“A what? Did you just open thewall?How did you do that?”
“A chair,” Evangeline repeated. “We’ve got to prop the passageway open so we don’t get trapped inside. Trust me.”
Susan dashed for a chair. Within moments, they had the access panel propped wide and two more chairs stuffed inside the passageway. When they climbed atop the seat cushions, Susan was still the only one tall enough to peek through the porthole-shaped window high up on the wall. Words, however, filtered through.
“I told you,” came Mr. Lioncroft’s low, steady voice. “She’s not here.”
“You’re lying. She’s mine and I want her.”
“You dare accuse me of lying?”
“I’ll accuse any liar of lying. I know how valuable the little bitch is. One touch and—Ow! Damn you! I ought to—Goddammit!”
Scuffling sounds ensued. Evangeline elbowed Susan in the ribs.
“Oh,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away from the porthole long enough to cast Evangeline a chagrined grimace. “Sorry. Lioncroft planted him a facer. Your stepfather tried to return the favor, but Lioncroft ducked and your stepfather ended up striking the column. He’s got a bloody hand and what’ll probably be a black eye, and now they’re scowling at each other from opposite sides of the porch.”
“Not that kind of touch,” came Neal Pemberton’s voice at last. “Although it’s no business of yours.”
More scuffling.
“Another facer,” Susan confirmed. “He’s going to look like a raccoon. Now Lioncroft’s got him by the neck. He’s turning purple.”
“She gets visions,” Neal blurted out. “She sees things. Just like her mother. That’s a useful talent to possess, and she belongs to me. Don’t think you can use her for yourself, if that’s what you have in mind. I will summon every authority, write to every paper, thrash you myself if need be, until you hand that witch—”
Scuffling. Shattered wood. A thud. More scuffling.
“Your stepfather isn’t doing very well with his thrashing. He got in a couple lucky jabs, but that wood breaking was Lioncroft throwing him through a balustrade. Lioncroft tackled him before he had a chance to get up, and now—oh, no!” Susan rose even higher on her toes and stared out the window in horror.
“What?” Evangeline demanded, her skin going cold. “Tell me.”
“You were right. He has a knife. He got Lioncroft in the side.”
Evangeline swayed against the wall.“What?”
“Oh! One of the footmen snuck up and hit your stepfather in the head with what looks like the pink pall-mall mallet. It’s got red bits now. I think he’s dead.”
Silence.
Once Evangeline regained her breath and her balance, she glanced up at Susan. “Really?”
“Yes. No…wait, he’s breathing. Lioncroft kicked him to make sure. He’s got one hand over his wound and the other hand motioning toward your stepfather’s carriage. Ah, they’re putting him back in. Not Lioncroft—He tried, but there’s too much blood coming from his side. He keeps staggering and wincing.”
Evangeline’s heart stuttered. “No,” she whispered.
“He’s standing mostly upright again. The footmen have your stepfather stuffed in his carriage. Lioncroft’s saying something to the driver. Something with a lot of hand gestures. And now they’re going. Evangeline, they’re going!”
Evangeline scrambled down from her chair and shot out of the passageway and across the room.
“Evangeline,” Susan shouted. “Wait for me. You know I can’t find my way out!”
“Bess will show you back,” Evangeline called over her shoulder as she wrenched open the door and hurtled into the hall. Gavin was hurt. Her stepfather had stabbed him. For trying to helpher.
If he died from the wound, she’d kill her stepfather herself.
Chapter 32
The slash in Gavin’s side didn’t start stinging until Miss Pemberton flew out the front door, launched across the porch, and threw her arms around him. He forced himself not to flinch when her trembling arms squeezed the tender flesh above his injury. He’d never admit it to anyone if asked directly, but he’d discovered over the past week that he rather liked hugs. When there wasn’t a four-inch knife wound slicing him from waist to hip.
