Alison replied with a word—in English—no highborn lady should know.
Jarvis laughed, a sound that made Wrexford’s skin crawl. But with the two ruffians standing next to several overstuffed leather satchels and Taviot positioned just behind the chair to which the dowager was tied, he dared not twitch a muscle.
“You really do have a filthy mouth, Lady Peake,” said the colonel. “Enjoy breathing fire while you can.” To Taviot, he continued, “It behooves us to keep her alive a little longer. Once we reach the Russian frigate, she will have served her purpose.”
Lady Kirkwall made a sound in her throat as she rose from the crate on which she was sitting. “For God’s sake—”
“My dear Elizabeth, surely by now, you know that I don’t believe in God,” said Jarvis, and added another laugh that resonated with pure evil.
“Aye, I know all too well that the only thing you worship is your own self-interest,” retorted Lady Kirkwall, her voice shaking.
“A little late to be getting a conscience, isn’t it?” sneered Jarvis. “You’re up to your lovely neck in all this.” He gave a lazy wave of his hand. “So sit down and stay quiet.”
Gritting her teeth, Taviot’s sister did as she was told.
“As for you, Taviot, the reason you must stay here and keep guard over the dowager is because I’m the one who knows how to fire up the steamboat and make it ready for our escape. And I need our two men to get the boiler stoked. So unless you are skilled in how the boat runs, shut your mouth and keep a close watch on the Dragon.”
He angled a look out one of the small windows. “Stay alert. It’s getting light, and there’s a chance that officious little midshipman will take it upon himself to make an extra patrol of the isle.”
“You were careless to let him spot your skullduggery with the steam engine,” muttered Taviot.
Still, he grudgingly moved even closer to Alison’s chair. A blade of sunlight flashed off steel as he raised his knife and waggled it near the dowager’s throat. “Not another word or movement, you meddlesome bitch. I don’t know how they came to know of it, but your niece and her damnable husband have cost me a fortune with their probing into ancient history. So if you give me the tiniest provocation—”
“Hold your nerve,” warned Jarvis. “Give us a half hour to make things ready, and then follow along with the three of them.”
It was only then that Wrexford saw Maitland sitting apart from the others, barely visible within the gloom of the storage alcove.
“I—I don’t want to go to Russia,” muttered the inventor.
“You would rather rot in Newgate Prison for the rest of your life?” asked Jarvis. “We’ve left papers in Taviot’s townhouse that make you appear the ringleader of the consortium’s fraudulent scheme.” A pause. “As well as the murderer of poor Neville Greeley, so that you could obtain the da Vinci manuscript and convince your investors that you had discovered some momentous mechanical secret that would change the world.”
“I knew nothing about your nefarious plan!”
“I doubt that the authorities will think that your protests ring true.”
Shoulders slumping, Maitland made no reply.
Jarvis looked around with a supremely smug smile. “Well, now that you all understand the situation clearly, let us prepare to take our leave of jolly old England. There are plenty of Russian pigeons waiting to be plucked.”
With that, Jarvis and his two cohorts hefted the satchels and headed for the rear exit, where a footpath led down to the river.
Wrexford had heard enough to formulate his next moves. He retreated to where Charlotte and the others were waiting.
“Jarvis and his two henchmen are heading to the boat, where I assume the sailors will apprehend him,” he whispered. “We’ll move in shortly to negotiate with Taviot. Hawk, go tell Raven and von Münch to be alert. Taviot can’t be allowed to abscond with Alison—and I don’t care whether that means blowing his brains out.”
The boy dashed away.
Wrexford silently counted off five minutes, then motioned for them to move.
* * *
Wrapping her fingers around the pocket pistol hidden in her tattered jacket, Charlotte took up her appointed position behind the earl and Sheffield. Every fiber of her being was crying for action, but she knew that one errant step could prove fatal.
Patience, she reminded herself. A quality that she usually possessed in spades. And yet it was her fault that Alison was in danger—be damned with Wrexford’s argument to the contrary—and until the dowager was safe . . .
Wrexford slowed and lightened his already soundless tread as he approached the doorway, snapping her attention back to the present moment.
A flicker of sunlight after the darkness made her blink, but in the next instant the main room came into focus.
