“I trust we can revisit our… conversation, when this is finished,” Edward said quietly, the back of his hand brushing hers.
“You don’t—” she started, then bit her lower lip, “you do not need to finish that. I think I’ve gotten the gist of your declaration.”
Edward shook his head firmly. “No, Alice. I must say it. It is a burden that has been laying heavily on my chest for the last month, and I need to free myself from it—”
Before he could finish, a series of sharp whistles and thunderous booms shattered the stillness of the night, drowning out any further words. The force of the blasts rattled the air, as though the heavens themselves were exploding in colorful fury.
The thick limbs of the trees bowed with the force of the blasts while the sky was set alight with red, emerald, and blue bursts,each one blooming like a flower in full, vivid bloom, or cascading in brilliant ribbons of glowing light.
Alice rose from her seat, eager to catch a glimpse of the spectacle unfolding above. As she leaned forward, the back of her fingers brushed against Edward’s, and instinctively, he reached for her hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. Smiling, she held onto him tightly while gazing at the sky—until a spluttered bang of a cannon turned the semi-peaceful gathering into bedlam.
Ribald screams rent the air in two as the blast sent two men flying across the field and had another’s clothes going up in flames.
“Edw—” A sudden surge of strange faces surrounded her and Alice felt herself being ripped apart from the mob, rushing and pushing away from the rogue cannon.
Panic had her screaming, spinning around in place as men and women buffeted her left and right. She caught a fleeting glimpse of Edward, impossibly far away, fighting against the current of the crowd, his face stricken with desperation.
“Edward!” she screamed again, though the sound barely reached her own ears amidst the chaos.
Desperation fueled her as her eyes darted wildly, searching for something—anything—familiar. But beneath the disorienting flashes of red, blue, and green light that streaked across the dark sky, she could see neither Benedict nor Penelope.
“Please,” she whispered, though the word barely left her lips.
Then came the arm.
Rigid, unyielding, it looped around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. A hand clamped over her mouth before she could cry out, stifling her scream. Her mind reeled as she struggled, every nerve in her body alight with panic. The iron grip at her waist pulled her back against a body she did not know.
Terror and disbelief collided in her chest as a sweet pungent smell began burning through her nostrils and her throat.
“Edward…” she tried to whisper, but the word was lost to the darkness that surged over her, swallowing her whole.
It felt utterly incomprehensible; one moment he was holding Alice’s hand, anticipating the moment of upcoming silence and privacy where he could confess the rest of the words in his heart.
Now he spun around as the panicked mob petered out and the workers at the Gardens rushed to help the men who were injured, bleeding, and burned. Frantically, he searched around for Alice, but he could not find her anywhere.
Benedict was in a huddle on the ground, his body a shield around Penelope—but Alice was nowhere to be found. He knew she would not be so foolish as to go off alone, so where was she?
“Good god,” Benedict rose from the ground and lifted Penelope to her feet. “That was not what I had expected when I suggested we see the fireworks.”
“Have the either of you seen Alice?” Edward asked in growing concern. “The mob ripped us away from each other and she is nowhere around.”
“Maybe she took cover behind the trees over there,” Benedict nodded to a thicket of trees, and swiftly, Edward strode over to the forest line, but stopped seven or so feet from the swaying oaks.
A flicker of something red poking from the uncut grass had caught his eye. Crouching, he picked up a muddied rag and held it to the light, when the foul odor had his head lurching back.
“Morphine…” his teeth ground as panic raced up his spine. He turned around to hold the cloth out to his brother, “This is Opium Morphine.”
Benedict looked lost. “What do you mean?”
“Someone took Alice,” he said, tucking the cloth into his trousers’ pocket. Penelope let out a sharp gasp, her gaze darting between the two brothers. Edward’s own head began tospin, but he bludgeoned down any emotion and fell into cold-bloodedness. Striding to his brother, he tossed him a pocket spyglass which Benedict caught deftly. “The Gardens are twelve acres, and since we have no idea where this stranger took her, we may have to search every inch of it…” He turned in place, his eyes narrowing, “Or perhaps not.”
This time it was Penelope asking, “How can we not? She’s been kidnapped, Your Grace! We have to find her—God, we must—”
“I doubt the kidnapper took her to dump her in a circle of bush or a Supper Box,” Edward snapped, cutting through her panic. “Whoever took her would require an escape route. That leaves us with two options: the entrance street or the barges on the Thames.” His tone was sharp, decisive. “You take the road,” he ordered, turning to Benedict. “I’ll go to the river.”
“That’s a plan.” Benedict grabbed Penelope and they hurried down the paved walk, while Edward rushed to the Proprietor's House with the Water Gate outside it on the south bank, hoping beyond all hope that no boat had come yet.
Alice’s lids felt heavy, as if weighed with iron-clad brick, but Alice peeled them open to find herself resting on a post with her hands bound behind her back. The dark mass of the Thames surged before her as the moonlight split the surface into faceted slivers of pale light.
