“It doesn’t matter! You—I thought we were friends, and I was comfortable being candid with you, but now I don’t even know if it was all against my will—and—and if you were . . . taking liberties.”
He set his hand over his heart, wounded by the accusation. “I don’t know when I could have told you. Whether I did it on the day we first met, after a few months of hiding it, or yesterday, it wouldn’t have mattered—you would have had as little trust for me then as you seem to have now. You would have put your guard up or simply never spoken to me, out of fear for what I could ask. And I never would have gotten to know you.”
He stepped closer and tried to catch my gaze while I fixated on a muddy coil of rope. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted the truth from, Miss Wyndham. But I wanted you to want to tell me everything. There was just no way I could accomplish that if I told you about this stupid mouth of mine. The best I could do was take the utmost care to ask you only of inconsequential matters, and, besides that unforeseeable accident at Sir Winston’s ball, it worked flawlessly.
“Beyond that, I never asked you any significant question: no deep inquiries about your life, your fears, your secrets, or your affections.” He tilted his head and continued to stare at me, waiting for approval.
I met his brown eyes, strangely still and direct. “That is . . . true, I guess,” I admitted. “Thank you.”
“But seeing that there’s no other way of getting around it, I must ask you, do you love Mr. Braddock?”
“I—I don’t know,” I sputtered out, even as rage overtook my entire body. “You complete ass!”
“You don’t know? What sort of answer is—”
I was raising my hand to slap him across the face when he looked over my shoulder and shouted, “Look!”
Up on the Aurora, Mr. Greene was frantically waving and pointing down into the massive crowd on the dock. He mimed the gesture of putting on a hat, and we spotted our target. The boy, wearing a scruffy gray cap and loose, tattered clothing, squeezed through the crowds and constantly checked in every possible direction where danger might lurk. He clearly understood the secrecy needed for his pickups. Unfortunately, this meant he easily saw Mr. Greene’s crazed jumping and waving and then just as easily noticed us. He started in a panic and bolted back whence he came.
“We will continue this later,” Mr. Kent spit out, racing to catch up to Robert.
In a flash, the boy wove through the hordes, hopped atop crates, and slipped under railings. He made fast progress and reached the streets while Mr. Kent and Robert, both lacking the boy’s agility, trailed by several yards.
Meanwhile, Miss Grey, Sebastian, and I were blocked by the crowd and pushed too far away to keep pace. I desperately tried to keep hold of my breath as I dodged wagons and squeezed between massive displays of barrels. By the time I raced out past the dock gates and stopped onto the street, the crowds had folded back in, eliminating all evidence of the chase. There seemed to be no way to follow until Sebastian shouted from an alleyway entrance, holding Mr. Kent’s hat.
“Get to a hackney! Perhaps we might overtake them!”
Within a minute, our carriage was careening down the vacant street parallel to the alleyway, buildings streaming by and debris flying up from under our wheels. I almost believed we would cut the boy off, at least until the driver swerved around a corner and abruptly brought the vehicle to a stop. Stalled traffic filled the street. From behind, more horses and carriages boxed us in before we even had a chance to react.
“Sorry, sir!” the driver yelled down an apology. “Can’t turn the horses ’round here!”
So we lost him. Our one link—a little boy—outran five of us, beating two grown men on foot and a two-horse carriage. I curled my hand around the metal railing, experiencing a frustration nearly strong enough to bend the iron. Now the boy knew we were waiting. Dr. Beck would soon be told. The plans would change, and the trail to Rose would be gone yet again.
“Keep watch for Mr. Kent and Mr. Elliot,” Sebastian said, breaking the dismal silence.
Miss Grey and I peered around the curtains, searching the sidewalks for a miracle. The miles of congested carriages slowly lurched forward, and Sebastian guided our driver toward an emptier side street. We took a complicated route, turn after turn hoping to happen upon Robert, Mr. Kent, or the boy, but it was all for naught.
“We should return to the docks,” Miss Grey suggested. “Perhaps they will be waiting there.”
Sure enough, she was correct—or at least, half correct. Mr. Kent was leaning on a splintery post by the Aurora, shaking his head as we approached. “It took you three far too long to return here,” he said. “Did you not learn that universal tenet as a child? If you ever lose track of your mother, go back to the last place you shared, no other. It’s not terribly complicated.”
“No, I never read the rule book,” I replied.
“Perhaps you should get started on that. And on finding Dr. Beck,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “The race started a half hour ago.”