He was mad. Madder than a hatter. But some of his barbs held the sting of truth. They’d hurt later, when she worked them over in her mind.
Edison raised the glass jars, catching Stanton’s attention. “How are we to go about this, Grenville?”
“Go to hell.” Stanton’s wheezing curse had little force behind it.
It was obvious the man was done in. If the gray tone beneath the florid cheeks didn’t signal it, the way he sat upon the floor—like a puddle of angry pudding too wrung out to stand—sealed it.
Stanton wasn’t going anywhere but the gaol.
With a careful hand, Edison set the containers down on the table behind him, and sent her a quick look. “He’s too fat to drag.”
Ada studied her former friend. Frustration, rage, and the beginnings of fear were etched in the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. She waited for the pain of his betrayal to hit, expecting it to bite into her heart any moment.
But it didn’t come.
He’d ordered her death, been willing to kill her himself, if need be.
She couldn’t feel anything. Not anger. Not loathing. Certainly not empathy of any sort.
She suspected it would come in time. A week on—perhaps a month—she’d awake in the middle of the night knowing the pain of true betrayal.
For now, she was blessedly numb.
“The hand carts.” She pointed at the dark center of the factory. “They’re all over. I’ll find one.”
“We’ve only the one lantern.” Edison frowned down at the table of supplies.
“I'll use the candles.” Ada bent to retrieve a handful of stubs.
“We’ve got plenty of matches, thanks to Grenville here.” Edison grinned down at his prisoner. He handed Ada the full box of matches. “We’ll wait here. Grenville can enjoy his last few moments of freedom.”
Ada selected the largest stub and stuffed the others in the ripped pockets of her dirty apron.
The weak flame sent a watery yellow light out across the cement floor. Ada walked up one edge of the aisle, as close to the machinery as she could get, raising the flame high to throw the light as far into the corners and crevasses as she could, looking for the familiar royal blue of the company’s well-worn hand carts.
Small scurrying sounds echoed off the walls as she raised the light. Ada shuddered. The place must be alive with rodents at night.
She was almost to the front wall of the factory, where the great main doors swung out into the more fashionable office areas when she heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow and quiet and exquisitely cautious, but they were footsteps.
Ada shivered. Had the guards returned? Perhaps he had more lackeys?
Whoever they were, it sounded like they were just on the other side of the doors. She blew out the candle and backed into a space between two machines that pressed lids onto cans. As she moved, her hand brushed over a tabletop. Her fingers hit containers, heavy with one of Stanton’s chemical concoctions.
Careful to move quietly, she felt around until she located the wire handle and wrapped her fingers around it. She lifted the can an inch, testing the weight.
It wasn’t lead, but it would do. If she aimed at head height, she might get lucky and smash the bastard in the nose.
If she could hear him coming.
She tried to slow her breathing, to take silent, measured breaths, as she imagined Meena or Briar would do, preparing herself to strike.
Muffled coughs filtered up from the far end of the factory, then the murmur of a deep voice. Edison.
She tried to ignore the interruption, tried to keep her focus on the darkness, the silence, at her own end of the building.
The quiet was so thick, the brush of the rubber door sweep across the concrete seemed as loud as a gunshot.
It certainly made her heart pound as if she’d heard one.
Ada raised the pail to shoulder height. She bit her lip and prepared to swing the can. One shot. One shot was all she’d get.
A wedge of light spilled out into the factory floor as the door opened. She strained to hear anything above the pounding of her heart.
With a whispered oath, she heaved the can in the direction of the doorway. A dull thud followed by the ring of metal as the top rolled away told her she’d hit something.
Acrid white dust bloomed in the air, spreading out into the darkness.
Ada clasped her hands together to stop their trembling, and waited.
*
“Damnation.” The oath was followed by a series of long, wracking coughs.
The soft oath stuck a chord.
She knew that voice.
Ada wrinkled her nose, thinking. “Mr. Crane?” she whispered.
“Mrs. Templeton?” Crane called out between coughs. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her legs suddenly nerveless, Ada sagged against the machine. “I’m fine. We’ve got things under control.”
A light winked on, and there he was. No blood, thank God. She must have missed him. But he was covered in white powder.
“It’s alum,” she said. “Perfectly inert.”
A brilliant smile emerged from the midst of the powder-covered face. “Not to my pride.”
Meena appeared from behind his shoulder. “He could do with a bit of a takedown.” She rushed toward Ada. “Are you all right?”
“All clear,” Spencer called out toward the lobby and joined his wife at Ada’s side.
Briar tumbled through the door, her lantern swinging crazily. Behind her, Nelly and Henry and Detective Burke rushed in.
Meena held her light high, examining Ada from head to toe. “Looks like you’ll do. I must say that’s not your most flattering gown.”
Ada laughed, the tension adding extra heft to her amusement. “Nor my best-smelling.”
Spencer wrinkled his nose. “I’ll say not.”
Detective Burke pulled up short when he saw Spencer, thickly covered in white powder. “What happened to you?”
“Alum, apparently.” Spencer wiped the white grime out of his eyes and grinned at her again. “Our scientist has a right aim.”
Our scientist. His words warmed her, even as she knew they weren’t true.
She wasn’t part of them. Never would be.
Burke sized her up with an expert glance. “Where’s Sweet?”
Ada jutted her chin toward the faint light at the far end of the building. “Guarding Stanton.”
Stanton. Harrison’s lifelong friend. Her friend. Her colleague. Or rather the man who had never been any of those things.
Ada’s knees wobbled as the shock she’d been anticipating hit with full force.
“Whoa there.” Spencer caught her just as her legs gave out. “You’ve had quite a night. Nelly. Henry. See Mrs. Templeton to the lobby.” He turned his head aside to cough. “She could use some water, I’m sure.”
“‘Ere now. Lean on us for a tick.” Nelly scooped a hand under Ada’s elbow. “Careful now,” she admonished Henry, who’d taken her other arm. “Mrs. T’s had a bugger of a day.”
Ada shuffled between them into the lobby, her legs weak and trembling as if she were an old woman.
Which, in a way she was. Her soul felt as if it had aged a million years in the past hour.