“Nevertheless,” Victoria whispered urgently, “Ware himself is downstairs and he’s got a pistol. You’ll run straight into him.”
“Think of it as him running straight into me.” Edison opened the door and glided out into the hall.
Emma looked at Victoria. “He really is the most difficult employer I’ve had in my entire career. I probably should have made him write my reference before I let him go downstairs.”
He had never put all of his trust in the Strategies, Edison thought, but he had to admit that there was some value in the Strategy of Timing, if only because of the element of surprise.
He removed his pistol from his belt and stepped out of the darkened hall. He went to the doorway of the lantern-lit room that served as an office. Basil paced the floor inside. A pistol dangled loosely in his hand.
“I regret that I have kept you waiting, Ware,” Edison said.
Basil jerked violently and spun around. His mouth worked furiously when he saw Edison.
“Damn you, Stokes.” He raised the pistol and pointed it at Edison. “Damn your bloody eyes.”
He pulled the trigger without a second’s hesitation. The explosion was thunderous in the small room.
Edison was already moving. He slipped to the side of the doorway and listened to the ball crash into the wall behind him. Then he moved swiftly back into the opening. Ware was at the desk, seizing the second pistol that lay there.
Edison was obliged to shift position again. Ware’s second ball shattered wood somewhere in the darkness.
“Where are my men?” Basil raised his voice in a commanding scream. “He’s here, you fools.”
A faint tremor went through the wooden floor beneath Edison’s feet.
“Bloody hell.” Too late he realized that he and Harry had miscalculated. Ware had kept a third villain to guard his back.
Edison dropped to the floor but not quickly enough. There was a flash of light from the dark space behind the stairwell. He felt the fire slice across his ribs as cleanly as a knife blade.
“Kill him,” Ware yelled. “Make sure he is dead.”
Edison turned onto his back and fired at the hulking figure who loomed in the shadows. The man jerked and reeled back against the staircase. His pistol crashed to the floor.
The wooden floor shuddered again. Edison realized that Ware was coming up from behind in the best tradition of the Strategy of Surprise. The appropriate response, according to the teachings, was to roll to the side and use the opportunity to regain one’s feet.
Instead, Edison twisted once more, ignoring the pain that lanced through him. He grabbed Ware’s booted foot as it arced through the air toward his head. He yanked violently, wrenching the boot and the ankle inside with all of his strength. Ware yelled, toppled backward, and went down hard.
Edison surged to his feet and started toward his prey.
Basil had already struggled to his knees. He glanced past Edison, eyes narrowing.
“Shoot, you idiot,” he shouted. “Do it now.”
It was an old trick. Perhaps the oldest of all. But a disturbing sensation tingled down Edison’s spine. He did not bother to turn his head to see if there actually was someone with a pistol behind him. He threw himself to the side and rolled swiftly behind a post.
Fresh pain ripped through his wound. He clawed at the second pistol in his pocket.
The wounded villain had lurched back to his feet. He had a pistol in his fist. It roared out of the darkness.
Edison got the second pistol out of his coat but he saw at once that there was no need to fire it.
The gun fell from the villain’s hand. He clutched at the wound in his shoulder and stared at Edison. He blinked his eyes several times.
“Now look what ye went and made me do. Ye moved, ye bloody bastard. Now I’ll never get me pay.”
He toppled headlong onto the floor.
Edison pulled himself to his feet with the aid of the post. He looked at Basil, who was lying facedown in a pool of blood. The bullet that had been intended for Edison had struck him in the chest.
“Edison, are you all right?” Emma flew down the stairs in a swirl of skirts.
Victoria was right behind her. “Good Lord, there were shots. Is Ware dead?”
Emma ran toward him. “I thought you said everything was under control.”
Edison put his hand to his side. “I made one slight miscalculation. However, the mistake has been rectified.”
“Dear God, Edison.” The soft, anguished cry came from Victoria.
He saw that she was staring at him, her hand at her throat.
“You’re bleeding.” Emma stopped in front of him. Her eyes were huge.
Her shocked exclamation reminded him of the fire in his side. He looked down. The lantern light from the office gleamed on the damp spot that stained his black shirt. He realized that he was feeling numb. He fought the light-headed sensation with every ounce of willpower at his command.
I’ll be all right. It’s just a crease. I think. Go outside and call Harry. He’s waiting for my signal.”
I’ll fetch him.” Victoria gave Edison a fearful look as she hurried toward the door. “Edison, there is so much blood—”
“Go find Harry, Grandmother,” he said very steadily.
Victoria fled.
“Sit down, Edison.” Emma lifted her muslin skirts and started to tear a strip from her petticoats.
“I told you, I’m all right,” he muttered.
“I said, sit down.” She came toward him with a grimly determined expression.
He sank down onto the second-from-the-bottom step. He was amazed at how weary he suddenly felt. “I suppose you’re worried that I might not survive to write that damned reference for you.”
