Helplessly, they watched as she was taken towards the lodging house. They didn’t enter through the front door, instead dragging Mercy into an alley at the side. The Reverend felt panic welling up. Did they intend to murder her?
Then common sense kicked in. Of course, the varmint wouldn’t risk such a thing in broad daylight. It was one thing to hold a woman against her will – sadly such things were commonplace – but murder? Murder he could hang for. And Reinhardt needed Mercy alive.
As if to clarify his intention, the Reverend faintly heard Reinhardt ask his cohort if the priest was on his way, just before they disappeared round the back of the building.
So, he didn’t have a priest ready and waiting upstairs to conduct the ceremony… Reverend Shackleford thought back to the ship they’d just seen with the American flag. That was likely the vessel Reinhardt intended to escape on once he’d made Mercy his legal property, but the villain hadn’t done it yet.
The clergyman took a deep breath then gritted his teeth. There was no time to fetch anyone else. It was up to him, Percy and the Almighty now. He turned towards his white-faced curate and suddenly spotted Finn, sitting with his back against the shed. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten the boy was with them. Staring at the lad’s tear-stained face, the Reverend suddenly had an idea…
***
As Nate lay on the ground, he briefly wondered if he was dying. His right arm hurt like the devil and, for a second, he couldn’t remember what the hell he was doing there.
Seconds later it all came flooding back. Lifting his head, he saw that the carriage was nowhere to be seen. The bastard had Mercy. Groaning he rolled to his left side and pushed himself up to a sitting position before beginning the laborious task of shrugging off his jacket. Once down to his shirt, he inspected his right arm.
His shirt was soaked in blood, but though the wound was clearly bleeding profusely, the bullet looked to have gone right through the fleshy part of his arm. He picked up his discarded jacketand was staunching the wound with it when shouts heralded the arrival of Christian and Max.
Nate pointed in the direction the carriage had taken. ‘I’m fine, it’s only a flesh wound. Go.’
The two men ran to the mouth of the alley and disappeared leaving Nate to struggle to his feet. The Viscount hoped to God the carriage was trapped in the queue surrounding the Haymarket. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes, waiting for the sudden faintness to pass. Then tugging at the cravat around his neck, he used the cloth as a makeshift tourniquet, wrapping it tightly around his arm and tying it off with his teeth.
Pushing away from the wall, he staggered back to the alleyway entrance, looking in the direction the carriage had taken. His heart sank as he realised the lane didn’t come out at the front of the theatre, but the back. His bearings had got completely skewed in the twisting corridor. Here, all was quiet with only the distant buzz of conversation coming from inside the theatre. Holding onto a lamp post, he watched and waited for Christian and Max’s return, knowing in his heart of hearts they would not have been in time to stop Reinhardt.
Moments later the door opened behind him, and he turned to see Chastity and Patience hurrying towards him.
‘How badly are you hurt?’ Patience asked without preamble.
‘A flesh wound,’ the Viscount answered shortly. ‘Reinhardt has Mercy. Christian and Max have gone after the carriage.’
Chastity gave a low moan, covering her mouth with her hand.
Patience was more pragmatic. ‘It needs cleaning,’ she announced, ‘and for that we need to get you inside. It might onlybe a flesh wound, but if putrefaction sets in, it’ll be curtains for you all the same, my lord.’
At that moment, Christian and Max appeared round the corner. The despondent looks on their faces clearly revealed their failure to stop the carriage.
‘There was no sign of it,’ Max grimaced.
‘Did you see which way it went once it reached the end of the street?’ Christian growled.
Nate shook his head. ‘The shot propelled me off the foot plate and I think I blacked out for a second.’
Christian ran his fingers through his hair in weary anxiety. ‘Forgive my abruptness. How bad is your injury?’
‘Bad enough,’ interjected Patience. ‘He certainly can’t go rushing off anywhere before it’s properly cleaned and dressed.’
‘Did you catch sight of the carriage at all?’ Nate asked, gritting his teeth at the thought that in a few hours Mercy might be beyond any help they could give.
Max shrugged. ‘We saw plenty of carriages, but there was no way of knowing whether any of them had Mercy inside.’ He grimaced. ‘Clearly the driver knew his way around the warren of backstreets. They could be anywhere now.’
Nate frowned and shook his head, suddenly recalling the strange smell emanating from the opened window. ‘Not anywhere,’ he mused, trying to place the pungent smell he remembered. ‘Spices,’ he said at length. ‘Specifically,cloves.’ He paused, thinking back to the hand holding the gun. ‘I don’t think the man who shot me was Reinhardt. The hand was none too clean, and the arm of his jacket was stained and torn. But underneaththe reek of stale sweat, was the smell of cloves.’ He looked over at Christian, suddenly animated. ‘Why would a varmint like that smell of cloves? It was all over his fingers.’
‘The docks,’ Max and Christian said at the same time. Nate nodded slowly.
‘It makes sense. Reinhardt will want to be close to whatever ship he’s booked passage on. There are lots of inns and taverns around the docks he could hole up in while waiting to set sail….’ He paused and Christian continued.
‘So, wherever he’s staying might be close to a warehouse storing cloves. Is it possible that the man who shot you is a dock worker?’
‘More likely a gallows bird who saw an opportunity to make a quick profit,’ Max countered. ‘Reinhardt probably had the lodging ready and waiting for a quick getaway.
