Jenny Davie and Bertram Leigh-Jones had disappeared.
Pausing in the shadows of the gatehouse’s arched passageway, Sebastian stood still, listening. He heard the scuff of a heavy tread overhead, a girl’s frightened gasp. Then came Leigh-Jones’s voice, pitched to a coaxing croon that did little to disguise the gruff anger roiling beneath. “I’m not going to hurt you, girl. All I want is the diamond. Just give me the diamond and I’ll let you go.”
“Ye take me fer a flat?” yelled Jenny, her voice high-pitched with fear and defiance. “Don’t ye come near me!”
Moving quietly, Sebastian crept up the tightly wound medieval staircase that opened to one side of the vaulted passage. The old stone treads were worn into such deeply sunken grooves in the center that the awkwardness of each step twisted his injured knee and stole his breath. By the time he reached the single chamber above, it was empty.
At one time, this had been a grand space, with oak-paneled walls and a sandstone fireplace built into the opposite wall. But much of the paneling had been torn down and burned for firewood, while part of the chimney had collapsed into a cascade of rubble strewn across the room’s scarred wooden floor. At the far end of the chamber, a crude ladder led to the loft above. Sebastian had one foot on the first rung when Jenny screamed again.
“Get back,” she cried. “I’m telling ye!”
“What are you doing, you fool girl?” growled Leigh-Jones. “Don’t go out there! Are you mad? You’ll slip and fall to your death.”
“I told ye! Stay away from me!”
“You stupid strumpet! Get back in here. I get my hands on you, I swear to God, I’m going to kill you!”
Sebastian scrambled up the ladder to find himself in a low-pitched garret musty with age and damp and rot. Patches of black sky showed through a jagged hole in the roof; most of the row of casement windows built into the gabled end were gone, their casings gaping vacant to the wet, windy night.
Crossing swiftly to the opening, Sebastian found himself star-
ing out over the roof of the adjoining structure. Straddling the ridge beam the way a man would ride a horse, the magistrate had stripped off his cumbersome greatcoat and was carefully scooting his way forward on his rump. Jenny Davie was already some ten to fifteen feet ahead of him. She was small and light enough to scramble over the tiles on her feet, although she was bent over nearly double, using her hands to help steady her balance on the wet, mossy slates.
“Come back here, you bloody doxy,” Leigh-Jones roared.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed, her step faltering as she reached the gable end.
There was another, smaller building that abutted this one, but its roof was some three or four feet below where she stood and of a steeper pitch. Sebastian saw her creep closer to the edge, then waver.
“Jenny, don’t jump!” Sebastian shouted. “Stay where you are!”
Leigh-Jones jerked around to stare at him, his jaw thrusting out in annoyed fury, while Jenny screamed, “Go away and leave me alone! All of you!”
If she had turned onto her stomach and eased herself carefully over the gabled point, she might have made it. Instead, she rose and jumped.
Sebastian heard the clatter of breaking, falling tiles as she landed, lost her footing, and went down, vanishing from his sight. She let out a sharp scream, and Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat. But she must somehow have managed to grab a handhold and stop her descent, because he heard her gasp, then fall utterly silent.
“Jenny!” Sebastian shouted, swinging his legs over the broken sill to the slates below. “Hang on!”
“You bloody interfering bastard,” growled the magistrate. Grasp-
ing the roof’s peak, he managed with surprising agility to swing his legs up and around, reversing his position so that he now faced Sebastian. “I should have had you killed when I had the chance.”
“Give it up, Leigh-Jones,” said Sebastian, hunkering down to lower his center of gravity. “You’ve had a good run, but the game’s up now.”
Leigh-Jones picked up a broken slate and chucked it at Sebastian’s head. “I’ll see you in hell.”
Sebastian managed to duck the first two broken tiles; the edge of the third sliced open a long cut across his forehead. “God damn it,” he swore. He took another step forward.
And felt his right foot punch through the rotten roof.
Chapter 59
T
he collapsing roof pitched Sebastian sideways. He grabbed the ridge of slate at the peak with his left hand, stopping his fall. But he was now pinned by his injured right leg, with his other leg splayed out awkwardly to the side and only one hand free.