Page 106 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Was anyone with him?”

“Not in his flat, no. There was a chap driving the carriage, but all I could see was his back. ’Nother fellow beside him on the driver’s seat.”

“Was one of them a large man?”

The landlord registered surprise. “Oh, aye, he was a big one, sure enough. Not the driver, but the other one.”

So Gordon had left in a carriage with two men, one of them most likely Grieves. Thisbe wished now that her grandmother had brought charges against the man. Gordon wasn’t taking a hack to Paddington; hansoms had only a single driver. The professor was making a journey by coach—understandable if one was planning to kidnap a person. And why else would he have Grieves with him but to overcome Desmond, something the middle-aged scientist could not do alone?

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Thisbe handed him a larger coin than before. “If he comes back, send word to me at Broughton House. Anyone there will do.”

Thisbe returned to her carriage. As she climbed in, the back of her neck prickled. She glanced behind her. Unsurprisingly, the landlord was standing at his window, watching her. That was good; a nosy man was exactly whom she needed at Gordon’s home.

She returned to the house, certain now that Gordon had forced Desmond to go with him. She was equally sure that the likeliest destination for the carriage was Wallace’s estate in the north. She took some comfort in the fact that she would make better time by train than they would in the carriage. It would help to make up a little for the long head start they had on her.

She wished Theo had stayed at home; she would feel confident facing down the three men if she had her twin by her side. She would have enlisted Reed, but he was back in Oxford since Hilary term had begun; she couldn’t waste the time to fetch him. Again she thought of Carson and again discarded the idea.

It was up to her.

At home, Thisbe took Olivia aside and explained exactly what had happened. If the landlord did try to send her a message, there must be someone in the house who knew where Thisbe was and what she was doing. Also, though she didn’t want to dwell on the thought, there was always the possibility that everything would go awry and she, too, would need rescuing.

It would probably be safe to tell Kyria as well, but Olivia was the least likely to try to dissuade Thisbe. For all her bookish shyness, Olivia possessed the heart of an adventurer. Thisbe could not tell the rest of the family. Even her permissive parents would balk at her setting off on her own to rescue Desmond from kidnappers. Better to let them think that Desmond was accompanying her on a journey to retrieve the Eye.

Next, Thisbe went upstairs to find a weapon. Hopefully there would be no need for it, but she believed in being prepared for all eventualities. Theo had a revolver, but he would have taken that with him, and in any case, it was too large and noticeable to carry about. Nor did she know how to use it. But he also had several knives.

He had taken his best one with him on his journey, and, of course, the scimitar he had purchased in the Levant last year was out of the question, as was the claymore. Nor did she feel entirely comfortable with a large camping knife. Fortunately, there were also a number of penknives in his desk drawer, and Thisbe settled on one with a sharp blade that folded up to be easily concealed in her pocket. Lastly, she went to the billiards room and picked up couple of the small hard balls to put in her reticule. Thus armed, she set out.

The trip north was uneventful, though Thisbe was so on edge that she started at shadows. Once, catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, she whirled around, only to see a young man running to board a different train. She was struck time and again with an uneasy tingling at the back of her neck, not only walking through Paddington, but also in the early morning in Manchester, where she changed trains. Each time she glanced all around, but she could not find anyone watching her.

It was only her nerves. Why would anyone be following her? They had already taken Desmond; it would be of little use to grab her, as well. She doubted that any of the men would look upon her as a threat. Being underestimated was an advantage of being a woman as much as an annoyance.

Alone in her compartment, she was free of that uneasiness, but she could not relax enough to read or do anything but stare blindly out the window, worrying about Desmond. It was equally difficult to sleep that night; every time she managed to fall asleep, she was plagued by worrisome dreams. When morning came, she was bleary-eyed.

However, when the train arrived in Preston in the pale predawn light, she was instantly alert. She left the train and no longer glanced around uneasily. Intent on her goal, she marched over to store her baggage at the claims office. Then, penknife in her pocket and a reticule containing billiard balls, money and smelling salts—should Desmond be unconscious—she set out to find the man she loved.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“I AM NOT related to Anne Ballew.” Desmond glared at his mentor. “We’ve already gone through this. I told you last night before you knocked me out again. And if you keep pouring that bloody laudanum down my throat, my mind will soon be so scrambled I wouldn’t be able to help you, anyway.” He transferred his glare to Grieves, who stood beside Gordon, arms folded.

“No, no, no, dear boy,” Gordon protested and turned to scowl at Grieves. “He wouldn’t have slept for almost twelve hours if you hadn’t given him so much.”

The truth was Desmond had pretended to remain asleep for an hour after he’d awakened. A few minutes ago, when Grieves hauled him downstairs, Desmond had feigned an exaggerated grogginess even though he felt quite alert, even edgy. He wasn’t sure how this ruse would help, but his only path now was to stall and obfuscate as much as he could, and wait for some chance to get away.

At the moment, that seemed unlikely. His hands were still tied, and the end of the rope was lashed to one post of the heavy, straight chair in which he sat. It made it awkward to turn toward the third man in the room, but he twisted around to address him now. “Mr. Wallace, this is absurd. I can’t see anything more with the Eye than any of you. Anne Ballew was not my ancestor.”

“Oh, but she was,” Gordon assured him. “We’ve done our research. It wasn’t only talking to your aunt.”

“My aunt?” Desmond let out a groan, closing his eyes. “Those are folktales.”

“More than that, far more than that. Mr. Wallace traced Anne’s husband’s movements from London back to Dorset after the tragedy. The family went into hiding, changed their name and moved to Cumby-on-Mallow.”

“Where my mother grew up.”

“Exactly. There is a gap in the 1600s of a generation or two, but I’m certain that line contin—”

“You’d already done all this before you met me.” Desmond stared in disbelief. Perhaps his mind was moving more slowly than he thought; it took him a moment to realize the rest of the implications. “That’s why you took me on, isn’t? You thought I’d have the Eye or be able to lead you to it.” Amazingly, even though he’d already learned Gordon’s nature, it hurt to learn the truth. He had never been the one that Gordon chose to tutor. It had been Anne Ballew’s heir.

“I hoped you could,” Gordon admitted. “But that’s not the only reason I chose to tutor you. You’re incredibly bright.”