Hardly likely. Madelina had heard the admonishment thousands of times. “Am I ready, then?”
“As you ever will be.”
Madelina waited, but her aunt said no more. Likely for the best. Words of encouragement or praise coming from her aunt would have rattled her more than her meeting with Mister Mclintock.
“I suppose I should climb out the window,” she suggested, realizing that, even though they’d taken on a very minimal staff, she couldn’t very well walk about the townhouse dressed like a highwayman and leave by the front door.
Her aunt shrugged.
Madelina crossed to the large window, banded on the outside by a Juliet balcony, and yanked it open.
“Two things,” her aunt said.
Madelina paused, one hand on the balcony’s iron railing.
“Lord Lefthook’s favorite borough…you can see the whole of it from the old church in the center,” Aunt Aubrey began. “And, they say there’s a Doctor Carter down on Amber Street who will stitch up any man he deems on the side of right, no questions asked.”
Madelina nodded and climbed onto the railing, wondering if that held true for any woman, as well. Nervousness and excitement darted through her frame. She tugged the window closed, hoping her aunt couldn’t see her tremble.
The well-worked souls of her boots had just enough thinness and flex to allow her to feel the narrow rail of metal beneath her feet. Surefooted, Madelina turned to face the roof. Ornamental molding spread left and right at chest height and offered excellent purchase. She swung herself up and darted to the roof’s peak on light feet.
Townhomes, built touching or nearly touching even in this prominent neighborhood, stretched away before her. A slow smile widened Madelina’s lips. She could better understand Lord Lefthook’s reputed preference for rooftops. They extended into the distance, her private roadway to wherever she wished to go.
Madelina hastened to a lower portion of roof, not wishing to stand out against the sky. She regarded the churning, low-lying clouds and reflected on the value of the maps she’d studied, for no stars peeked through to orient her. She turned in the direction of Lord Lefthook’s favorite borough and set off at a run.
Her world became a blur of slates and gaps, and intense scans of the horizon. Once she left the wealthier parts of London, progress became easier, the streets so narrow and the buildings’ overhangs so pronounced, she no longer needed to scale down the side of buildings and scurry across avenues before shimmying up to the rooftops once more. Soon, her goal came into sight: the borough’s lone church spire, a dark pinnacle etched against the clouds. The best vantage point for miles.
Madelina scaled the church, its ancient and cracked stone lending easy purchase. The spire proved more treacherous, with rotted wooden slats apt to give way under her weight, but she claimed the summit. One arm wrapped about the pitted copper cross, she braced her feet against the steeply angled roof and leaned out to scan the night.
The moon, a crescent, toyed with making an appearance, until denser clouds swept across the sky. A group of too-thin women clustered about one of the borough’s only lighted lampposts and called out their prices to passing drunkards. The next street over, a pride of well-dressed young men sauntered down the middle of the lane, singing, obviously feeling mighty that they caroused one of London’s most dangerous neighborhoods. Several members of the watch rode a discreet distance behind. No one wanted the trouble that would follow should any of the fools come to harm.
Madelina continued to scan. Searching, scouring. Some of those below might need her assistance. If she didn’t find Lord Lefthook, she would follow the poor wretches around the lamppost to ensure they were treated properly and hand each a few coins. From the coughing that echoed off the walls lining the narrow street, she doubted any of them were long for the world, but perhaps coin would offer comfort for a time.
A flicker of movement above the streets drew her gaze in the direction of the river. She watched a shadowy form jump across street after street, moving away from her and to the right. Exaltation shot through her. She’d found Lord Lefthook. No matter what else happened this night, she would not have to skulk back to her aunt in total shame.
Watching him, Madelina assayed a humorless smile. Here, then, was the flaw in rooftop hunting. Lord Lefthook’s movements, though stealthy, were easy to detect. Little else stirred on their makeshift highway above the cobblestones and below the night sky.
Madelina set off after him, balancing speed and stealth. She doubted he would look back until he halted. People rarely did.
Lord Lefthook led her to a warehouse alongside the docks, Madelina’s least favorite part of any city. Inevitably, the stench of rotting fish and sewage roiled upward. From her perch several buildings away, she watched him swing through a high window. Inspecting the area, Madelina circled the large, squat structure, keeping to the rooftops when she could.
Her circumnavigation revealed several oddities. For one, though not garbed for dock work, a cluster of burly men loitered in the alleyway beside the warehouse, outside a small side door. Based on those of her aunt’s associates who’d come to train her over the years, Madelina felt the lot of them were hired guards. Strong, obedient, armed, and ready to act.
On top of that, a veritable traffic jam of expensive carriages stood before the warehouse’s wharf-facing door. All the gleaming carriages were lacquered and boasted well-dressed footmen and drivers. Odder still, none of the servants were liveried and none of the carriages bore crests. Generally, the sort of money that accompanied such a mixture of eccentricity and extravagance went hand in hand with the peerage.
Her scrutiny of the outside of the building complete, she leapt to the rooftop of the warehouse, near the window where Lord Lefthook had entered. She flattened her belly to the pitch and gravel cladding and slowed her breath, focused on the window through which Lefthook had disappeared. A large rat scurried across the cracked tar to her right. Ships and rope creaked on the Thames. The air by the docks, perpetually damp with evening fog, slicked every surface. Somewhere in the building below, voices rose and fell. Try as she might, she couldn’t make out the words. She inched forward. Bracing her legs against the flat, dirty roof, she hinged out over the edge to lower her face in small increments until she could see through the window.
Her searching gaze found beams outlined against a faint light. Somewhere, past rows of crates, flame illuminated an area of the warehouse nearest the large wharf-facing door at the front. Silhouetted against that wavering glow, Lord Lefthook crouched on a beam above the end of the stacks of crates.
Madelina levered her torso upward and slid back onto the roof. Nearly silent, she reversed herself and inched downward, feet first. Her booted toes found the sill. She ducked to fit inside the window, took a deep breath, and jumped to the nearest beam.
She landed firmly and plastered her side to one of the angled trusses. She didn’t dare check if Lefthook had heard her. She willed her racing heart to slow, sorting out the voices that played back and forth at the front of the building.
After a long moment, while she still struggled to understand what transpired, she darted her head out to find Lefthook hadn’t moved. He still faced away from her. As silently as she could, she took the long strides between the beams. She didn’t attempt to reach Lefthook, only sought to get near enough to sort out and understand the words and voices below. One more beam should—
“…are the two I want,” Mister Mclintock’s voice said. “I assume they are Madam Dequenne’s usual price?”
Nearly missing her footing, Madelina grabbed for the support of a truss. What the devil was Mister Mclintock doing there?
