Through a crack in the carriage curtains, he watched the back gates of Brookfield Asylum. Harry Kent had joined him in his carriage; Tessa Kent, Garrity, and Ransom were monitoring the other exits of the building.
“I’m certain,” Kent said. “I went in there and asked for him.”
“That didn’t tip him off?”
“I had a convincing cover. Told him my father-in-law had bats in his belfry and I needed a place to put him. Erlenmeyer gave me a tour; he was quite proud of his treatment devices.” Kent shuddered. “The bastard has a screw loose, that’s for certain.”
“Just as long as he has sufficient wits to lead me to Fancy,” Severin said starkly.
His gut churned with fear, had been doing so since he’d discovered Fancy missing. According to her maid Gemma, she’d gone out for a walk alone and hadn’t returned…which didn’t make sense. Panic had swamped him, a certainty that something had befallen his wife.
Then he’d received the message from Kent, who had enlisted their other friends to help. Ransom and his wife Maggie had called upon Adelaide on the pretense of making a social call. The princess’s butler had informed the duke and duchess that his mistress was not at home. During this distraction, one of Kent’s men had gone in the back, verifying that the princess’s carriage was indeed gone.
Severin had men combing the city now for Fancy and Princess Adelaide, his search abetted by Kent and Garrity’s forces. Yet his instincts told him that his best chances of locating his wife now lay with Erlenmeyer. At first, he’d wanted to charge in and beat the truth out of the doctor, but Kent and Garrity had convinced him to bide his time and wait for Erlenmeyer to make a move. They’d reasoned that they had no solid proof of the doctor’s complicity. If Erlenmeyer refused to talk—and his close relationship with Adelaide made that a high probability—then they would be wasting precious time with Fancy’s life hanging in the balance.
Moreover, the waiting horse and wagon they had found tied up just beyond the back gates suggested that a journey would be made soon. Severin’s knuckles cracked beneath their covering of dark leather. If that bastard Erlenmeyer didn’t show himself within a few minutes, Severin was going to charge in and do whatever was necessary to make the man talk.
The back gate opened. The last rays of daylight revealed that it was Erlenmeyer. The doctor was pushing a patient in a wheeled chair: Anna Smith, her lolling head betraying her drugged state. Erlenmeyer heaved Smith into the back of the waiting wagon as if she were a sack of bricks, throwing a cover over her.
Then he climbed onto the driver’s seat, and the wagon began to move.
Severin sent a man to alert the other teams.
“Follow him at a distance,” Severin instructed his driver. “Don’t let that wagon out of your sight.”
Adelaide left Fancy in the room, her voice carrying clearly from outside the door.
“If she makes any trouble, kill her.”
A chilled droplet slid down Fancy’s spine as she heard the affirmative replies of the princess’s guards. One false move and she knew the men would not hesitate to snuff her out like a candle.
Which means…I cannot make a false move.
Her heart pounding in her ears, she pulled on her bonds. It was no use; her arms were tied to the arms of the chair and her torso was secured to the chair’s back. If she tipped herself backward and landed hard enough, she might be able to crack the wood and break free…but the noise would alert the guards.
Think, Fancy. This is a problem like any other. How do you fix it?
What she needed was…a friend.
A tinker’s friend.
She jiggled her leg—and her heart thumped with relief when she felt the reassuring bump of the tool against her right thigh. The width and layers of her skirts had hidden it from Princess Adelaide. She began wriggling her right leg. As she strained against the bonds, she realized that the tightness was around her ankle, over her half-boots. If she could just slip her foot out of the boot…
Gritting her teeth, she twisted her foot this way and that, and finally it popped free. Trying not to make noise, she lifted her freed leg, trying to get it to her bound right hand. She strained her hip to the side until she could grab hold of her skirts.
Almost there.
She inched her fingers closer and closer toward the hidden pocket. She got her hand into the pocket, but the tinker’s friend was too deep inside. Sweating, she raised her leg upward as far as she could, felt the shifting gravity of the tool sliding down, down…
It hit her palm, and she closed her fingers around it.
Thank you, Da, for giving me a tinker’s best friend.
She managed to open the knife, orienting the blade against her bonds. She shifted her hand back and forth, rubbing the rope against the sharp edge, sawing through the rough fibers. When the rope split, she grabbed the tool with her freed hand and dispensed with the rest of her restraints.
Her triumph was measured: she still had to escape her prison. She couldn’t get past the guards shuffling outside the door. The only other way out was the boarded-up window.
Taking off her other boot, she carried her footwear with her to minimize any noise. A floorboard creaked, shooting her heart into her throat, but when no guard came charging in, she exhaled, continuing on. The distance to the window felt like a mile. Arriving, she examined the barrier to her escape.
