From Aunt Esther, that was praise indeed.
“Yes, it was—” Fancy began.
“Your Highness,” an urgent voice said. “I must speak to you.”
Confused, Fancy turned in the direction of the raspy female voice. A woman stood several yards away beneath a streetlamp. The yellow light limned her cloaked figure, her loose and scraggly hair, the deep fissures age had worn into her face. Her deep-set eyes had a wild glow.
Before Fancy could react, the guards closed ranks around her.
“Stay back, Your Grace. We’ll ’andle this,” one said.
Another addressed the woman. “Keep your distance, mort.”
“You must listen to me, Your Highness…” The woman advanced.
“Stay back,” one of the guards warned, drawing his pistol.
“I mean no harm—”
The woman never finished her sentence for a carriage stopped beside her, a group of men in dark coats alighting and descending upon her like a flock of vultures. They circled her, blocking her from Fancy’s view. The woman screamed and then…nothing.
“Fancy!” Knight’s voice, his pounding footsteps. He appeared at her side, his breaths harsh, his eyes blazing. “Are you all right?”
“I-I’m fine.” Numbly, Fancy realized that her teeth were chattering. “A w-woman came out of nowhere. The g-guards protected me.”
“Stay with Her Grace,” Knight told the guards grimly. “I’ll see what this is about.”
She grabbed his arm. “Be careful—”
“I’ll be right back, sweeting. Stay here.”
He strode off toward the huddle of dark coats. Fancy watched, pulse racing, as he spoke with the group’s leader, a short, thin man wearing a dark hat. After a few moments, the men stepped aside for Knight to have a look at the woman. Fancy’s chest clenched when she glimpsed the piteous figure slumped like a ragdoll against the lamppost.
Her thoughts whirled.Why would that woman want to hurt me? What is going on?
A wagon stopped next to Knight and the gathered group. The cabin was enclosed, with bars over the windows, the kind of conveyance used to transport criminals and madmen. The back of the cabin opened, more men in black coats descending. They hefted the unconscious woman into the wagon as if she were a sack of coal and shut the door.
Knight exchanged a few words with the leader before the latter joined the driver on the perch of the wagon, and the vehicle rattled off into the night.
“What was that about?” Fancy blurted the instant Knight returned.
“We’ll talk in the carriage,” he said.
They piled into their conveyance, ladies on one side, gentlemen on the other, and Knight shared what he learned. The man he’d been talking to was Dr. Karl Erlenmeyer, an Austrian physician specializing in mental disease. Dr. Erlenmeyer ran Brookfield Asylum, a private institute for the insane located in Highgate. The woman who’d accosted Fancy was one of his patients.
“Her name is Anna Smith,” Knight said in a cold, detached voice. “According to Dr. Erlenmeyer, she was committed to the madhouse because of a long history of delusions. Evidently, she believes that she is a spy and has a history of attacking strangers whom she believes she’s been sent on a mission to harm.”
“Heavens,” Aunt Esther said faintly.
With a shiver, Fancy remembered the woman’s greeting. “She called meYour Highness.”
“It is likely Miss Smith thinks you are royalty she’s been sent to assassinate.” Passing lights and shadows waved over Knight’s stark features. “Dr. Erlenmeyer said that the last time that happened, Miss Smith assaulted a lady walking down the street…with an axe.”
“Bloody hell,” Jonas said, his eyes wide.
“Miss Smith escaped from the madhouse a week ago, and Dr. Erlenmeyer and his men have been searching for her. They glimpsed her near Berkeley Square five days ago, but she lost them.”
“That was the day of the falling bricks.” Fancy’s throat cinched. “Miss Smith was in the area?”
