Amelia darted after him, grabbing his arm before he could heft himself inside. “Why was I not told of this follow-up visit?”
“Because there wasn’t one scheduled.” The sharp edge to his voice cut like a knife. “Somehow Peckwood must have found out I determined to report him, and he’s even now getting rid of the evidence to clear his name before the authorities haul him in.”
Amelia slapped her hand to her chest, barely able to comprehend the information. “You will report Mr. Peckwood? But why?”
Graham’s jaw hardened. “Conspiracy with Mr. Waldman to harm the inmates of St. Peter’s, the illegal possession of a corpse, and as you well know, malpractice of the worst sort.”
Each accusation bruised, the last of which sickening her stomach so vilely, she lowered her hand to her belly. Though she already suspected the answer, she couldn’t help but ask, “What is the evidence you fear the doctor will get rid of?”
Sorrow folded his brow, and he cupped her cheek with his palm. “Your brother.”
Fear ran cold through her veins. “Are you saying Mr. Peckwood might harm Colin?”
“Not if I can help it.” He reached for the carriage door.
“Then I’m coming too.”
“No.” He spun back. “It may not be safe, not in the mood I’m in. And especially not if Peckwood has touched your brother. Wait here and I’ll—”
“Thank God!” A ragged voice rang out, footsteps pounding hard. Breaths heaving harder. Hair undone and white in the face, petite Mary Godwin tore down the pavement, glancing over her shoulder, and barreled straight into Graham.
He caught her without so much as a stumble, shoring her up while she laboured for breath.
“I cannot…I cannot believe…I outran it!” she panted. “But if it does follow…we must get off the street!”
“Calm yourself, madam. Steady breaths now. In and out. In and out.” At length, he released her. “There now. Why don’t you allow Miss Balfour to see you inside and tell her all about your trouble?”
Amelia cut him a slanted glance, knowing full well he’d be off the second she turned her back. She didn’t have time for this. Colin didn’t have time for this, not if Graham’s suspicions were true.
Mary shook her head, a queer light burning in her dark little eyes. “No, I’ve not the time. I must capture the monster’s essence on paper before I do anything. His face…oh, God have mercy. What a horribly frightening inspiration. Good heavens!” She clapped her fingers to her mouth, gaze wide. “How mad I must sound,” she whispered. “But I think this fiend is just the muse I’ve needed.”
Amelia edged nearer to Graham, seeking his strength. “You saw a monster?”
Mary nodded, her head nearly unhinged with the passion of it. “On the path to the cliffs. He was huge, I tell you. Roared like a lion, no, a demon, and right in my face. I am marked. Marked!” Her gaze drifted from them, a faraway glaze shining incongruously bright in the growing darkness. “I shall never forget such a monster—and neither will my readers.”
Amelia lifted her face to Graham. Without voicing a word, the stern lines chiseled at the sides of his mouth agreed with her conclusion. Mary Godwin hadn’t seen a monster.
She’d seen Colin.
The carriage bounced and swayed, not fast enough to Graham’s liking, but any more speed in this old rig and he might chip a tooth. Thunderation! He should have reported Peckwood days ago. Blast his hesitation.
Amelia jostled next to him, squeezing his hand in a death grip, face pale, staring blankly out the window. In her other hand she clung to a feather, as if drawing strength from the frail thing. A haunting picture. Would that he might spare her from all this. Cover her eyes. Protect her heart. Shelter her far, far away from here. God only knew what they’d find at the end of this crazed ride. For her sake and Colin’s, he could only pray he wouldn’t be too late.
Please, God, not again.
The driver barked, “Easy now,” and a jolt that rattled the bones stopped the carriage. Pulling from Amelia’s grasp, Graham flung open the door and leaped to the ground.
“Stay here,” he shouted over his shoulder, gravel already crunching beneath his heels. With the bleak cloud cover and threat of twilight, the woods were dark and growing darker. Soon night would fall in earnest. How the blazes had Peckwood and Balfour ended up on this godforsaken trail anyway? The office was as far from this stretch of trees as east from west, leading to nothing but barren cliffs and—
His breath caught heavy in his throat. Sweet mercy! Would Peckwood actually lure Balfour over a precipice, all for the sake of evading public humiliation? But of course he would. Had the man not sent Graham on a false errand, risking a man’s life in the process, simply to stop him from planting doubt in a journalist’s mind?
“Graham, wait.” Footsteps pounded behind him.
He grit his teeth. Amelia. Dashed headstrong woman! Admiration filled him anew. Would he love her so much were she not?
Slowing, he kicked a big branch off the path lest her skirts tangle in it, then reached back his hand. A moment later, cold fingers wrapped around his. Without a word, he squinted into the darkness and guided her through the gathering shadows.
Like the warning snarl of a big cat, an angry growl traveled through the darkness just ahead. Graham sped as fast as he dared. If he or Amelia tripped, they’d be that much farther behind. Such madness, this. Racing the oncoming night, racing against time itself.
