He gulped frantically for air, then realized he was gagged. He inhaled through his nose, drawing in acrid air that burned his nostrils. But it eased the straining of his lungs and shocked his sluggish brain into working.
Keep breathing. Stay calm. Figure out what happened.
As his respiration steadied, his senses sharpened. He was lying on the ground, and his hands were bound behind him. There was something gritty against his cheek. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position and heard the clank of chains. A shackle weighed down his right ankle.
The pungent smell in his nostrils was ubiquitous: coal. The damp air and relentless gloom felt subterranean…a coal cellar. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could make out lumpy piles along the walls. He listened intently, but all he picked up was the scurrying of vermin. No voices or footsteps. None of the hustle and bustle of London streets.
Where is this cellar? How did I get here?
A wave of dizziness swamped him, and he fought to remain clear-headed. To remember. He’d had a cup of tea with Campbell, then hailed a hackney to London Joint Stock Bank. But the hackney had taken a wrong turn into an alley and stopped. Brutes had emerged from nowhere, and he’d tried to fight them off, but he’d been weak, dizzy for some reason…
The tea.Bloody hell.
As the betrayal sank in, his first thought was for his colleagues. If Campbell had been compromised—if he’d found a way to eavesdrop on the team’s meetings—then the First Flame knew everything. It explained why the bounders had remained a step ahead.
Christ, I have to warn the others—to warn Lottie.
Determination cleared his head. To help them, he had to get himself free first.
Bracing his back against a wall, he managed to get to his feet. He took a few measured steps to ascertain he had his balance. Then he set about getting his bearings. The chain only allowed him to take four steps in any direction and was connected to a ring embedded in the brick wall. He tested his cuffed leg, trying to see if the chain might give. No such luck.
Suddenly, he remembered.
The Quintons’ pen.
Obviously, whoever had abducted him had taken his weapons; did they bother to take the writing instrument in his inner coat pocket? He couldn’t reach to see if the pen was still there, but he thought he felt its scant but precious heft. If he could free his hands, he could use the lock picks to unlock the manacle and find a way out.
How do I cut the rope binding my wrists?
He felt his way along the wall, trying to find a nail, anything with a sharp edge. He got to a section where the coal was piled too high, blocking his access to the wall. He used his feet to clear the area. He was near the bottom of a pile when his foot encountered something solid. At first, he thought he’d hit the ground, but when he kicked it again, the object shifted, coming loose from the depths of coal.
It felt heavy against his foot, the shape of…a coal shovel.
Thank you, God.
He crouched, feeling for the shovel with his hands. His fingers brushed a metal edge. It was blunted from years of use, but it might be enough to saw through the ropes. His ears pricked at faint noises. They grew louder…descending footsteps. Hurriedly, he rose, kicking coal over his buried treasure as fast as he could.
Keys clanged on a ring, and the lock clicked.
He whirled to face the opening door, the sudden flare of lamps blinding. He squinted, glimpsing four silhouettes. One of them stepped forward.
“Welcome back, Mr. Granger,” she said.
Bernadette did not prove easy to find. Charlie first checked at the offices ofThe Englishwoman at Home, where one of the other writers thought the American was out researching the latest fashions in millinery. Visiting each of the suggested shops, Charlie came up empty and decided to wait at Bernadette’s lodging house by Earl’s Court. Just when she was about to move on, Bernadette showed up.
Since boarders filled the parlors, Bernadette suggested they take a stroll, and Charlie readily agreed. They found a bench in a nearby square to talk.
“We are lucky we nabbed this bench,” Bernadette said. “With the Great Exhibition opening tomorrow, the crowds are everywhere. I couldn’t even get a seat on the omnibus…but I presume you haven’t come to make chitchat. What can I do for you, Lady Fayne?”
“I have come to seek your professional knowledge. About a matter of some delicacy.”
“Delicacy?” Bernadette waggled her brows. “Oh, goody. I sense a juicy story. But never fear, my lips are sealed.”
“I need information. About a company called Wilmer Upholsteries.”
“What about them?” Bernadette said promptly.
“Anything you’ve heard could be useful. In particular, I wish to know who owns this company and how they came to be so popular in a short time.”
