Matthew’s broad shoulders stuck in the frame. He wriggled back and tried to jam one shoulder followed by the other.
Then he felt it. A pull on the seat of his breeches. The damnable goat had Matthew’s attire caught between its teeth!
“Stop, fiend! Stop, fiend!” Pan shouted. Matthew realized that the parrot was literally protecting his flank, even if his call would likely attract the dragoons’ attention.
With renewed urgency, Matthew jammed his shoulders throughthe opening. He could feel his upper arms burn as a good layer of skin was scraped away. Matthew didn’t hesitate though. He popped into the moonlit night with enough force to tear his clothing from the beast’s mouth.
He crashed to the ground but managed to tuck and roll his body just in time to avoid smashing his head on the cobblestones. Bouncing to his feet, he turned to see Pan fly from the stable. The goat’s head appeared next, its eyes gleaming even more brightly than before. This time, though, instead of chewing a long piece of straw, it deliberately munched on a swatch of Matthew’s breeches. Inch by inch, the material slowly disappeared into the creature’s maw.
Matthew had no time to watch the consumption of the fabric. He had only started to scan the new alleyway when dragoons appeared at both ends. Above Matthew’s head, the goat continued to eat, its horns poking through the open window like twin blades. Even if Matthew wanted to battle the cloven-footed devil, he couldn’t squeeze himself back through the window quickly enough.
“Roof! Roof! Roof!” Pan chortled above Matthew’s head.
“You always have to be right, don’t you?” Matthew asked the parrot. He gripped the window frame under the goat’s hairy chin and sprang so quickly onto the sill that the goat screamed, dropping what remained of the saliva-covered wool. Before the creature could react further, Matthew had already hoisted himself onto the relatively low roof of the stable. He scrambled up the eaves of a neighboring building and then was off, leaping through the air with Pan as his faithful shadow.
He’d only gone three blocks when rotting timbers over an abandoned building gave way beneath his feet. Matthew landed, quite painfully, on a large beam. Gritting his teeth against the blazing hot agony, he managed to grip the cruck before he toppled off and plummeted twenty feet to the ground.
Pan landed a few feet away and cocked his head inquisitively at Matthew. “Oof?”
“I… hate… rooftops.” Matthew forced out between his gritted teeth. Pan seemed amused. Matthew was not.
He could hear the dragoons on the streets outside the building. Each clip-clop sounded closer and closer. Horror and fear mingled with the aches coursing through Matthew. He needed to gather his strength to flee once more… but would it be too late?
Chapter Eighteen
This is not good,” Sophia spoke, her voice low as she pulled back the curtain to the window of the Belle carriage.
Hannah looked out her side and swore a low oath. “No, it isn’t.”
“The number of dragoons?” Charlotte asked, unable to keep her voice from being pitched too high. Worry thudded through her like a plodding, endless funeral dirge that promised only more horror at the end.
“Not just the amount of troops, but how they are fanning out. They’re methodically checking streets, houses, and businesses. They must be trying to corner Matthew.”
“If they haven’t already,” Hannah added darkly.
Charlotte suppressed the stab of pain that her cousin’s words triggered. She had to remain alert, stay fierce. For Matthew’s sake.
“We’re at least close to the hideout that Tavish owns.” Sophia looked over at Charlotte.
But they knew Matthew wasn’t there. The three of them had already checked the ramshackle building and had climbed back into the coach only minutes earlier. Charlotte was not certain of all the details, but Matthew was involved in liberating children sentenced to years of forced labor in the Colonies. Hannah and Sophia occasionally lent aid to him and Mr. Stewart.
“We need to create a distraction.” Hannah drummed her fingersagainst the wooden seat. “One that will give Matthew a chance to slip to safety.”
Her heart a massive, swollen lump of terror, Charlotte glanced at the men on horseback. With the moonlight glinting off the rows of buttons on their uniforms, they were regal looking. Despite their deadly intent, they reminded her of footmen bustling about before a ball. Both were accustomed to taking commands and protecting the strictures of Society. An idea formed, and Charlotte instantly spoke before fear could silence her.
“I can distract the soldiers.” The words sounded so calm, so-matter-of-fact, that it was almost as if another speaker had uttered them. But the voice was Charlotte’s and, moreover, so was the intent.
“You?” Hannah looked at her skeptically. “This isn’t a gilded ballroom to swan about in.”
Charlotte glanced toward Sophia, always finding her the more calmly rational of the two. “Did you not tell me that as a noble white woman I have certain power in my perceived weaknesses?”
“I think I understand what you’re planning, but explain more,” Sophia said.
“I’ll play the classic damsel in distress, and all of those fine military men are going to clamor to slay dragons for me.”
“Her suggestion does possess some merit.” Sophia turned toward Hannah. “It is less dangerous than most options.”
Hannah leaned forward in her seat as she studied Charlotte. “Your acting is sufficient?”