“It’s not that, sir.” She gently peeled aside his torn shirt to reveal the wound. “It’s that I have my professional standards to maintain. In the course of my career I have had some unfortunate situations arise, but I have never yet lost an employer. I do not intend to begin with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Twenty minutes later Edison settled himself gingerly into the cushions of the hackney coach Harry had secured. He had been right. The wound in his side was superficial, but it hurt like the very devil.
Victoria sat down across from him and studied him with grave eyes. “How bad is the pain, Edison?”
Her obvious anxiety made him feel awkward. “Tolerable, madam.”
It was not the fire in the vicinity of his ribs that annoyed him, it was the strange, light-headed sensation he was experiencing. He gritted his teeth and vowed he would not humiliate himself by fainting.
Emma followed Victoria into the coach and sat doWn next to him. One-Eared Harry climbed up onto the box to join the coachman. The vehicle jolted into motion.
“The bleeding has stopped very nicely,” Emma said, fussing with her makeshift bandage. “We shall get you some laudanum as soon as we get home.”
“You can forget the bloody laudanum.” Edison sucked in his breath and braced himself against the sway of the coach. “I prefer brandy for this sort of thing.”
“What about those villains we left bound at the warehouse?” Victoria said. “All except Basil Ware are alive.”
“Sooner or later they will get themselves free.” Edison’s head was spinning now. It was getting difficult to think. “When they do, they will disappear back into the stews.”
“We should have seen to it that they were taken up by the magistrate,” Victoria said.
“I do not care what happens to them.” Edison breathed deeply, trying to stave off the darkness that threatened to cloud his brain. “Ware is dead. That is all that matters.”
“Speaking of Basil Ware,” Emma said, “your grandmother and I have a great deal to tell you about him. He gave us many of the details of his scheme. He murdered the apothecary to cover Miranda’s tracks, by the bye, but he claimed that he did not kill Miranda. I did not believe him but it is odd that he would lie a
bout that murder when he willingly confessed to the other killings.”
“I believe him.” Edison closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He could not hold out much longer. A great weariness was about to consume him.
“What do you mean, you believe him?” Victoria asked. “Why wouldn’t he lie—?”
“Good heavens,” Emma breathed. “Look.”
“At what?” Victoria asked.
Edison could not bring himself to open his eyes.
“That ship. The second one tied up at the wharf.”
Edison listened to her scramble about on the seat. Her next words were slightly muffled, as though she had her head stuck out the window.
“It’s The Golden Orchid,” she called. There was a joyous lilt in her voice. “I don’t believe it. Can you see it?”
“Yes, yes,” Victoria said brusquely. “It is nearly dawn. There is enough light for me to read the name of the ship. The Golden Orchid. What of it?”
“Stop the coach,” Emma shouted up to the driver. “I want to have a closer look.”
Edison groaned. “It’s just a ship, Emma. If you don’t mind, I really could do with some brandy.”
“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? Harry, tell the coachman to continue on to Lady Exbridge’s address.”
“Right ye are, ma’am,” Harry called.
“I shall come back later this morning to get a better look.” There was more commotion as Emma settled back into the seat. “I knew it would return. I knew it all along.”
“Why on earth are you so concerned about that ship?” Victoria asked.
“That ship,” Emma announced, “is the stupid, bloody ship in which I invested all of the money that my sister and I got when we sold our house in Devon. Don’t you see, Lady Exbridge? The Golden Orchid is home safe and sound. She did not go down at sea after all. And I’m now quite rich.”
“Rich?” Victoria echoed.
“Well, perhaps not as rich as Croesus or you or Edison. But I can tell you one thing, madam, I shall never again be obliged to work as a lady’s companion.” Emma’s exuberance bubbled up and overflowed like fine champagne. “We shall have enough blunt to lure a dozen suitors to Daphne’s feet. She shall have her choice of husbands. She’ll have the freedom to marry where her heart leads. And she’ll never have to work as a governess or a lady’s companion.”
“Astonishing,” Victoria murmured.
Edison stirred but he did not open his eyes. “I believe that Lady Mayfield may have mentioned to you that I was hoping to secure a good match for myself this Season.”
“What’s he talking about?” Fresh alarm sharpened Victoria’s query.
“Perhaps he’s hallucinating.” Emma put her hand on Edison’s brow. “The pain and the shock of the night’s events may have affected his brain.”
“Now that you’re rich and as we’re so conveniently engaged into the bargain …” Edison paused to gather his strength. Emma’s hand felt very good on his forehead, but he could not seem to get his eyes open. “I cannot think of any reason why we should not go ahead and get married.”
“Hallucinations, without a doubt,” Emma whispered. “He’s worse off than I thought. When we get home we must send for the doctor.”
It occurred to Edison that she sounded far more anxious now than she had the night she believed that she would hang for Chilton Crane’s murder.
“There is no point arguing with a man who is having hallucinations,” he pointed out. “Will you marry me?”
“Quite right,” Victoria said. “Do not argue with him, Emma. There is no telling what sort of effect it might have on him while he is in this condition. We do not want him to become agitated. You may as well tell him you will marry him.”
