Uncle Soulden glared, his face turning redder and redder. “You think you’ve won, but it’s not over. Every man has a weakness, one that will bring him to his knees. I will find it. You’re not invincible.”
Nickie stuck his hand in pocket. “Bluster, old man. We’ve found nothing he cares for. Everything takes too long.” He raised a knife. “A Blackamoor dead in the theater…”
The world slowed. The audience claps masked the sound of the hunted becoming the hunter.
Wycliff pushed Lawden out of the way. Then snapped his sjambok and lashed at Nickie’s hand. The knife fell to the floor.
“Nickie? Showing off for the old man? That’s wasteful, since you, darling Nickie, are responsible for me ‘living’. It wasn’t Johnson that had me impressed, but golden boy.”
Soulden’s big-eyed-scowl at his son was priceless and cruel to a fool bent on proving himself.
The rest of Wycliff’s grooms came from the stairwell and laid hands on his uncle and cousin. “Take these fellows back to their seats, the cheap ones. Make sure they watch the whole show. It’s quite good except for the soprano. Theater before prison, gentlemen. Oh, I called your notes today. You’re done for. My deck-swabbed hands need do no more. That should make my dearly-departed father proud.”
Wycliff picked up the knife and lent a hand to Lawden, helping him up.
Intermission began.
The corridor filled with patrons. Wycliff watched his men escort the muttering fools past his box and then down the stairwell.
He waited until the last moment, until the heavy door slammed shut.
Lawden walked with him, and they cut through the crowd and headed to the theater box. “Nothing like poverty to make a man born to means crumble, but you shouldn’t have told them about the notes. They may flee.”
Wycliff handed Lawden Nickie’s knife. He had Ruth’s. “We should’ve tossed them down the stairwell. That would be more satisfying, but they’ve no money to go anywhere. I want them sweating so they can’t be concerned about Ruth. It will be Marshalsea for Uncle before Friday. I can handle Nickie. His father’s disappointment in him will destroy what’s left of the fool.”
“At least you didn’t let them hit you, my lord.”
“No, Lawden, they did enough of that four years ago.”
Wycliff went into his box and allowed the groom to leave.
Ruth was sitting with her arms folded about her. He stood in front of her. “I’m fine. All is well.”
Her countenance was shadowed and angry.
“It’s not well. This is happening again.”
He tried to touch her, but she wouldn’t allow it.
“It’s the same as four years ago. We’re the same.”
He put his hand to her cheek, and she jumped. It was as if she didn’t recognize him.
Was this a fit?
Had his absence triggered it? “Ruth, everything is almost over. We are almost free.”
“No, we aren’t. They’ll kill you. I heard them. I heard them as they passed by. Iheardthem.”
Wycliff realized that she wasn’t in shock.
She remembered their voices from the night of the attack.
He knelt beside her. “You heard them, not just him? Two voices?”
“Yes. Two.”
His uncle had been at the attack, Wycliff knew that. But Nickie, too?
