“I still feel that we’ve miscalculated,” she admitted as she held her own firearm tightly.
“Doubt is plaguing me too,” Eoin confessed, his voice so low that Hannah strained to hear it. “Well, perhaps not doubt, but I can’t help feeling as if we’re lacking a crucial deduction.”
“If you wish to turn around, my family and I can proceed instead. We began this fight. I promise we will not take action against any of your relatives without consulting you.” Hannah leaned as close to Eoin as possible as she kept her voice barely audible. Fortunately, her father was still trying to navigate through the small opening and was blocking Sophia and Hannah’s mother. Although both her parents and her cousin had agreed in the carriage that Eoin would ultimately decide his uncles’ fate, this was a private conversation.
Eoin’s steps faltered, but he didn’t stop his ascent. “This is my responsibility, too, especially if it involves Uncle Hugh or Francis. But do you mean…”
Eoin suddenly trailed off, and Hannah tried to peer aroundhis broad shoulders for a glimpse of his face. That, however, proved impossible as his back occupied the entire passage.
“We’ve reached the trapdoor,” Eoin whispered. “There’s a lock on it, and I suspect it may be latched from the inside as well.”
Hannah pushed the keys into his hands. “Here. Try these. But don’t enter until my parents and Sophia join us.”
Fortunately, her father appeared just as Hannah heard the key turn in the lock. To Hannah’s relief, her father whispered to her that Matthew’s party had met up with theirs. When he tapped her shoulder twice, she knew everyone was assembled on the staircase or at least as many of them as would fit.
“We’re all accounted for and ready now,” Hannah told Eoin as her heart rammed against her chest.
Eoin nodded once and then gave a mighty push on the trapdoor. Metal screeched as the wood panel tore from the hinges. Eoin surged forward, and his shoulders cleared the hatch before Hannah even heard the oak covering thump against the floorboards.
She scrambled to follow, wishing that her palms weren’t so sweaty. She might be the daughter of a pirate, but she was accustomed to more clandestine activities. She’d never stormed anything before.
When she popped into the firelit room, she immediately leveled her pistol toward the group of figures clambering to their feet. Their backs had been toward the exit, and they’d been seated in chairs in front of a latticework that had obscured them from the crowd below. From their forms, it seemed as if there was one man surrounded by a bevy of smaller, slender women. All of them wore cloaks.
Yet there was something amiss about the tableau beforeHannah—something that felt… off or at least unexpected. For a moment, Hannah couldn’t determine what. And then it struck her. The man had not been sitting in the central position.
“Turn around!” Eoin commanded.
The women shrieked and clutched the hoods around their necks as they spun. The man moved stiffly, his hands down at his sides. Hannah expected his features to be obscured, but his head covering wasn’t that deep.
But he wasn’t Hugh, and he wasn’t Francis either. But he certainly looked like them. Close enough to be a cousin or perhaps even a half brother.
“Who are you?” Eoin demanded, his voice as cool and distant as ever. His hand gripping the pistol was just as steady.
But Hannah’s focus was no longer on the gentleman. Instead, she swept her gaze over the women. They’d started to drift around, seemingly overwrought by the unexpected invasion. Hannah had witnessed similar behavior before, and suddenly the elusive fact slammed into place and all the rest aligned.
She watched the fluttering women. On the surface, their movements seemed driven by chaotic panic. But their frantic darting was not random—at least not for one of the ladies. Although she wrung her hands and her steps seemed erratic, she consistently moved toward the right wall. Hannah studied it, wondering if it contained another secret passage or priest hole.
The small room was certainly richly appointed with oak panels akin to those in the ducal estate. Yet it was decidedly an intimidating décor with a series of grotesques. Hannah cocked her head as she realized the carvings created a ladder. Glancing up, she noticed that the ceiling was comprised of recessed wooden squares—a perfect way to obscure another trapdoor.
Sure enough, the woman who’d been moving with intent reached the series of miniature monsters. The cloaked figure grabbed two of the lower creatures and placed her daintily slippered foot on the other. She began to scale the wall with surprising alacrity.
Hannah rushed over and grabbed her leg before she could ascend any farther. A familiar high-pitched scream filled the room as the fleeing figure tried to shake Hannah loose. However, Hannah had plenty of muscles from hefting heavy trays of coffee.
“Unhand me this instant!” the woman yelled. Although Hannah still couldn’t see the lady’s face, she was certain of her identity—all of her identities.
“I have no intention of doing so, Eliza Aucourte, or should I say, Lady Purveyor?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
At the sound of his aunt’s name, Eoin turned from the man who looked like a combination of Hugh and Francis. He saw Hannah clinging to the legs of a cloaked woman who was scaling a set of grotesques.
Had he heard correctly? How could his timid aunt be here? She could hardly muster enough energy to lift her head from the settee, let alone find the vigor to literally start climbing the wall.
“I said unhand me, you uncouth coffee maid.”
The shrieking woman certainly sounded like a louder version of Eliza. But still? Eliza? And who was the fellow with the face of Eoin’s uncles?
“I am a proprietress!” Hannah tugged hard against her captive’s legs, causing Aunt Eliza to tumble backward. Hannah kept her hold, guiding the struggling female to the floor while keeping her in a tight grasp. No sooner had the culprit’s feet touched the ground than Hannah yanked down her hood.
