Harry neared the door. Soles scraped just beyond. His grip on his weapon tightened.
The door flung open, and Harry found himself face to face with a Chinese. The man’s hair was bound in a long ebony braid, his wiry figure clad in a high-collared tunic. His eyes were steady…as were his hands, which held a shotgun.
Both men kept their weapons raised, aimed at each other.
“Ming, don’t shoot!” Miss Todd came dashing toward them.
“Miss Tessie?” The Celestial—“Ming,” apparently—blinked. “Why you here? And dressed like boy?”
“I, um, got in a bit of a bind.”
Sliding Harry an abashed look, she peeled off her side whiskers, removing her cap and wig. She shook out the pins, and his breath hitched as luxuriant sable curls tumbled to her waist.
“Please put the gun down, Ming. This gentleman came to my aid.” She smiled at Harry, her eyes shining, and his chest tightened oddly. “He’s ahero.”
Slowly, Ming lowered his weapon, shaking his head. “Mr. Black not like this. Not likeat all.”
3
They arrivedat the Black residence at midnight.
Ming had insisted that Harry come along, and his shotgun had brooked no refusal. Thus, Harry found himself entering the veritable fortress which occupied an entire block in the heart of the rookery. His past reconnaissance hadn’t allowed him to see beyond the guarded spiked gate and dense wall of brush. Now, with a word from Ming on the driver’s perch, the pair of guards let them through, iron bars clanking shut behind them as their carriage rolled down the pebbled drive.
With wary anticipation, Harry watched as Black’s lair came into view. Moonlight dappled the gothic mansion, an eerie silver-plating of the turrets and arches. When the carriage stopped, he exited first, turning to help Miss Todd down. Her hand felt soft and dainty engulfed in his. She ended the fleeting touch, ascending the front steps with nimble grace.
As he followed her up to the recessed entry, he had a feeling of being watched. He glanced up, saw dark silhouettes huddled along the roofline. The cloud cover passed, and the exposed moon shed light upon stone gargoyles. They stared down at him, some grinning evilly, others keeping a brooding vigil.
Bartholomew Black knew how to set a stage.
Once inside, Ming told Miss Todd to go upstairs and change.
She bit her lip. “Do you think I ought to leave Mr. Bennett alone?”
During the short ride over, she’d again asked Harry his name, and he’d hesitated. If he let his true identity be known, Bartholomew Black might trace him to the police force. Knowing the underworld’s animosity toward law enforcement, Harry didn’t think the cutthroat would take kindly to a constable embroiled in his granddaughter’s affairs. Moreover, he couldn’t risk compromising Davies’ surveillance.
Thus, Harry had introduced himself as Sam Bennett, the identity that combined his father’s first and his mother’s maiden names. He’d lived as Bennett for so long that, in some ways, it didn’t feel like a lie.
“Upstairs. Change,” Ming said to Miss Todd.
“But youknowhow Grandpapa can be.” Miss Todd worried her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes, it turned out, were an uncommon shade of green with a touch of grey…like verdigris, the compound produced from soaking copper plates in acid.
“I don’t want Mr. Bennett to be alone with him,” Miss Todd was insisting. “You know how easily Grandfather’s temper can spark.”
“Master see you dressed like boy, you see more than spark. You see Chinese fire flower.”
At the calm words, Miss Todd flashed an impish grin. “All right, Ming. You win.” She dashed to the stairwell, pausing there to add, “Keep an eye on our guest, will you?”
“I can take care of myself,” Harry called out—as usual, too late.
Miss Todd had disappeared up the steps.
The imperturbable Ming took Harry to the drawing room to await Black’s arrival.
Left alone, Harry took stock of the surroundings. The polished mahogany furnishings and thick Aubusson rugs radiated luxury. He might have been in a grand Mayfair drawing room, or, indeed, any one of his siblings’ homes. Although he came from country-bred, middling class stock, his brother and four sisters had, much to theton’s and their own surprise, married into theUpper Echelons.
The Kents had come a long way from their humble beginnings in Chudleigh Crest. As fate would have it, several members of Harry’s family had even crossed paths with Bartholomew Black. Although Harry wasn’t privy to all the details, he knew that, many years ago, his brother Ambrose’s wife, Marianne, had paid off some debt to Black. And Andrew Corbett, the man who’d wed Ambrose and Marianne’s daughter Rosie, had also had encounters with Black.
Corbett was a product of the underworld, and, as he told it, he’d barely survived Black’s incendiary wrath as a young man. This supported Inspector Davies’ belief that fire was Black’s modus operandi and that the cutthroat was behind the fiery explosion at The Gilded Pearl.
