Because of Kurlansky’s promise, he wasn’t worried about Jarvis receiving sanctuary on the Russian frigate. However, smuggling and all manner of illicit activities were rife along this stretch of the river. There were any number of ways for someone to lose himself among the harbors and wharves.
And Jarvis had proved himself slippery as an eel at evading capture for his many sins.
The question drew a small smile from Horatio. “I’ve been running test trials in these waters for weeks with this prototype, and Mr. Tilden and I have been tinkering with the engine and recently installed a larger propeller. So yes, we’ll catch him.” He gave a fond pat to the hull of his boat. “And that’s a promise, milord. So hurry and climb aboard.”
Wrexford began pulling off his boots. “Find Griffin and his men.” He gave Raven directions to the spot chosen for the rendezvous. “Have them go to the King’s Dockyard and wait there for my return.”
Raven cast a longing look at the steamboat but then turned and darted off, a quicksilver blur that was soon lost in the shadows of the reeds.
“Prepare to cast off!” called Horatio to the sailors holding the ropes that tethered them to their comrades on shore.
Holding his pistols high overhead, Wrexford waded into the water and was pulled on board by a host of willing hands.
“Now stoke the boilers!” ordered Horatio, taking charge of the ship’s wheel. “The hunt is on!”
* * *
Charlotte returned to the others, fighting to keep her emotions in check. Jarvis was a cunning and merciless killer.
But Wrexford is Wrexford, she reminded herself.
Somehow the thought was comforting enough to let her push aside her fears and deal with the drama unfolding inside the abandoned storage building.
“Are you sure that you are not hurt?” Crouching down, she pulled Alison into a gentle hug, as there was no longer any need to maintain her masquerade as a street-tough urchin employed by the earl. She sensed that Lady Taviot was not a threat . . .
“No need to fuss,” assured the dowager. “I am quite well.”
“Excellent—then I won’t hesitate to ring a peal over your head for taking such an awful risk,” said Charlotte. “But that must wait for a moment—as must a great many questions.” She cast a glance behind her. “I had better help Mac.”
“Go,” whispered Alison. “What a terrible thing to happen,” she added with a compassionate sigh. “But Evil begets evil.”
Lady Kirkwall had indeed chosen a dark path, but it seemed that a glimmer of right versus wrong had still remained alight in her heart.
After a quick squeeze to the dowager’s hands, Charlotte joined McClellan, who was kneeling beside Lady Kirkwall.
The maid had fetched Taviot’s fallen knife and used it to cut away the clothing around the gunshot wound. She had also used it to slice some of her underskirts into strips of cloth to stanch the bleeding, but as Charlotte leaned closer and peeked beneath the padding, it was clear that the situation was not good.
Looking up, she saw McClellan’s eyes reflecting the same grim assessment.
“I-Is there perchance any water?” Lady Kirkwall’s breathing was growing more labored. “I—I find myself thirsty.”
“There’s a flask of brandy in my cloak pocket,” murmured McClellan, nodding to where her garment lay atop one of the crates.
Charlotte rushed to fetch it. Brandy was even better than water, as it would dull the pain.
“Thank you,” whispered Lady Kirkwall, after Charlotte had gently lifted her head and helped her swallow a sip. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Lady Wrexford.” Catching Charlotte’s flicker of surprise, she managed a wry smile. “My appreciation of painted portraits has made me skilled at looking at faces.”
Charlotte helped Lady Kirkwall take another sip.
“My sins . . .” A cough wracked her chest.
“None of us are without sin,” said Charlotte, keeping Lady Kirkwall’s shoulders cradled in her lap. “You have repented, so allow your soul to take solace in that.” Small comfort, perhaps. But Lady Kirkwall was not a monster, and her last lonely moments on this earth should not be ones of utter despair.
“Again, your kindness . . .” She gestured for another sip of brandy. “Lean closer,” she whispered. “I—I wish to explain some things. I am aware that Wrexford has suffered greatly from the actions of my family—”
“Don’t try to talk now,” counseled Charlotte. “You must save your strength. A surgeon will be here shortly.”
Lady Kirkwall twitched her lips in a cynical smile. “We both know my strength will soon be gone. A confession may do us both some good.”
