“John answered an inquiry at the service entrance yesterday,” Anne explained. “It was a man claiming to be a sweep, offering his services. John declined, of course. Our chimneys are spotless. But the man lingered outside the house. Teedle saw him an hour later, staring through the mews gate.”
The cold turned to ice, freezing Augusta from the inside. “What did he look like?” she whispered, trying to remember everything Ash had told her. It wasn’t much. The boy had slept in her room for weeks, too frightened to be anywhere else. She’d heard his nightmares. Held him as long as he would allow before squirming away. It had torn her heart in two. In time, Ash had begun to sleep soundly, but Augusta remembered his fear only too well.
“Big,” Anne said. “Not tall, but big. With great jowls, like a bulldog.”
The room swam and spun. The Dog. That was what Ash had called the monster in his nightmares. The Dog.
If that man had taken Ash, he might do anything. He might break the boy in two.
Dear heaven, Augusta could not bear it. “I must find him.”
Phoebe’s hand squeezed hers, taking the box Augusta had nearly dropped. “We must find him. You are not alone, Gus.”
Augusta glanced at Phoebe’s belly hidden beneath the folds of her gown. “No. Stay here, where it is safe.”
Her chin turned stubborn again. “I shall come along.”
“So shall I,” said Anne.
Augusta opened her mouth to refuse, but Phoebe continued calmly, “We shall stop at the club and retrieve Sebastian.”
Sebastian. Yes, of course. In her urgency, Augusta had forgotten she had … Bastian. Her protector. Her fortress. Her husband.
Phoebe was right. She was not alone. Augusta listened as Anne ordered John to have the coach prepared. Then, she tugged her sister toward the staircase. “I do not want you anywhere near this, Phee. You must think of the babe.”
“I shan’t put myself in danger.” Phoebe frowned. “Perhaps Mr. Duff could come, as well. I watched him dispatch an unruly gentleman from the club once. I suspect the man’s head may still be ringing.”
While they retrieved their pelisses and bonnets, climbed into the coach beside Anne, and braced against the sides of the carriage as it flew toward St. James, Augusta struggled against panic. It expanded her ribs, churning and tormenting her with visions of Ash’s tiny, broken body. Ash’s dark, vacant eyes. Ash’s slender arms, which had hugged her waist only once or twice, and that only when she’d refused to release him promptly.
She wanted to hurt the Dog for what he’d done to Ash already. Watch him be pummeled and bruised and crushed, hear him beg for mercy. But if he had further harmed the boy after she had promised Ash safety, she would kill him. She would find a pistol or a sword or a knife. She would cut the man in two.
They arrived at the club’s rear entrance after what felt like weeks to Augusta. While Anne and Phoebe spoke to Mr. Duff, Augusta rushed to Sebastian’s office, her heart and breath racing.
Frelling glanced up, startled. “Why, Mrs. Kilbrenner!” He adjusted his spectacles. “I fear Mr. Reav—er, Mr. Kilbrenner has gone out.”
Her heart fell. She needed Sebastian. Needed him more and more with every second that passed. “Where? Please, Mr. Frelling. This is a most urgent matter.”
“He has gone to speak with Mr. Elder. I expect his return within the hour.”
She could not wait. Time pulsed around her, wearing away at Ash’s odds. “Paper, Mr. Frelling. I need paper and a pen.”
Minutes later, she climbed inside the coach with Anne and Phoebe. Duff sat with the coachman, and John rode on the back. They careened through London’s wet winter streets, the pounding of the horses’ hooves echoing her galloping heart.
A small, steady hand squeezed hers. She looked to Phoebe, whose eyes were calm and smiling with reassurance. “We shall find him, Gus.”
Her face distorted as Augusta’s eyes welled and swam. She dashed away the tears impatiently. Unable to speak, she simply nodded.
Eternity passed before they reached Cheapside. The street was clogged with carts, carriages, horses, and men. It stank of animals and clamored with the shouts of those selling their wares.
Traffic lightened but the street narrowed as they rounded a corner toward the lodging house. Before the carriage fully stopped, Augusta threw open the coach door. Her feet could not carry her swiftly enough. Distantly, she heard Phoebe following behind.
As usual, Mrs. Renley was little help. The rotund woman, red-eyed and listing, squinted at Augusta’s inquiry. “Boy? Haven’t seen a boy.”
“Do you know where a boy might be staying round here? There would be more than a few. Chimney sweeps or—”
“Lot of pickpockets, ye mean. No.” She shook her head then appeared to think better of it as she wobbled on her feet. “Last pickpocket I saw made off with a week’s rent. If I knew where ’ee were, I’d have walloped ’im good.”
Augusta gritted her teeth. She’d pinned all her hopes on Mrs. Renley’s assistance. She should have known better. The woman hadn’t been helpful in so much as removing dead rats from the staircase. Cursing beneath her breath, Augusta turned to Anne, who appeared as frantic as she. “We shall have to begin a search, house by house. He and the other boys stayed somewhere near here. I just don’t know where.” She rubbed her forehead, wishing Sebastian were there, holding her.
“Augusta,” Phoebe said softly from behind her.
Augusta turned. Her sister stood beside a tall, slender woman with dark-brown hair and a flat bosom. “Miss Honeybrook?”
The woman with the cynical smile and unusual assortment of costumes sauntered forward. “Miss Widmore. I understand you’re searching for a band of young brigands. Fancy themselves sweeps, though they’re more likely to clean your pockets than your chimney.”
“Yes. Do you know where I might find them?”
Miss Honeybrook’s head nodded in the direction of the alley on the south side of the building. “Four houses down. I see them come and go. An older one propositioned me once.” Her mouth quirked and she rolled her eyes. “I told him he’d a few more years of diving before he could afford me.”
Phoebe grinned at Augusta, and Augusta grinned back, her heart pounding in relief.
“Thank you, Miss Honeybrook!” Augusta called over her shoulder as they rushed out the door. She halted before the door closed. “Oh, and if a black-haired giant should come asking where I have gone, please tell him.”
“Giant?”
“Yes. Do not offer your services. He is mine.”
The cynical smile returned. “Yours. Understood.”
The alley was scarcely wide enough for the carriage, so they went on foot, Augusta and Phoebe first, followed by Anne, Duff, and John, while the coach took the long way around to the adjacent street. The fourth house down was more dilapidated than Mrs. Renley’s hovel, even from the front. The bricks were crumbling, some having fallen away and ground to dust. The few windows were cracked and filthy, their frames sagging. The door was latched, as Augusta discovered to her frustration when she tried the knob.