a three-story house with a rabbit warren of rooms. A different family rents each room on the first two floors. The third floor is well guarded.” He looked down, discovered he'd been stacking the plates in threes like the floors of the building, and set his hands in his lap. “It's where Griekev and Ivanov sleep and hold their meetings to organize their crimes. They have a gang of about six or eight men. Vicious street fighters.”

I wanted to know more. “How many staircases in the building? Do they all go to the third floor? Are there any passages into the buildings on either side?”

“Two staircases. The one in front goes to the third floor. The one in back is in a two-story addition. The addition connects with
the front building on both floors. You can reach the addition through the gate to the wagon yard on the left-hand side of the building.”

“Who else uses this wagon yard?”

“The warehouse next door.”

“So there are two ways into the building. The front door and the wagon yard leading to the back door.” If I had to sneak in, I knew which entrance I'd choose.

Sumner nodded.

“Do you know the layout of the third floor?” Blackford demanded. He was looking and sounding more ducal by the moment.

“No, they never included me in their meetings. There's no knowing in which room they're holding Emma.” Sumner picked up a fork as if to throw it, hesitated, and then set the fork down carefully on the table.

“Then I'll just have to enter while you deal with the burglars and try to find out where they have her. Mrs. Hardwick, do you have any children's slate-marking chalk?” She and I exchanged looks.

“Yes. And some items in my rag bag we can use to make you a costume that will attract those lookouts.” She signaled me to follow her.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked when we entered the basement.

“How daring are you?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I'd go down there naked if it would rescue Emma.”

Mrs. Hardwick searched my eyes and then nodded. With some snips, a few quick stitches, and terrific costuming sense on her part, I soon looked like a woman of the streets. When we walked back into the parlor, conversation stopped.

Perhaps because I was showing a great deal of bosom. Or possibly the amount of leg visible, well above my ankle. Whatever
the reason, most of the men were looking at the ceiling or the floor. Blackford was gaping at me like a schoolboy.

The duke finally swallowed and said, “I don't think we should risk it, Georgia.”

“Did you bring your ordinary, unmarked coach?” I replied.

“Of course. Oh, all right. You may lead the lookouts astray with your charms. But once we reach the building, you'll stay out of sight in the coach.”

“No.”

“Georgia, show some sense.”

“You show some, Your Grace. I'm going in to find Emma. Once you overpower this gang, look for my chalk marks on the walls to rescue us both.”

“She has a good plan, Blackford,” Sir Broderick said.

Jacob and Adam Fogarty nodded.

Blackford looked at Sumner, who shrugged and said, “I don't like it, either.”

Blackford mumbled something I probably didn't want to hear and reached into the inside of his jacket. He pulled out a folding knife and handed it to me. “Do you have any pockets in that—that—?”

“Yes.” I put the small knife and the chalk in the pocket.

Sir Broderick tapped his fingers on the wheels of his chair. “Adam, it might not be a bad idea to fill Inspector Grantham in on what has transpired.”

Fogarty nodded and wrote down Sumner's directions to the building that had become Emma's prison. He left first by the back door to avoid being seen by anyone who may have followed Sumner. It wouldn't take Adam long to reach the inspector or his police contacts.

A few minutes later, the rest of us left and piled into the coach
or up with the driver. At Blackford's insistence, I had a full cloak cover my outfit.

Sumner silently brooded as we traveled toward the East End, his gaze on the floor by his feet. I couldn't have that. I needed to know every detail he and Emma had learned about the group and the building where she was prisoner. None of us could afford a mistake.

“Is there anything you haven't told us?”

He glanced at me and then back to the floor. “No.”

“So the people in this building aren't anarchists? They're robbers?” I was no longer sure who we were going to meet this night.

“Most of the people on the first two floors are immigrants working in sweatshops in the area. A few of them are professional anarchists and as poor as their neighbors. Their printing press and office is in the first floor of the back addition to the building. The robbery ring has the third floor and a room of the second floor in the front.”

“Anarchists aren't supposed to believe in any government. Every man should be free to do what they want. But even anarchists must learn soon enough that life doesn't work according to their ideals. The powerful rule the weak. So, who's the power behind this group of revolutionaries? Ivanov?” Blackford asked.

“No. There's one person Ivanov listens to. Maybe even follows. Andrei Griekev. An average-sized bloke with a great way of talking. He can convince anyone of anything. He makes people, even Ivanov, do what he wants by making them think it was their idea and that they want to do this thing more than anything else in the world. Griekev's the leader of the robbers.” His gravelly voice was the only sound inside the coach. Outside, the clomp of horse hooves rang out in the sleeping city.

Sumner looked at me and said, “Griekev has hired thugs that
keep the neighborhood in line. And I've seen them carrying in things that have nothing to do with anarchists. A fancy chair. Some expensive-looking paintings.”

I was forming a picture of the group in the building where Emma was being held. “Is Griekev the one Emma heard talking to a woman about something that will happen at lunchtime the day after tomorrow?” I realized it was after midnight. “Or, rather, tomorrow?”