Above that, Grenville had designed his accident. Empty cans used to package chemicals were stacked atop the batteries, close enough together to hold a dented cooking pot. In the circle formed by the cans, a pile of old candle stubs waited to be lit.
Part of him saluted the man’s twisted genius. If anything survived the fire, it would look as if they’d set themselves a makeshift stove.
A familiar, smoky smell caught his attention. He leaned over the pot, close enough to catch a glimpse inside before a guard shoved him away. “Is that bacon?”
Grenville sniggered. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought. Wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a vagrant couple to fry up an old piece of fatback, would it?”
He was enjoying this. Enjoying their fear.
Good. Edison eyed the makeshift disaster. The more Grenville savored their reactions, the longer he’d draw things out. A stupid, stupid thing to do.
Edison licked his lips and let his gaze dart about the room, forcing himself to project fear. Desperation.
He pretended interest in a scrap of paper on the floor by his foot. He toed it away, at the same time dipping his head close to Ada’s ear. “Are those cans flammable?”
“No,” she murmured back.
So he’d have to use something else to create the explosion. Edison glared at Grenville’s goons, as if preparing to rush them. In reality, he had no such plans. His real interest was the table behind the two men on his left.
Beakers and boxes of white powder and metallic dust stood at the ready.
Thank God Grenville had strong lanterns. Edison had no trouble making out the labels on the different supplies. Eyebrow raised, he sent Ada a sideways glance, hoping she understood his unasked question. Her nod was infinitesimal.
That was it then.
Grenville would jigger a flammable device from the products on the table. He’d set the place on fire, then gas them with the cyanide. Still, he’d need to have a way for he and his men to escape.
A touchy plan that would hinge on perfect timing.
Edison took a long, slow breath and prepared to scramble Grenville’s breakfast.
But Ada beat him to it.
“Damnation!” She stamped her feet and wriggled about, scratching frantically at her legs and hips, as if plagued by lice.
The guards laughed.
Grenville laughed, enjoying the show. “It’s only what you deserve, you whore. But chats won’t be bothering you much longer. I’ve got something that’ll help with that.” The man was still chuckling as he pushed between the two guards and headed for the table.
“Not chloroform,” she whispered as she jigged about. “Prussic acid. He’ll have to mix it carefully.”
Edison clamped down on the appreciative smile that threatened to turn up his lips. God, she was brave. Brave and smart and plucky as an entire regiment.
“That’s our opening,” he whispered as he pretended to help her shake out her skirts.
Without warning, Ada slapped him. Hard. “Keep your hands off me!” She shoved him away, pushing him a few steps closer to Grenville.
Edison rubbed his cheek, careful to keep his hand over the grin he couldn’t stop. “Fine by me.” He sneered at her. “You’re nothing but trouble.” He raked her with a disgusted look. “Nothing worth dying over.”
“Well you’re a lying pig.” Ada warmed to her role. “You with all your fancy dance hall girls.” She flounced over toward the third guard. “You can go straight to hell.”
“You’ll be joining me.” Edison sidled closer to Grenville.
Despite his confidence, his stomach fluttered. They were approaching the danger point when anything could—and would—happen.
He needed to get between the gunmen, close enough that one leap would land him close enough to Grenville for the knife to be of use.
“Only because of your damned incompetence,” Ada said.
He snorted. “Not so brilliant yourself, now are you?”
“Smarter than you.”
Edison spread his hands wide in a gesture of disbelief. “Listen to her. Bloody bluestocking bitch. Thinks she can order men about.” He eyed the guards, as if looking for some male solidarity.
Their relaxed poses, the way they cradled their guns—not expecting trouble, but not willing to let down their guards—told him he wouldn’t get any sympathy.
“Grenville,” he called out. “I’ve got nothing to do with her damned device. Let me go and I’ll make sure you get the real battery. Did you know? She’s got the best one hidden.”
Grenville paused.
Heart pounding now, Edison waited. Would it be this simple?
With a great wheeze, Grenville turned to face him.
The laughter glowing in his small eyes made Edison’s stomach drop. “The model you’ve got stashed in your offices?” He shook his head at Edison’s weak attempt at bribery. “I’ve already duplicated it.” He sent Ada a nasty grin. “Your work will live on. Not that anyone will know it.”
“You bloated pig.” Fists clenched, Ada launched herself at her old friend.
Edison caught her around the waist, stilling her before the guards could do it for him. She stayed in character admirably, shoving him away with a disgusted gasp.
So it was to be the hard way.
Edison fingered the knife stashed in his shirt sleeve.
Fine.
*
Ada froze, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
Edison was going to attack. She sensed the tensing of his body, tasted the dangerous bite in the air.
Separated by mere feet, he and Stanton glared at each other—a stallion facing down an aging bear—as if they were preparing for battle.
The tension between them grew like an electrical charge.
An icy feeling came over her.
She hoped Edison wouldn’t have to kill him.
Oh, Stanton deserved it.
He deserved whatever hideous form of judgment was coming his way. But Ada didn’t want to witness it.
And she didn’t want Edison to carry the burden.
The nasty rags hanging from Edison’s broad shoulders added a special touch of menace to the glare he gave Stanton. The torn shirt and billowing pants made his underlying physique seem all the stronger. More desperate. More commanding.
She wanted to help, wanted to add a distraction, be an impediment, or bash one of the guards over the head.
What would Meena do? Or Briar?
Attack, of course. Meena would mutter a pithy remark and skewer the closest guard with a spare hat pin. Briar would use her hands. And those deadly feet.
She, though, had none of their skills.
Ada eyed the three hulking guards as they gave the standoff their full attention. She was more like one of Caldwell Nance’s heroines, smart enough in her way, but utterly unprepared for the evil situation she found herself in.
Exactly. Ada blinked. What would a Caldwell Nance heroine do?
She’d do something dramatic. Something foolhardy. Something the hero would chastise her for once all was well with the world.
Fingers spread like claws, she launched herself at Edison. “Pig!”
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. He’d been expecting her to attack Stanton. They all had, from the looks of things.
Men. Such limited creatures.