“Yes!” she heard a child’s excited cry, followed by a yelp of pain. Soot rained down, catching her hair before she could pull away. She absently brushed away the bits in her hair, streaking her hand gray.
Up in the chimney, the child cried.
“Lady Branstoke!” cried Lady Newcombe. “You are getting soot all over yourself. Come away from there.”
Cecilia shook her head. “Christopher,” she said gently, leaning forward again. “You are going to be all right, Christopher. Can you come down now? You don’t need to clean the chimney.”
“Pro—promise?” she heard between sobs. Her heart clutched in her chest and her eyes began to tear.
“Yes, Christopher,” she said, fighting her own tears, “I promise. Just come down.”
She heard scraping and scuffing with more soot falling down. She bit her lower lip and clenched her skirts in her hands.
“Careful!” Billy warned, ducking his head into the chimney. “Slow, like I tol’ ya.”
Suddenly there was the sound of a harsh scrape against brick amid a flurry of dislodged soot falling.
“Ah-ah! Help! I can’t move!” Wailing started again. “Help! Ouch, that hurts. I can’t move!”
Billy ducked back into the fireplace. “What did you do?” he called up.
“I—I slipped! My legs, they’re caught!”
The boy came out of the fireplace. “We need another climbing boy to climb up to him and pull on his foot.”
Cecilia frowned. “Won’t that hurt him more?”
The boy agreed. “Tear up his knees something awful.”
“Can’t you do it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Me shoulders have grown too big.”
Cecilia looked at the boy. He was her height, but he had broad shoulders. She didn’t. She wondered if she could do it. “How do you climb up a chimney?”
“What?”
“Just tell me how to climb a chimney,” she said fiercely.
“Well, ya get boosted up, and ya put yer back to one side, hard, then walk yer feet up till ya can’t go more, then use yer hands to brace ya and lift yer arse higher, then walk yer feet ups agin.”
She compressed her lips together, her brows pulling together. “I’m going to try it. Can you give me a boost?”
“But yer’s a lady! And yer be wearin’ skirts.”
“Lady Branstoke!” protested Lady Newcombe.
There was a commotion in the hall, and then Lewis and Daniel Wrightson ran into the parlor.
“Pardon, Lady Branstoke,” Lewis said, his sides heaving as he worked to catch his breath. “I didn’t get your message until this morning. The butler at Mrs. Montgomery’s said you’d come here.”
“And he’s here!” Cecilia cried, running over to Lewis. She lightly touched both his and Daniel’s forearms. “Oh, Mr. Martin, he’s here. But he’s stuck in the chimney.” She turned to Lady Newcombe. “I beg your pardon, Lady Newcombe. This is Mr. Martin—he is a Bow Street agent.”
Lewis crossed to the fireplace and stooped to look up like Cecilia had. “Young Sedgewick, sir. Courage! We will get you out.”
That brought more tears. Tears also streamed down Cecilia’s cheeks.
“I was going to climb up to him. I’m small enough.”
