Head bent to shield his face from the chill wind, Edison stalked down the pavement, brooding over the great hash he’d made of his time with Ada.
His preoccupation was so complete, the collision with the overstuffed matron took him by surprise. Like two steamers rounding a rock on the same course, they slammed straight into each other.
“Oof!” The woman exclaimed as Edison smashed into her corseted side.
She spun about, like a top twirling on its point. Edison just managed to right her before she could tumble to the pavement.
“I say there!” Her red-faced husband complained. “Have you no manners?”
His own face now hot with embarrassment, Edison apologized profusely.
“No harm done.” The slight titter in the woman’s voice let him know she was unhurt.
“I do beg your pardon,” he repeated, including her angry husband in his statement. “Mind wasn’t on where I was walking. Stupid, that.”
Now that life had been restored to its normal order, the woman smiled up at him. “It’s a woman, isn’t it? Nothing like love to take a man’s mind off business.”
Edison coughed. The denial on the tip of his tongue stuck there, choking him.
The woman patted his hand. “A handsome lug like you?” She clucked at him as if he were a prize chicken. “There’ll be another beauty along quicker than the omnibuses around here.”
Edison gave her what he hoped passed for an encouraging smile. Not too encouraging though. He had no wish to discuss his dreary romantic life. Still, it wouldn’t do to be rude to a motherly stranger. A motherly stranger he’d almost knocked ass over tea kettle.
“Come along, dear,” her husband prodded, “We still have three blocks to go. I don’t want to miss the opening aria.”
“Ah!” Edison beamed at the couple, as if the opera were the most enjoyable thing ever. “Don’t let me delay you.”
He practically pushed them down the street.
When he turned back in the direction of the chemical works, he noticed a knot of street urchins had formed at the far end of the block. Tall, short, thin—and painfully thinner—the lot milled about, each of them, down to the smallest tyke, trying desperately to pretend they had good reason to be lurking around.
Picking off opera goers, was his guess. Not that he begrudged the small souls a penny here or there. Had his own father not been a decent con artist, he would have ended up the same.
One of the taller lads touched the brim of a moth-eaten silk hat as Edison drew near. “Evenin’, guv.”
Edison nodded, and kept moving straight through the knot of children, intent on crossing at the corner.
A bird chirped behind him. It was a quick, sharp sound, more like a robin’s tweet than an owl’s deep call.
Entirely out of place so late at night.
Damnable hell. The back of his neck prickled. He’d missed something. His hands balled into fists. Whatever it was, he’d pay for it now.
Hopefully he wouldn’t have to hurt any of them.
He stilled, reaching out with all of his senses, listening, smelling, even tasting the wind for a hint of what was to come.
“We just wanna chat, guv,” the tall one assured him as the entire group closed in.
Edison didn’t like the laughter in the boy’s tone.
He turned to assess the threat, but kept his body facing forward, hips and shoulders aligned with the clearest path to safety. Might have to bowl over a few of the smaller ones, but they were tough little blokes.
“Meet my friend, Sleepy. ‘E’s the one what wants a conversation.” The boy’s voice was now curiously muffled.
Edison blinked at the boy’s greasy head, but something was amiss. The boy—all the boys—had pulled kerchiefs up over their noses.
But he’d already seen their features. It made no sense.
Until he saw the canister in the leader’s hand. The shrill hiss of propellant hit his ears at the same instant a swirl of condensed gas blew straight at his face.
The sickly sweet smell made his stomach heave.
Chloroform.
He clamped his mouth shut and covered his nose, scattering small bodies behind him as he scrambled backwards.
But it was too late.
Even as he sensed the gas taking hold in his lungs, his consciousness faded.
He tried to shout, but his brain was no longer able to command his mouth. As his vision narrowed, he caught sight of a familiar figure standing back behind the crowd, just outside the ring of light from the street lamp.
Him.
Even as consciousness faded, a jolt of fear pierced the darkness.
Ada would never be safe.
Chapter 25
Ada slumped at the desk next to Nelly’s telegraph machine. She flicked a finger against the handle, making the wooden knob spin round and round, willing it to spark to life. Maybe Stanton’s kidnapper would contact them via wireless.
Anything could happen.
She only prayed that it would. Every minute that ticked by ratcheted up the tension in the room until she wanted to scream.
She couldn’t blame Edison for bolting off. She only regretted she couldn’t do the same. Even level-headed Meena had begun showing signs of strain. If her husband flicked the case of his pocket watch shut one more time, Ada was sure the woman was going to bash him over the head with that teapot in her hand.
Briar had been hurling knives into a cork board for an hour now. The past few had missed the bull’s eye, digging into the wall just outside the target, causing small showers of plaster to dribble to the floor.
“You’ve got some kind of luck.” Detective Burke threw down his playing cards. “That’s your fifth hand in a row.” Eyes narrowed, he studied Henry’s carefully composed expression, as if searching out his secret.
The boy grinned. “I do have the Devil’s own luck.”
“Or his light fingers.” Nelly snorted. She had cajoled Henry and the tall detective into a game of hearts. Henry was fleecing both of them with a fearful amount of skill.
Ada sighed and stared out the large windows at the front of the office. After the rush of people hurrying down the street an hour past, the pavement remained deserted. Gaslight illuminated the bare tree branches on both sides of the street, painting them in stark yellow light. Sharp branches thrust skyward like evil, unwelcoming fingers, seeking to rent holes in the dark velvet sky.
The very air seemed tainted by evil. All Hallows Eve was still weeks away, but from the mood in the room, one would have expected apparitions from the underworld to spring up through the floorboards.
Meena slammed the teapot down on the counter. “He’s been too long. Something’s wrong.”
When Ada glanced at the clock, her breath caught in her throat. Meena was right. He’d been gone an hour at least. Far too long to stroll to the shop and back. A wave of anxiety so strong it felt like a shower of icicles, stabbed her from head to foot, leaving her skin tingling and her breath coming in short, sharp sips of air.
Henry bolted up from his seat, scattering playing cards across the table in his haste. “I’ll fetch him.”
Meena and her husband shared a look, then Meena nodded. “Good idea. You know the way. Take the carriage.”