Eloise hesitated as Timothy slid farther down, his weight finally pulling him from Robert’s grasp. He clung to the sheet, a moment, then lowered himself, hand by hand, his legs dangling. Robert clutched the sheet, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder.
Sudden shouts emerged from the window’s opening, and hands began to claw at Robert’s shoulders, trying to yank him back inside.
“Jump!” he screamed, and Timothy released the sheet, falling the last ten feet or so, crumpling to the ground.
A man burst from the side of the house, running for the corner. Eloise and Gilley bolted toward Timothy, Eloise screeching his name. The man on the ground and Timothy both looked up at her, and the man increased his speed as he raced for Timothy. Eloise was faster, throwing her body between the man and her son. The man slammed his fist into her back, and she shot toward the ground with a sharp cry, scrambling toward Timothy, the pain spiking through her. The man reared back, ready to kick her, when Gilley’s fist met his face with a sound like a melon hitting the ground. The man collapsed.
Timothy stared at her. “Ellie?”
She clawed for him, pulling him into her arms. “Timothy! My God, Timothy!”
He hugged her, but Gilley pulled on both of their arms. “Milady! We must go!”
Eloise released Timothy and let Gilley lift both of them to their feet. “Did you get hurt when you fell?”
Timothy shook his head, his face and torso smeared with dirt, confusion twisting his face. Gilley herded them toward the alley.
Eloise could barely catch her breath. “We have to get Robert!”
They stopped in the alley and looked back in time to see the window slam shut and a body hit the glass. Blood spattered on the panes, and Eloise screamed, “No!”
She lunged toward the street, but Gilley and Timothy both grabbed her as a raucous clanging set up from down the street, the sound of multiple horses and enclosed wagons approaching at a gallop. Eloise froze, watching as they slid to a halt in front of the house and two dozen or more men tumbled from the wagons. The street exploded with a cacophony of shrill whistles, shouts, and the sounds of shattering wood and running footsteps. The men swarmed inside.
Gilley tugged her backwards. “We must go, milady. Now!”
Eloise felt light-headed, her chest tight as she fought for air. But she could not help Robert. Not now. Perhaps never again. As the raid escalated—more wagons and men poured into the streets—she let Gilley pull her away.
They staggered silently down the alley, emerging onto the pavement of a wider street, where they paused to collect themselves. Eloise pulled Timothy into her arms again, and the boy resisted at first, then he collapsed into her, hugging her, his grip growing ever tighter.
“You got me out,” he whispered. “You came for me.”
“I will always come for you.”
He released her, looking up at her hair. “You cut your hair? Why are you dressed like this?”
Eloise coughed a laugh. “To get you out.” She rubbed his shoulder. “I will explain it all later.”
“We should go, milady.”
Eloise nodded, her knees suddenly weak with relief. “Yes. We can go to my rooms.”
Timothy squinted. “You have rooms?”
“No, milady. Robbie wanted us to return to the emporium. It will be safer, if someone decides to chase after Lord Timothy.”
Timothy peered up at the big man. “LordTimothy? Who are you?”
Eloise slipped her hand around Timothy’s elbow. “I’ll explain as we walk. And, yes, Mr. Gilley, I think that is a better option for now.”
As they walked toward the gambling den, Gilley taking up a watch from behind, Eloise unfolded the tale of the last five days for Timothy. As she did, she examined him, trying to hide her shock at his appearance, which fully registered for the first time. It had not been dirt smeared on his face and body but bruises. Small cuts littered his forearms and sides, and a round, puckered burn shone red and ugly on his bicep. His face looked gaunt, his eyes wary and haunted.
The innocent and vibrant lad she had last seen in her bedchamber had vanished. Tears stung her eyes, and her words began to falter. As she tried to choke back the tears, she blurted, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry we did not find you quicker.”
Timothy glanced at her, then walked for a while, staring at the ground. “You could not have.”
She shook her head. “What?”
His silence continued several moments. “They had me hidden. A basement. Somewhere in the rookeries. I—I don’t know where. They did this”—he pointed to the burn—“and told me that Papa had been so angry about my last term that he had given me to them. They had a note from him, saying he wanted to ‘confirm what they had discussed.’”
