“That sounds expensive,” she mused. “Are there no men who could be hired to work alone? For example, could my father simply hireyou?”
“That depends,” Birdall hedged, considering this, and Sabine gingerly opened her notebook and dabbed her pen, waiting for him to think out loud or rattle off stray facts—anything new she could learn about how the charcoal of Hampstead would meet the sulphur and saltpeter from Mr. Legg’s boat to become gunpowder.
At her feet Bridget stood at attention, sniffing the air. The dog would truly miss this investigation when it was over. There was virtually no subterfuge or stealth involved in cartography. Thank God.
Ten minutes later Sabine had a page of notes about the amount of each chemical compound required to make gunpowder and the way they were combined. She was just about to ask him if such an operation could take place in, for example, a barn or even out of doors, when the door to Dr. Birdall’s office opened and in walked the last man on earth she expected to see.
Her uncle, Sir Dryden.
He stood distractedly in the doorway, tapping rain from his hat and stomping mud from his boots.
“Entertaining females in the office, Birdall?” asked Sir Dryden with irritation. “I came all the way from Surrey for this meeting.”
The sight of Dryden struck Sabine with a throat-closing gush of fear. Her heart lurched, stopped beating, and then leapt into a mad spring. Unwelcome tears burned her eyes and she fumbled with her pen and notebook.
Not now,she begged,I am so close.
And then she thought,He will kill me.When he recognizes me and learns my purpose, he will not hesitate to kill me.
She looked frantically around the room. There was no escape. The windows were sealed, and they were three floors up. The thick stone walls would conceal her screams. One glance at Birdall proved that he was as frightened of Dryden as she was.
Sabine pressed her notebook closed and blinked back the threatening tears, bracing herself, preparing for the firestorm that would follow when Dryden caught sight of her. She checked her dog. Bridget had never met Dryden and she was frantically sniffing the air, assessing potential threat.
I swear,she thought,if he lays one hand on my dog...
When Sir Dryden finally turned his attention to the small office, Sabine raised up in her seat, fear momentarily overshadowed by pride. On instinct, she flashed him a smile. She was careful to keep her expression serene and confident—Dryden’s least favorite.
“My God,”he spat, “what are you doing here?”
“I moved here after my marriage, Uncle, or don’t you remember? I’ve made London my home these past four years. What areyoudoing here?”
He made a dismissive noise and said, “I owe no explanation to you about my whereabouts. What are you doing in the professor’s offices?”
To Dr. Birdall he said, “Why in God’s name would you let my estrangedniecein the Institution?”
Dryden looked back to Sabine, his gaze lighting on her notebook. “What are you taking down? Let me see that. Don’t try to hide it.” He slapped a bony hand on the notebook and Bridget let out a low, warning growl.
Sabine clasped the edge of the notebook, trying to slide it free. “Research. For my travel guides,” she said. Bridget’s growl changed to a bark, responding to the distress in Sabine’s voice.
“The devil it is.Letgo,” he demanded and yanked the notebook from the desk to flip it open.
“She’s taking down notes on our compound, Birdall, you fool!” Dryden said, shouting over the sound of the barks. “What have you told her?”
Dr. Birdall was standing now, looking nervously between Sabine and Sir Dryden and the dog. “She said she needed advice about blasting limestone from her father’s farm.”
“Her father isdead,” said Dryden. “She has absolutely no need for this information, unless—”
He narrowed his eyes on Sabine, studying her face, her posture, the clutch of her hands. He squinted at the dog.
“Birdall?” he said quietly. “Get out. Take the dog.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said,get out. Take the dog and lock the door behind you. I will attend to you in a moment. But first I must clear up some confusion between my niece and myself.”
The younger man reached cautiously for the dog, and Bridget let out a vicious string of barks, baring her teeth. The professor drew back, edging away, and hurried out the door. Dryden slammed it shut and flipped the lock, spinning back to Sabine.
“What do you think you’re doing, you meddling presumptuous bitch!” Dryden hissed. He slapped the heel of his hand between her eyes and drove two fingers into her nostrils. When he had a secure hold of her face, he jerked, giving her no choice but to stagger up. The pain and humiliation were immediate, and Sabine cried out, grasping his wrists with both hands. Bridget barked and barked.
