“What do you want us to do, Miss Atwood?” Jonah said.
Tomas shook his head. “Someone has to stay. Someone has to protect the vault.”
Mother Mary!
She wanted to shout to hell with the vault. Damn the blasted journals. Who cared about solved cases? Who wanted to read about fraud and treachery, old cases without sufficient proof of the offender’s innocence? Her beloved father had died because of his obsession. Lucius might die, too.
No! Sybil stamped her foot. No!
She would not lose him.
The world needed strong, honest men like Lucius Daventry. Men who fought to protect the innocent. But the journals were important to Lucius, and she had to consider that point when deciding what the devil to do.
“Lucius’ mother insists I go alone.”
Tomas gasped. “Oh, ma’am, you mustn’t go alone. That woman is here to do the devil’s work.”
Sybil struggled to think through the chaos.
“Just give me a moment.” She turned and paced the corridor while mentally assessing her options. After a minute of tense silence, she swung around to face the worried servants. “Tomas, you and Jonah will wait here. Patrol the grounds. Protect the vault. Be vigilant. Robert will ride to town and deliver a note to Mr Wycliff.”
“Mr Wycliff?” Jonah asked.
“A friend as skilled in combat as Mr Daventry.” Yes, Mr Wycliff would know exactly what to do. She would ensure he knew to come at once. That it was a matter of life and death. “Mr Wycliff will take me to the Black Swan where we will question the innkeeper.”
“You’ll want to threaten him, not question him, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Tomas. Yes, we will ensure he spills his guts.” She had a loaded pistol in the nightstand drawer to use as a means of intimidation. “All being well, I shall return to town with Mr Wycliff and make plans to meet the devil at midnight. Under no circumstances are you to leave your posts here. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” both men said in unison.
She turned to Samuel. “I want you to help me copy information from a journal. I assume Mr Daventry taught you to write as well as read.”
“Yes, Miss Atwood.”
“Good. Run and tell your father I wish to see him at once and then wash your hands and meet me in the dining room.” Sybil paused to catch her breath. “So, do we all know what we have to do?” No doubt she had missed something vital. She excelled at snooping, but trapping a cunning murderer was a different matter.
They all nodded.
Samuel hurried away to fetch his father. Jonah went to check no one had attempted to break into the tunnels while they had been distracted.
Tomas lingered. He studied her for a moment and said, “You know, ma’am, I think he’d be mighty proud of you right now.”
Touched, Sybil placed her hand on her heart. “Who? My father?”
“No, ma’am, Mr Daventry. Happen a reckless, stubborn woman is exactly what the master needs.”
* * *
On a foggy night, and when travelling in the dark confines of a hired carriage, one street looked like another. A man relied on spotting landmarks when attempting to establish his direction. A mansion house. A public building. A bridge. In this instance, it was Westminster Bridge, with the blurred image of the House of Commons to the right. That meant they were heading to Lambeth.
Slumped in the carriage seat, Lucius let his head loll forward. He moaned and muttered incoherent nonsense to convince Julia Dunwoody he was still under the influence of laudanum. Hell, he could grace the stage with his performance.
The woman who gave birth to him did not deserve the title
mother. She had plied him with ale, knowing she’d added enough milk of the poppy to render him unconscious. He wasn’t sure how the solemn brute Angus managed to carry him to the carriage. Perhaps the innkeeper had offered his assistance. Indeed, once Lucius had dealt with these disloyal rogues, he would visit the owner of the Black Swan.
Julia Dunwoody—for he refused to refer to her as anything else—reached out from the seat opposite. She captured his chin and lifted his head, stared into his eyes.