Thirty-One
This is more of Lancing’s work,” Joshua said. “The plan was to smoke us out—literally.”
He was in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled up on his forearms, the collar undone. His coat and boots were once again warming in front of the rekindled fire. The edgy sensation that always followed in the wake of violence was heating his blood. The knowledge that Beatrice was anxious and concerned about him added fuel to the fires inside. Lame bastard. You’re not much good to her but you’re all she’s got.
He forced himself to concentrate on the three unexploded canisters that he had removed from the pack. He positioned them on the small table and turned up the gas lamp. The smoke devices were made of heavily tinted glass. Each was fitted with a rubber stopper.
“No wonder he handled the pack with such care,” he said. “The gas is released when the glass is shattered.”
“He meant to burn down the inn in an attempt to grab me?” Beatrice asked. She looked and sounded horrified. “So many people could have been killed, including us. That makes no sense unless the person who is after me wants me dead. Maybe we were wrong to assume that he needs me for some crazed reason.”
“No.” Joshua held one of the glass balls up to the light. “I’m sure he intended to kidnap you tonight. These devices generate unpleasant fumes and a thick vapor that resembles smoke. The effect simulates a fire but there are no flames. If he had been able to smash all four of these things inside the inn, there would have been a great deal of panic. Everyone would have run out into the street, thinking the place was on fire. He planned to take advantage of the confusion to grab you.”
“But he must have known that he would have had to deal with you before he could get to me.”
“He said he had been warned about me.” Joshua put the glass ball down on the table with great care. “But he did not think that I would prove to be much of a problem.”
“Because of your cane?”
“Yes.”
“I expect that he has revised his opinion of you by now,” Beatrice said. “I saw how you used the cane. In your hands it was a weapon.”
The cool satisfaction in her voice had a surprising effect on him. The knowledge that she had such deep—albeit probably misplaced—faith in him elevated his mood somewhat.
“Every object has the potential to be a weapon,” he said. “It only requires that one views it in the right light.”
“Another Mr. Smith adage?” she asked, smiling a little.
“I’m afraid so,” Joshua said. “I don’t know if the encounter tonight changed the Bone Man’s opinion of me. It was your threat to shoot him that sent him away. But he will certainly be better prepared the next time we meet.”
“I do not even want to consider the possibility that you will encounter him again.”
“It’s only a matter of time.”
“What a dreadful thought.” Beatrice’s brows snapped together. “How do you think he found us?”
“He and I did not hold an extended conversation but I think it is safe to say that he anticipated that we would leave the train before the last stop in London. Or, more likely, someone who knows how I think anticipated that maneuver.”
“Clement Lancing?”
“Lancing and I worked together for a long time,” Joshua said. “We trained together. We each know how the other thinks. I knew there was a risk stopping here in Upper Dixton until the storm cleared but there was not much choice.”
“Yes, I know,” Beatrice said. “That’s why you insisted on keeping watch tonight, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And because you did keep watch, you were able to stop the assassin,” she concluded crisply. “You saved me. For the second time.”
Joshua said nothing. He did not want to tell her how close they had come to disaster tonight. The knowledge would only make her more anxious.
“Where do you suppose the Bone Man acquired the smoke devices?” Beatrice asked. “His original plan was to kidnap me at Alverstoke Hall. It doesn’t seem likely that he would have carried those heavy glass canisters around on the off-chance he might need them.”
“I doubt if it was his idea to have a backup plan in the event the first strategy failed. But Lancing knows me. He would have anticipated just such a possibility.”
“What is our next step?” Beatrice asked.
“It is time to stop evading the enemy. I must take the battle to him. I know Lancing as well as he knows me. The one thing I am absolutely certain of is that if he is alive he will be in a laboratory somewhere. I want Mrs. Marsh’s opinion of the contents of these smoke devices.”
“You said they are Lancing’s work. What can Mrs. Marsh tell you that you don’t already know?”
“I am hoping she will be able to direct me to the shops that stock the sort of chemicals that are used to construct such devices.”
Understanding lit Beatrice’s eyes. “Yes, of course. The formula for the smoke no doubt requires some unusual ingredients.”
“As do the formulas for the incense and the Egyptian Water. There cannot be a great many apothecaries and chemist shops in London who can supply the rare and exotic chemicals that Lancing needs.”
“You think the apothecary will lead you to him.”
“I think that is our best hope at the moment. But there is another strategy I intend to implement as well.”
“I take it we will be traveling to London on the morning train?” she asked.
“The answers we need are there.”
“In that case, you must get some sleep.”
“I can do without it.”
She looked at him with eyes that were both brilliant and very serious. “You have gone more than a full day without sleep, sir. You need rest.”
Anger spiked somewhere deep inside. “Just because I’m forced to use a damned walking stick, it doesn’t follow that I can’t survive a few hours without sleep.”
“I’m sure you can, but there is no need. I will keep watch while you rest.”
“I will take care of you, Beatrice,” he promised. His voice sounded rough, more like a growl, even to his own ears.
“I do not doubt that,” she said. “But in addition to lack of sleep, you were recently in a fight for your life. It does not require psychical talent to know that you need time to recover and fortify yourself for whatever lies ahead.”
He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again without speaking. She was right. Logic and common sense dictated that he ought to try to get some rest.
“You are correct when you say that I need to fortify myself,” he said. “A short period of waking sleep would not be a bad idea.”
“What is a waking sleep?”
“It’s a form of meditation—a self-induced trance—that will allow me to gain some of the benefits of sleep without shutting off my senses.”
Her expression softened. “You can trust me to keep watch while you rest.”
“I know,” he said, without stopping to think.
It was only after the words were out that he registered their full meaning. He could trust Beatrice. Hell’s teeth, he did trust her; he had trusted her almost from the start even though logic told him that was not wise. He had broken one of his own cardinal rules—never trust anyone involved in a case. Everyone was hiding something.
But somewhere along the line he had made an exception with Beatrice, an exception that could not be justified by logic and cold reason. He had allowed himself to be ruled by his passions and he did not give a damn.
It was a stunning discovery, definitely one he wanted to think long and hard about, but this was not the time to contemplate such a significant event.
Belatedly he realized that Beatrice was watching him very intently.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to intrude, but are you in some sort of trance at the moment? You appear quite transfixed.”
He pulled himself together. “Yes, I am transfixed. But I’m not yet in the trance.”
He limped to the bed, sank down and stretched out on the quilt. He closed his eyes and started counting backward from one hundred.