“Will do.” The man half-dragged, half-carried her to the door while she fought him every step of the way.
Adrian pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his chin clean with a grimace. He then picked up the pistol she’d used, reloaded it, and headed toward his next destination.
The hackney carriage refused to venture into the narrow St. Giles streets and dropped him off a few streets over instead. Spurred on by the tension the evening’s events had brought, Adrian strode forward, his pace even and clipped.
The stench of wretchedness closed in around him as he moved deeper into the slum. Rare hints of light in occasional windows provided the only direction through all-encompassing darkness. A skittering sound suggested he might have disturbed a rat.
One second later, his boot came down hard on an uneven object, producing a crunch. He didn’t waste time wondering what he might have stepped on as he kept walking. He reached the run-down building he sought after a few more turns and set his fist to the door, only for it to swing open beneath his touch.
Alertness had him drawing his dagger as he edged his way into Wycliff’s lair. The place was eerily quiet. Not a single light burned in the entrance hall, yet a dim glow spilling from under a door guided him forward. He approached and slowly entered the same room in which he’d spoken to Wycliff last.
The light from a still-burning fire caused shadows to dance across the walls. The shabbiness he’d previously witnessed here was mostly concealed by the darkness now, affording the space an almost cozy air.
Adrian stepped forward slowly, his gaze honing in on the man who reclined in one of the armchairs. It looked as though he slept, his body sprawled at a slight angle in what could have been mistaken for slumber.Until Adrian rounded the edge of the armchair and saw Wycliff’s face.
Eyes wide, the bastard stared at the ceiling, his lips slightly parted in death. A dark stain marred his chest where someone had shot him.
Adrian released a breath. Clearly Wycliff had crossed someone else and they’d gotten here first. Wrengate perhaps? A plausible option, considering what Samantha had said of the duke’s interaction with him.
It might be worth looking into later when time allowed. Maybe Isak or one of the other children they’d rescued tonight could offer some insight.
At present, there were other more pressing concerns. He sheathed his dagger and found a candle. Lighting it, he winced in response to the unpleasant smell the tallow produced, then conducted a search of the house.
It was empty.
The children who’d worked for Wycliff were gone and who could blame them? They’d probably fled as soon as the person who’d shot Wycliff dead broke into the house.
With nothing left to gain by staying, Adrian snuffed out the candle and left. He’d send word to Doctor Fellowes, let him know where to find a fresh corpse in case one was needed for his studies.
The stench of rot and refuse teased his nostrils as he headed back through the narrow streets. A couple of homeless people stirred in the doorways where they’dcurled up for the night.
He didn’t spare them a second glance, continuing onward with purpose until he reached Piccadilly. Once there, he checked his pocket watch underneath the glow from a gaslight. Twenty to three. Nearly two hours since he’d parted ways with Samantha.
She’d probably still be at the hospital, so he chose to head there before going home. It took no more than ten minutes for him to arrive in front of the massive structure – a former mansion where the doctors consistently proved their competency.
Adrian greeted the night guards as he entered the building, his heels clicking against the foyer’s marble floors. A quick sweep of the space showed it was empty, save for the nurse who sat at a desk, the oil lamp she used providing the light she needed in order to read.
She glanced up and promptly stood. “Good evening, Mr. Croft.”
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Burns.”
A slight tilt of the head and a studious gaze preceded her next comment. “Would you like to have that cut on your cheek cleaned?”
“Later. After I’ve checked on the boy my wife brought in earlier.”
“Please follow me.” She stepped from behind the desk. “He’s been treated by Doctor Moore as requested and is currently resting. Mrs. Croft is still with him.”
They proceeded through a pair of double doors and strode down a hallway until they reached a large room where several beds lined the wall, most of themoccupied by sleeping patients. Adrian thanked the nurse and crossed to where Samantha sat dozing while she held Isak’s hand.
Reaching her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She started, on instant alert until she saw it was he, upon which she relaxed.
“How is he?” Adrian kept his voice low, a mere whisper brushing the air.
“His arm was dislocated. Three of his ribs had been broken. A gash at the back of his head needed stitching.” She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Were you able to resolve matters?”
“Yes.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The men we fought have been taken to Bow Street along with the woman who ran that awful establishment.”
“And Wycliff?”
