“She’s in there.” Mr. Grenshaw’s voice came first.
“This has gone too far, Timothy. You know it.”
“There’s naught to be done for it.”
“This is kidnapping. And possibly murder! What were you thinking? We didnotagree to this.Idid not agree to this.”
“I know. I know!” spat Grenshaw. “Just do as we’re told. It will be over soon.”
“I refuse to participate in this, Timothy. No.”
“He’ll kill you if you don’t. He’ll kill both of us.”
Bile rose in Ella’s throat. Her head throbbed. All this time shehad assumed Mr. Grenshaw was the driving force behind the entire plot. But was it . . . Mr. Clancy?
His words about her mother and retribution smacked. This was never about phrenology. This was never about anything other than making her family pay for a crime that was never actually committed—and Ella feared she might pay the ultimate price.
Searing pain radiated from the back of Gabriel’s head. His head lolled forward. The sharp ache intensified, and he shuddered. He’d been clubbed with something. It was the only explanation.
With eyes still closed, he attempted to lift his hand to touch his head. But his hand would not move.
Gabriel opened his eyes and blinked, furrowing his brow as his eyes adjusted to the weak glow of a lantern hanging overhead.
Where was he?
He looked down. Ropes bound his forearms to the arms of a wooden chair. His ankles were secured to the chair legs. He tugged against the ropes, but they did not budge. Gabriel searched his memory, desperate to remember what happened and where he was.
He hurriedly assessed his surroundings. Two barrels were to his right, and a side of salted ham hung to his left. Bottles were stacked along the far wall, and various other crates and boxes filled the empty spaces.
In a sudden flash, his memory roared back to life.
He’d just finished talking with Prior. He’d seen Gutt and Grenshaw.
Ella is gone.
Fresh motivation fired through him, and he reevaluated the ropes binding him. Satisfaction flickered. Whoever had tied these erred. He should have been secured at his wrist—the narrowest part of his arm. But the rope crossed the muscular part of his forearm over his coat sleeve. If he could slide his arm backward so the rope was over his wrist, he’d be able to work his hand through and free it.
He repeatedly jerked his arm backward, attempting to move the rope. The last thing he remembered was the street outside The Lark & the Gull, and judging by the dissonant music and muted voices, he was likely inside that same public house. If his captor had taken him here, then Ella was probably here too.
The thought of Ella here, in this dangerous establishment, spurred him to quicken his pace. He did not have a lot of space to work with between his elbow and the back of the chair, but with each sharp, angled jerk of his arm backward, he felt slight movement of the sleeve fabric against his arm.
Encouraged, he inhaled a deep breath and wrenched his arm back with all his might. The rope gave and slid down to his wrist. Perspiration gathered on his brow. He folded his thumb toward the other edge of his palm, making the broadest part of his hand as narrow as possible. The rope scraped and tore against the skin on his hand as he jostled it free.
He was almost there . . . he just had one more arm to free. He only hoped he would not be too late.
Chapter 45
ELLA FIXED HEReyes on the hook near the mantel and bit her lower lip in concentration. She held little hope that the pointed iron hook at the fireplace could pierce through the rope and weaken it, but she had little other choice. Right now it was the only option. She had to try.
The voices outside her door had subsided, and she forced a long, slow exhale. Everything within her screamed to give in to hysterics, but she thought of how calm Gabriel had been when he’d encountered Mr. Grenshaw with the pistol. She would be calm too.
She pushed her feet against the wooden floor to scoot the chair closer to the hook. The legs caught on the uneven floor planks, nearly tipping the chair to its side. She tried again. Then again. Regardless of her effort, she could not get enough leverage to lift the chair leg over the plank without tipping.
She had no idea how much time had passed. Half an hour? An hour? She desperately searched the space again for something she could use to free herself. Shewouldformulate a new plan.
Footsteps—light ones this time—stopped outside her door. Ella stilled.
The door squeaked on iron hinges.
