Lucius was her life, her love.
She couldn’t lose him.
“I can’t see him,” came a distressed voice from the misty gloom.
A scuffle behind resulted in Alcock giving Warner another swift punch to the gut.
“You there!” came another call from the darkness. “Grab his arm. Drag him out.”
A minute passed, maybe two.
“Cavanagh!” Mr Wycliff cried, grabbing hold of the low bank. “Give me your damn hand.”
Mr Cavanagh raced forward, and with Angus’ help hauled Mr Wycliff from the river.
“Lucius, where’s Lucius?” Sybil’s body shook more than Mr Wycliff’s cold, tired limbs. “Did you find him?”
Oh, Lord, please say you found him.
Mr Wycliff bent his head and gasped for breath. Mr Cavanagh practically tore the man’s sodden shirt from his back, demanded Alcock give up her greatcoat and draped the garment around Wycliff’s trembling shoulders.
“Where’s Lucius?” A sob caught in Sybil’s throat.
With a shaky hand, Wycliff gestured to the river. “In … in a boat.”
The giant wave of relief lasted mere seconds before another terrifying thought took hold. “Tell me he’s alive.”
“Yes … he’s alive.”
“Thank God. And Bower?”
“The other man? A boatman dragged him out.”
Angus stepped forward. “And Julia?”
Mr Wycliff closed his eyes and shook his head. “She s-sank as if she had a lead b-ball strapped to her ankle.”
“Nae a ball, weights sewn into the hem of her cloak. She nae had but a few weeks left and wanted a quick end.”
Anger flooded Sybil’s veins.
Julia had worked out the perfect plan for revenge. Yet again, she had failed to consider how her actions might affect her son.
“I need to go to him, to Lucius,” Sybil said. Before his demons surfaced and gnawed through their leash. “What shall we do with Mr Warner?”
Damian Wycliff rubbed his arms in a frantic bid to keep warm. “We need to deal with the matter now. I—I suggest we go straight to P-Peel. We all heard Warner’s confession.”
Warner blubbered and pleaded for clemency. He tried to shake free from Mr Trent’s grasp, and so Alcock punched him again.
“You’re coming, too,” Sybil said to Angus. “We need everyone to make statements regarding tonight’s events. It’s the least you can do for Mr Daventry.” She turned to Mr Wycliff. “Where will they take him, the men in the boat?”
“To the boathouses.”
“Then I must hurry. I’ll meet you there.” She thrust the satchel at Benedict Cavanagh. “Take care of the evidence.” She had more important things on her mind. “Perhaps remove the pistol before we hand it to Peel.”
And without further ado, she picked up her skirts and darted along the path.
* * *