The police could follow his lead.
Theodore raced toward the setting sun, searching for signs of a trail. Something that didn’t fit in the surroundings. Something like ... the glint of metal on a dull stone street. He bent down to investigate. It was a silver vial of smelling salts.
Smeared with blood.
Was this from Miss Stanton’s chatelaine? Tucking the object into a pocket, he proceeded along the street. Forty paces ahead, another glint of silver caught his eye. A small pair of scissors. Farther down the road, another glint. A dented compass. His pulse quickened. That brilliant, beautiful woman!
Theodore ran with renewed vigor, following the glinting reflections of hope.I’m bringing backourgirl, Mrs. S.I’m bringing her home.
CHAPTER
31
Of all the creepy-crawly criminals in the world, she would be abducted by one who reeked of putrid onions and had no sense of direction. Stifled by a sack secured around her neck with firmly knotted ropes, Clara’s lungs ached for fresh air. Blood pounded in her ears due to hanging upside down over her abductor’s shoulder like a bag of, well ... putrid onions.
Clara clutched her head, trying to massage her temples through the grating burlap. “For the fifth time, sir. If you’d simply disclose where you wish to convey me—against my will—I could, perhaps, provide you with concise directions to get us there faster.” Anything to get her feet back on the ground and her face far, far away from this ogre’s stinky personage.
Her body swung from side to side.Oh bother, here we go again.
The ogre turned this way, then that way, groaning with indecision. His thick accent gave him away as a cockney, born under the sound of Bow Bells in London’s East End. “The boss is gonna murder me, for sure and certain. But I told ’im! I told’im not to take this job. Plain and straight, I said, ‘Boss, there ain’t no way I’ll recall me way ’round these foreign parts.’ But did ’e listen? Not on your life. Just tosses the bag in me face and barks ’is orders. ‘Grab the skirt, run fast, and bring the skirt back ’ere.’ So I grabbed and I ran and now I’m lost just like I said. ’Ow can I bring the skirt back’erewhen I can’t recall where’ereis?”
If Clara’s olfactory senses weren’t dying an agonizing death, shemightfeel a smidge of compassion for the stupid ogre, but said smidge would quickly be quashed by the fact that his accomplice had struck her mother. Her stomach roiled. She needed to get back to Mum. Now.
Once more, she attempted to pry herself from the ogre’s grasp, pushing against his meaty arm and kicking his chest, but to no avail. Her might was no match for his brawn.
With a sigh, Clara let her body hang limp. What else could she do? She’d screamed until her throat was parched. No one seemed to hear. No one came to her aid. Perhaps the light-headedness was getting to her, but helping the ogre seemed her only recourse. Topsy-turvy though it might be. “Did your boss give you a map of the city, perchance? Some written directions to your lair of iniquity?”
“Not on your life.” The ogre stomped a boot. “I told the boss ’e ought. I told ’im, ‘Boss, I’d like to ’ave me a map for when I can’t recall me way.’ But did ’e listen? Not—”
“On your life. Right.” Clara bit her lip even as it trembled. The breadcrumbs she’d dropped for Mr. Theodore were going to prove utterly useless after all the ogre’s wandering. She reached for her chatelaine, reexamining the end of each chain with fingers worn raw from tearing off gadgets blindly. None remained. She’d used every blessed crumb. Even if she could guide the ogre to his destination, she’d nothing left to correct Mr. Theodore’s course. How would he find her now?
The clip-clopping of hooves and clatter of rolling wheelsstilled Clara’s heart. Someone was coming their way. Perhaps a rescue was still possible. The horse and cart grew louder. Drawing ever closer. She wet her lips, readying a scream.
“Chester, where in blazes ’ave ya been?”
The recognition in the man’s voice froze the scream in Clara’s lungs.
“I don’t rightly know, boss. That’s the problem of it.” The ogre shrugged, jostling her stomach. “Told you I’d get lost. All these streets look the same, and I can’t make out any of them signs.”
The horse and cart went silent. Boots smacked the ground. “I’ll ’ear none of your excuses.” A slap rent the air.
The ogre yipped like a whipped dog, and his arm withdrew from her waist.
Clara slipped from his shoulder and hit the ground. Hard. The wind was knocked from her lungs, and pain exploded in her left shoulder. She gasped, rolling onto her back with a moan. Up. She needed to get—
“Now ya gone and done it, Chester. ’Ow do ya expect to collect our pay if she’s damaged?”
Clara was yanked to her feet and clutched against the rotund body of the ogre overlord, who smelt of pipe tobacco and cheap wine. She willed her body to cease throbbing. Her head to stop spinning.You are not to faint, Clara Marie. You will fight.Dredging the last of her strength, she dug her nails into a coarse shirt and rammed her knee upward.
A high-pitched whimper proved she’d struck true.
“That was for Mum, you cowardly cur.” Shoving the sniveling overlord aside, she staggered off in the dark, clawing at the burlap sack’s knotted ropes.
The overlord’s groans blackened to a growl. “Idiot! She was ’posed to be out cold.”
“I told you, boss. I said, ‘Boss, ’tain’t right to use chlory-foam on a skirt.’ But did you listen? Not on your—”
“Bring ’er back!”