There was a crackling pause during which Edison was keenly aware of the passage of eternity. After an endless moment when nothing appeared to be happening, he groaned and put his hand on his bandaged ribs.
“Very well,” Emma said quickly. “I shall marry you.”
“Thank you, my dear. I am honored.” He slipped down toward the waiting darkness.
The hushed voices of the two women followed him deep into the shadows.
“I doubt he will recall any of this in the—morning,” Emma said.
“I wouldn’t be too certain of that if I were you,” Victoria murmured.
“Nevertheless, madam, I must have your word that you will not take it upon yourself to remind him that he actually proposed marriage tonight.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because he might feel obligated to go through with it.” Emma sounded oddly desperate. “I certainly do not want him to get the notion that he is now honor-bound to marry me.”
“It is past time he married someone,” Victoria said with an air of practicality that Edison could only admire. “I rather think you will do, Miss Greyson.”
“Promise me you will say nothing of this to him, Lady Exbridge.”
“Very well,” Victoria soothed. “I shall keep silent. But I do not think it will change anything.”
“Nonsense. When he awakens he will forget the entire affair.”
Not bloody likely, Edison thought, hovering on the very edge of oblivion.
“I wonder what it was about my mention of that bloody ship that brought on the hallucinations,” Emma mused.
“I expect it had something to do with the fact that he owns the bloody ship,” Victoria said.
• • •
He awoke at once when Emma poured brandy into the raw wound.
“For God’s sake, don’t waste it all on the damned gullet hole.” He reached for the decanter. “Let me have some of it to drink.”
Emma allowed him a swallow. Then she retrieved the brandy. “Go back to sleep.”
He lay back down on the pillows and put his arm over his eyes. “I won’t forget about it, you know.”
“You’re still suffering from hallucinations.” She finished binding up the bandage. “You’re a bit warm but the wound is clean and it should heal nicely. Go back to sleep.”
“On the off chance that I’m actually quite lucid, promise me that you’ll still be here when I awaken.”
She tried to squelch the wistful longing that threatened to film her eyes with tears. “I’ll be here.”
He groped for her hand. She hesitated briefly and then gave it to him. He gripped it fiercely, as though afraid she would slip away.
She waited until she was sure he was asleep.
“I love you, Edison,” she whispered.
There was no response. Which only made sense, she thought. He was asleep after all.
The sound of the covers being tossed aside and a short, bitten-off oath brought her awake shortly before noon. She opened her eyes to a room full of sunshine. She was cramped and stiff from having spent the past several hours curled up in the large reading chair.
Edison was sitting up on the edge of the bed, studying her with the old, enigmatic gaze. He had a hand planted somewhat gingerly on the bandage that covered his injured ribs, but his color looked normal. His eyes were clear and as watchful as ever. He was bare to the waist. The sheet flowed around his thighs.
Emma was struck with a burst of shyness. The rush of heat to her cheeks annoyed her. She cleared her throat.
“How are you feeling, sir?”
“Sore.” He smiled faintly. “But otherwise quite well, thank you.”
“Excellent.” She pushed herself briskly up from the chair and tried not to wince when her stiff legs nearly gave way beneath her. “I’ll ring for some tea and toast for you.”
“Have you been sitting in that chair since we got home at dawn?”
She glanced uneasily at the mirror and groaned when she saw her rumpled gown and chaotic hair. “It shows, does it not?”
“I know I made you promise to be here when I awoke, but I did not mean that you had to sleep in that chair. I would have been satisfied so long as you remained somewhere in th
e house.”
She opened her mouth but could not find any words. After a few seconds she made another attempt.
“Tea and toast,” she got out. “I trust you’re hungry.”
His eyes held hers. “I was not hallucinating last night, Emma. And I have not forgotten anything. You promised to marry me.”
“Why?” she asked baldly.
For the first time he looked baffled. “Why?”
“Yes, why?” She threw up her hands and began to pace back and forth in front of the bed. “It’s all very well for you to say you want to marry me, but you must see that I have a right to know precisely why you wish to marry me.”
“Ah.”
“Is it because you feel obligated to do so?” She shot him a glowering look. “Because if that is the case, I assure you, it is not necessary. Thanks to the return of The Golden Orchid, I am no longer in any financial difficulties.”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed.
“And my reputation is of no great concern because I do not intend to move in Society. Lady Exbridge has kindly offered to sponsor my sister, Daphne, for a Season. But I shall stay in the background and everyone will forget about my brief stint as a suspected murderess and fiancée.”
“My grandmother assured you that such minor peccadilloes could be swept neatly under the carpet, did she?”
“Yes, she did.” Emma came to a halt at the far end of the room. “So, you see, there is no need for you to feel obliged to marry me for the sake of honor or whatever.”
“Well, that certainly narrows things down a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled. “Apparently I have only one reason for marriage left.”
“If you think to convince me that you actually need the profits from my one, single share in the cargo of The Golden Orchid, sir, save your breath. Whatever amount of money I realize from my investment can be only a drop in the bucket to a man of your resources.”
“I love you.”
She stared at him. “Edison.”