“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.”
A tall, antique carriage rounded the corner. I began to wave my arms frantically. “That’s the Duke of Blackford. He’ll help. We’ll get this message passed on to Scotland Yard now,” I shouted.
The duke, looking spotless and wearing perfect creases, without an errant curl in his precisely combed hair, climbed down from his carriage and set his top hat on his head. “Miss Fenchurch, what’s wrong?”
I grabbed his arm, wrinkling the soft fabric of his coat sleeve. “Thank heavens you’re here. Lord Hancock is holding Sir Broderick and Emma hostage in Sir Broderick’s study at gunpoint.”
“At gunpoint?” The bobby’s pencil scratched faster across his notebook.
“Bloody hell, man. Get that message to Detective Inspector Grantham at Scotland Yard immediately,” the duke said in his most commanding ducal tones. Then he called up to the carriage driver, “Take this police officer to Scotland Yard and wait for his return with Inspector Grantham. Sumner, come with us.”
Sumner jumped down from the carriage, and the bobby backed up at the first sight of his scarred face. With an evil-looking grin, Sumner said, “Need a hand up?”
The bobby darted past him and clambered inside.
The carriage took off, and Sumner and the duke rushed up the sidewalk with me. Sumner growled “He has Emma?” in his raspy voice.
“Yes.”
Heat flashed in the man’s eyes, and I suddenly felt almost sorry for Hancock. “How is your wounded arm, Mr. Sumner?”
“It won’t slow me down.”
The duke broke in with rapid-fire questions. “How long has he been there? Does he have any of his chemicals with him? What kind of a gun does he have?”
“I don’t know. Emma went ahead of me, so she was the only one Hancock saw. I never reached the study. I left the house and went looking for help.” I sounded like a coward to my ears, but it was the only plan I’d had at that moment. All I could do now was dash back into the house and pray none of my friends were hurt.
“Does he know you were in there?”
“He didn’t seem to when I left.”
“Sumner, are you armed?” the duke asked.
“Always.”
“If you get a clear opening, take it. Don’t wait for my permission once we enter the study.”
Sumner nodded once.
We reached the house. “The door’s unlocked and doesn’t squeak. The study is upstairs and on the right,” I whispered.
“Wait outside,” the duke said.
“No. He won’t be alarmed to see me. I can get in first and signal you as to where everyone is.” I looked into both men’s eyes. “You know it’s the only way.” I didn’t see agreement, but I didn’t care. Archivist Society members were in danger. I couldn’t stand aside and leave them in peril.
I turned the knob and marched briskly and noisily across the hall and up the stairs, the duke in step with me at my back. “Sir Broderick?”
“This isn’t a good time for a social call,” he said loudly. I hoped Hancock hadn’t learned I’d been here earlier with Emma.
“Anytime is a good time for a social call.” I stomped up the rest of the stairs and stopped in the doorway to the study as if I’d hit a wall. I tried to speak but no words came out.
Jacob was tied up on the floor, his head bloody, his body limp. Emma and Dominique were tied back to back, their arms bound behind them. Both of them were gagged. The ropes binding one woman’s legs wrapped around the other’s throat. If either moved, the other died of strangulation. Sir Broderick sat in his wheeled chair, his hands pinned to the chair’s arms, and his eyes looked past me to the door.