Which meant she probably had some grand finale in mind. A reckoning that would have some specific significance in her twisted mind—poetic justice, perhaps, for the father she’d lost. Something that she’d taken the time to plan, something that she’d been dreaming about, perhaps obsessing over…
He picked up the newspaper, unfolding it. The front page had the story about his failure to close the deal for GLNR. It mentioned Miss Beatrice Brown of Staffordshire, and his pulse leapt when he saw the circling of her name in pencil.
Had Lisette put that mark there?
At the bargaining table, it was what he’d call a “tell”: an unconscious betrayal of one’s private thoughts. Here, by circling Beatrice’s name, emphasizing it, Lisette was communicating something.
This woman is my target, perhaps. Orshe’s getting what she deserves.
He continued turning the pages, scanning each one thoroughly. He saw no other marks until the last page. In the margin, next to an advertisement for a colic remedy, were numbers printed in pencil:
6:00
2:00
10:00
Heart thudding, he snatched the paper, bringing it downstairs. His partners were in his study, pouring over a map of London, marking out areas to search next. Richard, he knew, had gone to join the foot search for Beatrice. Surprisingly, Hadleigh was still there. The duke sat with a glass of Wick’s whisky, his expression brooding, his walking stick tapping to some agitated internal rhythm.
“I found something.” Wick slapped the paper down on the desk next to the map, the men gathering around to see. “I think Lisette wrote these numbers. They’re times, possibly.”
“A schedule, perhaps? For train, coach, or ship?” Kent mused. “Do you think she plans to make an escape with Lady Beatrice through one of those means?”
“Bringing a kidnapped woman on public transport doesn’t seem like the cleverest of plans,” Garrity said. “How would she escape unnoticed?”
“My gut tells me that she doesn’t intend to leave London with Beatrice.” Starkly, Wick shared his hypothesis. “Lisette’s been toying with us, but she knew we were getting too close to discovering her identity. She’s going to end the game—it’s a matter of where and how she’s going to do it. These times…they mean something.”
“Six o’clock, two o’clock, ten o’clock.” Kent drummed his fingers against the blotter. “The times are spaced eight hours apart. What operates that regularly and at nighttime?”
The moment he said it, his bespectacled gaze widened, colliding with Wick’s.
“As constant as coal,” they said in unison.
Wick’s heart thundered. “It makes sense that Lisette would want to take her revenge there. At the site of her father’s greatest innovation.” He looked at the clock on his desk. “Devil take it, it’s eight. We have no time to spare.”
He took off running, Kent and Garrity behind him.
“Where are we going?” Hadleigh asked, scrambling to catch up.
“To the coal drop by Regent’s Canal,” Wick shouted.
39
Bea was exhaustedfrom trying to escape her bonds. Each time she heard a rumble, she trembled, wondering if her end was approaching. Lisette had delighted in telling her just how she would die.
“Because of you, dear Papa didn’t live to see his idea for a coal drop brought to fruition. This warehouse should have been his—and my—legacy. But, never fear, I will leave my mark on this place. An hour from now, the next train will come. Do you know how a coal drop works?”
Bea had stared at her numbly.
“You’re in the part of the warehouse known as the hopper. When the train passes above, the bottoms of the wagons will open, dropping its cargo directly into the hole over your head. Rather efficient, don’t you think? The coal is going to bury you alive…that is, if it doesn’t crush you to smithereens first. You might not even be recognizable when the coal sorters open the hopper in the morning and find you beneath the pile.”
Bea fought back the clawing panic. Lisette and Palmer had left maybe ten minutes ago, to prepare for their imminent departure. They planned to watch Bea get crushed by coal before heading to Gretna Green.
Apparently, she was to be the starting point of their unhinged wedding trip.
She stared at the flickering shadows cast by the lamp on the ground. Lisette had left it there, wanting Bea to see the moment of her death, the avalanche of coal as it fell upon her…
“Psst.”
