He was in a very tight space. He could always tell by the air. But Allan had fled this way. Julius took a step forward, and the temperature climbed a degree.
Max dropped a meaty hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll go. You go back and question our attackers.”
Julius shook his head. It was a useless movement in the dark, but his throat was clogged. He took another step, his legs turning to jelly beneath him. He couldn’t leave this to his friend. It was his task. His suspect.
“I think there’s a light up ahead.” Max’s breath was hot on the back of his neck, and Julius wanted to elbow him back. But he kept inching forward.
The ground dropped beneath his searching boot, and Julius swayed. He cleared his throat. “Steps down,” he warned Max.
“We’re in the catacombs,” Sutton said quietly. “It’s going to get even tighter.”
Mind swirling, Julius sagged against the stairwell wall. The catacombs. A prison to hundreds of lost souls. He’d never make it.
Self-loathing ate at his insides. “Go.” He crowded next to the wall, giving Max space to pass. “I’ll go talk to our other friends.” Max’s cloak brushed past him, and Julius’s knees gave out. He sat hard on the stairs. He’d go talk to their friends just as soon as he could take a decent breath. Just as soon as his hands stopped trembling.
He clawed at his cravat, pulling open the collar of his shirt. He thought he’d moved past these episodes. Overcome his weakness. But he was as pathetic as ever.
The back of his eyes burned, and he squeezed them tight. His ragged breaths were loud in the stone vault. He concentrated on smoothing them out, forcing the air through his nose in steady exhalations. His heartbeat slowed from its frantic race.
Well, if he couldn’t move forward, he’d have to go back and see what he could learn from the fuckwits in the alley.
Digging his fingers into the crevices between the rough blocks in the wall, Julius pulled himself to standing and headed back. He dragged a hand along the stone, relishing the bite to his flesh as much as using the wall as a prop against the dizziness that swamped him. A rectangle a shade lighter than the black tunnel beckoned to him, and he stumbled to the opening.
He stepped outside and leaned against the church’s wall, chest heaving. Rain pelted his upturned face. He only wished it could wash away his shame.
He opened his eyes. The alley was empty of bodies. Perfect. He’d even failed at his pity task. Forcing his legs to move, he walked both ends of the narrow lane. But no one jumped out. No clue was conveniently left upon the muddy ground. Shoulders slumped, he stood across from the door and waited for Sutton. If nothing else, at least Audley’s death had been avenged. But that thought was a poor comfort.
Five minutes later, his friend’s bulky frame appeared in the doorway. Alone.
“You didn’t find him.” Julius’s voice was flat. It was more statement than question. His weakness had delayed his friend. Obstructed the mission.
“I found him.” Sutton rubbed his jaw, his fingers getting lost in his beard. He blew out a long breath. “But he won’t be talking.
“His throat was slit from ear to ear.”
Chapter Sixteen
“‘A woman as excitable as a child, too afraid to leave her home, yet daring to lecture England on its proper management.’” Amanda snapped the paper she held straighter and angled it towards the light streaming through the window. The response from Lord Hanford had appeared in today’s paper, and Amanda was still fuming. She read more highlights to Lady Mary. “‘While her histrionics might suffice to send ill-informed women into a fit of the vapors, we must not let it sway the rest of society. A woman like Miss Wilcox is not to be encouraged with her nonsense. Should not be listened to. By lending such a woman your support, you do neither England, nor her person, any favors.’”
Lady Mary stabbed a needle through the pillowtop she worked on. “Hogwash. I can’t believeThe Timeslet him have the entire second page for that. Men.” She shook her head. “They can never speak their minds in one sentence when a lengthy exposition is available.”
It wasn’t the length of Lord Hanford’s diatribe that bothered Amanda so much as its content, but she appreciated the woman’s indignation on her behalf. With Liz gone, and Julius nowhere to be seen the past two days, any friend was appreciated.
She rubbed the heel of her hand along her skirts. The personal attack had shocked her, but that wasn’t what had her worried. How had Lord Hanford known she didn’t leave the house? Her movements, or lack thereof, weren’t common knowledge. They had no mutual acquaintances.
She glanced at the older woman. “My Lady, do you spend much time visiting your friends here in London? Surely your position in this house must be dull, yet you have no guests come to pay a call. Have a cup of tea and chat. It was really most unfair of Marcus to ask you to be my companion.”
“Why is that, dear?”
Amanda spread her hands. “Because your charge doesn’t do anything. Go anywhere.” She swallowed. “Because I’m a recluse.” The breath shuddered from her lungs. She’d finally admitted it aloud. Julius and Liz knew it and now so did the rest of London.
She looked at the paper again. She seemed so pathetic. The woman too frightened of her own shadow to ever step into the sunlight.
What would the Ladies’ Society think of her now? At least they would understand why she couldn’t publicly debate Lord Hanford.
“It isn’t as though you are keeping me from a glittering social life,” Lady Mary said dryly. “And you aren’t the only one shunned from polite society.”
Amanda wrenched her gaze from the newspaper. The normally vapid expression on the older woman’s face had disappeared.
