The Vanishing Thief(101)

Every bakery and kitchen window we passed gave off luscious smells that reminded us we’d not eaten since our early dinner at Lady Westover’s the day before. We’d only have enough time to talk to Sir Broderick and hopefully be offered some of Dominique’s biscuits before it would be time to open the bookshop.

We hadn’t bothered with our cloaks, since the day was sunny and the cool air would help to wake us up. I hoped my sleepy brain would be able to make change in the shop, since I wasn’t awake enough to see the brewer’s cart barreling down on us until Emma pulled me out of the way.

We cut through the park in Bloomsbury Square and hurried to Sir Broderick’s door, pulled on the bell, and waited. And waited.

“Maybe Jacob is busy getting Sir Broderick dressed and didn’t hear the bell.” I rang again.

When Jacob still didn’t appear, Emma grumbled, “I’m hungry,” and grabbed the doorknob. It turned in her hand and the door silently opened.

No one locked their front doors when there were always servants around to answer any summons, so we walked in. I was surprised not to see someone hurrying in our direction. We were halfway up the stairs to the study before I thought to call out, “Hello?”

“Now is not a good time,” Sir Broderick replied. Something in his voice made me hesitate, but Emma pushed around me on the stairs and kept going.

“Sir Broderick, you wouldn’t believe what—” Her voice died away as she hesitated in the doorway.

“Come in, young lady. Have a seat over here, next to the cook.”

Lord Hancock’s voice. Why was he here? Where was Drake?

Emma stood rooted in place.

“Come in. I insist. Or I’ll shoot Sir Broderick right now.”

Emma moved slowly into the room. I crept back down the stairs, keeping my feet close to the wall so there was less chance of a board squeaking. My heart thumped in my ears. If Hancock didn’t hear me, I could get out of here and summon help.

Each step was a gamble and the staircase went on forever. When it finally ended, I still had to cross the endless entry hall. So far, none of the wooden boards had creaked and given me away. How much longer would my luck last?

My breath caught in my throat as my foot hesitated before taking the first step.

“What did you do to him?” I heard Emma say loudly. “He’s bleeding.” I took two quick steps while her voice covered my movements.

“He’ll be fine as long as you follow directions.” Hancock used a quieter voice, but the menace was unmistakable. I balanced on my toes, ready to move again when there was more noise upstairs.

“Oh, this is terrible. You must stop this at once. I insist. He needs medical attention,” Emma shouted again. This time, the volume of her voice hid my steps across the entry hall and opening the door.

I slipped out and eased the door shut behind me. Then I looked up and down the street in a panic. No sign of a bobby. I decided my best chance was toward New Oxford Street and rushed in that direction. People might have stared. I didn’t care.

I’d run two blocks before I found a policeman. Relieved, I let my feet slow as I tried to pull air into my aching lungs. When I reached the bobby, I gasped out, “You must get a message to Inspector Grantham at Scotland Yard immediately. He’s after a killer named Hancock. The man is in Sir Broderick duVene’s house, holding him and others hostage. Inspector Grantham must come at once.”

“I’ll come with you, miss,” the bobby said, sounding doubtful.

I grabbed his arm by his scratchy wool sleeve and stared into his eyes. “Not until you get a message to Inspector Grantham to come at once.”

The bobby slowly pulled out his notebook and a pencil, and I let go of his arm.

“Inspector Grantham, Scotland Yard,” I repeated. “Hancock has taken prisoners at Sir Broderick duVene’s house. First-floor study. Come at once.”

He laboriously printed every word. “And how would you know this?”

“I escaped from there.”

His pencil hovered in midair. “How did you do that?”

“He didn’t realize I was in the house. I sneaked out the front door. Hurry. We must get that note to Inspector Grantham immediately. He’ll know what to do.” I raised my voice, hoping futilely it would speed up his writing.

The constable flipped over to the next page in his notebook and continued printing. “And your name is . . . ?”

“Miss Georgia Fenchurch.” My fingers itched to grab the pencil and write the message myself.

More printing, onto the third page. “And this Sir Broderick duVene. What’s his address?”

“The inspector knows. That’s why you need to see this message gets to him immediately.”