Part 29 (2/2)
She strode over to the far wall and pressed her ear against the smooth paper. Bess was right. Nothing. So much for listening through walls. Unless...She sprinted to the bookcase and jerked books from every shelf.
”Evangeline!” came Susan's startled voice. ”What the d.i.c.kens are you doing?”
”Looking for something.”
Susan paused. ”A book?”
”A door.”
Evangeline stepped back, surveyed the room. Nothing but chairs and books and paintings. Paintings! She yanked on the first frame and barely jumped to safety before the canvas crushed her toes. She tugged on the second frame more gingerly-still nothing. The third frame, however, swung toward her with a groan. Both dust and m.u.f.fled voices rolled out from the wall's dank interior.
”Bring me a chair,” Evangeline hissed.
”A what? Did you just open the wall? wall? How did you do that?” How did you do that?”
”A chair,” Evangeline repeated. ”We've got to prop the pa.s.sageway open so we don't get trapped inside. Trust me.”
Susan dashed for a chair. Within moments, they had the access panel propped wide and two more chairs stuffed inside the pa.s.sageway. When they climbed atop the seat cus.h.i.+ons, Susan was still the only one tall enough to peek through the porthole-shaped window high up on the wall. Words, however, filtered through.
”I told you,” came Mr. Lioncroft's low, steady voice. ”She's not here.”
”You're lying. She's mine and I want her.”
”You dare accuse me of lying?”
”I'll accuse any liar of lying. I know how valuable the little b.i.t.c.h is. One touch and-Ow! d.a.m.n you! I ought to-G.o.ddammit!”
Scuffling sounds ensued. Evangeline elbowed Susan in the ribs.
”Oh,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away from the porthole long enough to cast Evangeline a chagrined grimace. ”Sorry. Lioncroft planted him a facer. Your stepfather tried to return the favor, but Lioncroft ducked and your stepfather ended up striking the column. He's got a b.l.o.o.d.y hand and what'll probably be a black eye, and now they're scowling at each other from opposite sides of the porch.”
”Not that kind of touch,” came Neal Pemberton's voice at last. ”Although she's old enough for me to break her in, now that her mother's gone.”
More scuffling.
”Another facer,” Susan confirmed. ”He's going to look like a racc.o.o.n. Now Lioncroft's got him by the neck. He's turning purple.”
”She gets visions,” Neal blurted out. ”She sees things. Just like her mother. That's a useful talent to possess, and she belongs to me. Don't think you can use her for yourself, if that's what you have in mind. I will summon every authority, write to every paper, thrash you myself if need be, until you hand that witch-”
Scuffling. Shattered wood. A thud. More scuffling.
”Your stepfather isn't doing very well with his thras.h.i.+ng. He got in a couple lucky jabs, but that wood breaking was Lioncroft throwing him through a bal.u.s.trade. Lioncroft tackled him before he had a chance to get up, and now-oh, no!” Susan rose even higher on her toes and stared out the window in horror.
”What?” Evangeline demanded, her skin going cold. ”Tell me.”
”You were right. He has a knife. He got Lioncroft in the side.”
Evangeline swayed against the wall. ”What?” ”What?”
”Oh! One of the footmen snuck up and hit your stepfather in the head with what looks like the pink pall-mall mallet. It's got red bits now. I think he's dead.”
Silence.
Once Evangeline regained her breath and her balance, she glanced up at Susan. ”Really?”
”Yes. No...wait, he's breathing. Lioncroft kicked him to make sure. He's got one hand over his wound and the other hand motioning toward your stepfather's carriage. Ah, they're putting him back in. Not Lioncroft-He tried, but there's too much blood coming from his side. He keeps staggering and wincing.”
Evangeline's heart stuttered. ”No,” she whispered.
”He's standing mostly upright again. The footmen have your stepfather stuffed in his carriage. Lioncroft's saying something to the driver. Something with a lot of hand gestures. And now they're going. Evangeline, they're going!”
Evangeline scrambled down from her chair and shot out of the pa.s.sageway and across the room.
”Evangeline,” Susan shouted. ”Wait for me. You know I can't find my way out!”
”Bess will show you back,” Evangeline called over her shoulder as she wrenched open the door and hurtled into the hall. Gavin was hurt. Her stepfather had stabbed him. For trying to help her her.
If he died from the wound, she'd kill her stepfather herself.
Chapter Twenty-One.
The slash in Gavin's side didn't start stinging until Miss Pemberton flew out the front door, launched across the porch, and threw her arms around him. He forced himself not to flinch when her trembling arms squeezed the tender flesh above his injury. He'd never admit it to anyone if asked directly, but he'd discovered over the past week that he rather liked hugs. When there wasn't a four-inch knife wound slicing him from waist to hip.
The good news was, the cut was long but shallow. At worst, give his valet a few minutes with a needle and Gavin would be good as new.
The bad news? He and his decimated porch were soaked in blood, Miss Pemberton was squeezing his torso with rib-shattering strength, and the murmur of concerned party guests was getting louder by the second.
”Come.” Gavin wrenched her from his chest, hauled her against his good side, and hustled her back indoors before the party guests caught sight of them. ”You can hug me inside.”
She allowed him to lace his fingers with hers and pull her across the anteroom and down the hall before glancing up at him with those wide brown eyes.
”Where are we going?”
His steps faltered. Where the h.e.l.l was he dragging her? Away from potential scandal should curious houseguests stumble upon them, yes, but aside from that...Where would n.o.body look for him?
”Yellow Salon.”
Miss Pemberton listed sideways, apparently trying to walk in a straight line whilst bent at the waist inspecting his wound. ”Should we send for a surgeon?”
”No surgeon. I promise to live.” He smiled at her rea.s.suringly. ”For now.”
She did not look rea.s.sured. ”But he stabbed you. There's...there's...”
”Blood?” Gavin shouldered open the door to the Yellow Salon and ushered her inside. ”Nothing a needle and thread can't fix.” She stopped so suddenly he tripped over her and sent them both sprawling into the back of a sofa. ”What? No needles?”
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