“She got a note from her cousin. She-the cousin-said she had something to tell Francesca about someone called Ester. Francesca seemed to think it perfectly normal for this cousin to have set up a meeting in St. Margaret’s Church in Cheapside. She wouldn’t let me go with her-said the cousin would balk or some such thing-”

Gyles grabbed Osbert’s arms; he only just refrained from shaking him. The familiar black fear was roiling inside him, tentacles tightening about his chest. “Did she take the carriage?”

Osbert nodded. “And two footmen. And there was an extra groom on top, too.”

“Good.” Gyles released Osbert. Devil stepped down, joining them. Gyles looked at Devil, then shook his head. “She’s well guarded, but…” He knew she was in danger. Real danger. He thought of Franni, and his blood ran cold. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either. Nor did Wallace,” Osbert averred.

“I don’t like the sound of Cheapside either.” Devil raised a brow at Gyles. “Your call.”

Gyles considered. “Osbert-grab a hackney. You and I are going to Cheapside.”

“Excellent!” Osbert strode off.

Devil raised both brows. “And me?”

“I need someone to take a clear and concise message to Francesca’s uncle.”

“Ah, I see.” Devil’s gaze followed Osbert down the steps. “Charles Rawlings?”

“Yes. He and his party are staying at Bertram’s in Duke Street. He said he’d be busy getting ready to leave tomorrow, but I need him to come to St. Margaret’s in Cheapside. Tell him Franni’s there.”

“Francesca’s cousin?”

“Yes. I don’t know what’s going on-what Franni’s up to-but…” Every instinct was screaming. Gyles met Devil’s green gaze. “Can you make sure Charles gets the message?”

“Of course. And then?”

“Just that.” Gyles hesitated, then added, “Whatever comes after, I suspect it’ll be best kept within the family.”

Devil held his gaze, then nodded and clapped Gyles on the shoulder. “I’ll make sure the message gets through with all speed.”

Devil strode off toward Duke Street, two blocks away. Gyles made for the hackney Osbert had waiting.

“St. Margaret’s in Cheapside,” Gyles ordered the jarvey. “Fast as you can.”

Francesca sat on the leather seat of her carriage, swaying as it rolled through the streets. Beyond the windows

, the day slowly faded. She recognized the great houses along the Strand, then the road narrowed through the Fleet. At one point, John Coachman pulled up and the groom scurried around, lighting the carriage lamps. Then the carriage rocked on, slowing as the horses climbed the hill to St. Paul’s, then, the clop of their hooves echoing from the stone facades, started down the farther slope, into a part of London Francesca had never seen.

Soon, wisps of fog laid pale fingers across the windows. The road angled nearer the river; the fog grew denser, shops and taverns shrouded in the sulfurous murk.

Francesca frowned; the pricklings of unease, the stirrings of presentiment, were growing too strong to ignore. Why had Franni chosen such a place? Osbert had been right-Ginny would never have taken Franni walking here. The chill outside penetrated the carriage; a shiver slithered down Francesca’s spine.

Something was dreadfully wrong.

She would only find out what was going on if she went on and met Franni. Even here, the environs of a church would be safe, and she had four burly men with her.

The road grew narrower. As the surface grew rougher and the carriage jolted along, she tried to think how to manage the coming meeting, how best to ensure their safety-Franni’s, Ginny’s, and her own-without throwing Franni off her stride.

The city’s bells tolled four o’clock as the carriage slowed, then halted. The carriage dipped as the groom and footmen descended, then the carriage door was opened.

“Ma’am?”

John had halted the carriage beside the church’s lych-gate. Francesca held out her hand; one of the footmen helped her down. Steps led to a path through the church’s graveyard. Francesca studied the dark bulk of the church, barely visible through the gloom, then glanced back.

“You.” She waved at the groom. “Stay here with John. You two”-she gestured to the footmen, both thickset and reassuringly solid-“come with me.”

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net