They only made it as far as the corner of the orangery before everything fell apart.
“Get over here quickly, man!” a deep voice shouted.
Jonathan and Charlie ducked into the shadows of the orangery just as a carriage rolled into view, stopping beside the cottage.
A heartrending scream split the air a moment later. “No! No, please! Help!” a young, male voice shouted.
Charlie groaned and pressed himself into Jonathan.
Jonathan had too perfect a view of what was happening. The carriage door flew open, and a shadowy figure stepped down.
“You’re early,” the deep voice growled.
Dalhurst came into view around the edge of the cottage, dragging a thin, struggling figure with him. The young man’s naked body stood out blindingly in the moonlight.
“There is no early when we’re in danger of being found out,” the man from the carriage said, grabbing the young man and pushing him toward the carriage.”
“He’s overreacting,” Dalhurst said. “We’re in no more danger of discovery now than we were last week.”
“Hammond thinks otherwise,” the man from the carriage said. “Moorgate’s boy has found this one.”
“What? When?” Dalhurst demanded.
Jonathan threw an arm around Charlie, hugging him close.
“Davidson saw him at the window yesterday,” the carriage man said. “Besides which, Hammond thinks he’s found a buyer willing to pay the price he’s asked.”
“Bloody hell,” Dalhurst said.
The young man, Fabian, screamed again.
“Quiet, you,” the man from the carriage growled, then smacked him.
Jonathan nearly leapt to his feet, angry and horrified at the young man’s treatment. Only Charlie held him back, clinging to him and shaking with fear.
“You should try to find Moorgate’s boy and take him, too, while you’re at it,” Dalhurst said, helping the man into thecarriage. “Hammond is hungry for him, I know that much. He’s pretty enough to sell for a fortune.”
The other man was already in the carriage. If he replied, Jonathan couldn’t hear it.
Dalhurst stepped back, and the driver came forward to shut the carriage door. “I’ll see you in London,” he said, raising a hand to wave.
The driver climbed into his seat, and within seconds, the carriage lurched forward, whisking Fabian away. Dalhurst watched it go for a few more seconds before turning and heading back to the cottage.
Charlie tugged on Jonathan’s shirt, pushing Jonathan into motion.
It was a good thing, too, because Jonathan could hardly think anymore. He let Charlie steer him through the shadows to the other side of the orangery so that Dalhurst wouldn’t see them, but his mind was reeling.
Charlie had been right from the start. He’d seen and perceived more about what was happening at Fairford than Jonathan ever could. Jonathan had impaired him, dragged his heels and made excuses when he could have acted. He could have saved Fabian, but he’d been a coward, and now it was too late.
Chapter Sixteen
The grief Charlie felt, knowing Fabian was gone, bored so deep into his soul that for a moment he could hardly stand to be alive. He wasn’t innocent enough to believe that Fabian was being taken to someplace better. The exact opposite was likely true.
They’d been too late. Worse still, Davidson had seen his efforts to help Fabian earlier and had reported him. Fabian had been whisked off to God only knew where because of him.
Maybe Jonathan was right. Maybe he should have been more cautious and assessed the situation before running headlong into even greater danger.
“Charlie,” Jonathan whispered above him, his voice broken.
