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“I shot him,” St. John muttered almost apologetically.
Maximus looked at him in astonishment.
St. John shrugged. “It seemed the thing to do, what with that gun to Miss Greaves’s head business and his subsequently shouting after she’d gone in that he’d started the fire and wasn’t sorry. Oh, and also, he shot at you, Wakefield, when you were in the water. Didn’t seem very gentlemanly, and although he wasn’t a very good shot, there was always the possibility that he wouldn’t miss with a second one. He was aiming another pistol when I shot him.”
“It was a good action.” Makepeace nodded. “And a good shot. Must’ve been near seventy feet.”
“Closer to fifty, I think,” St. John corrected modestly.
“Even so.”
“But…” Both men looked over inquiringly when Maximus spoke. “But I never asked you to help me with Noakes.”
moke was thickening at a frightening pace. Artemis found herself coughing as she pulled Phoebe in the direction of the door she’d seen. A loud crackling came from the direction of the stage, followed closely by a shrill scream. Artemis found the door and shoved.
It stayed obstinately shut.
“It’s locked,” she shouted at Phoebe as she felt around the edge of the door. “Help me find the bolt.”
Tears caused by the smoke were streaming down her face, blinding her, and she felt the beginnings of panic. If they couldn’t get the door open…
Her fingers brushed metal. Quickly she shoved back the bolt and stumbled with Phoebe into the fresh air.
She turned, looking back, and froze.
“What is it?” Phoebe cried.
“The entire gardens are alight,” Artemis whispered, awed.
Flames leaped from the top of the theater, even as the garden guests, actors, footmen, and servants streamed from the building. A bucket brigade had formed under the command of a man with a mane of tawny hair, but Artemis could see that it was already a lost cause. The flames had leaped to the artfully planted trees and shrubs and were racing through the open gallery where the musicians usually performed. Soon everything would be aflame.
“Come on,” Artemis shouted. “We have to get to the docks!”
“But Hero!” Phoebe pulled back. “And Cousin Bathilda.”
“The gentlemen were with them,” Artemis said, praying she was correct. “They’ll get your sister and cousin and everyone else to safety.”
She began pushing her way through the brush, for the paths were full of streaming people. Her beautiful new hunter-green dress was streaked with soot and torn by branches, but that hardly mattered.
“Ah, Lady Phoebe,” a voice drawled, strangely calm.
Artemis looked up to see Lord Noakes standing in their way. He held a pistol in one hand and the other…
The other was covered in blood.
“Are you hurt, my lord?” Artemis asked stupidly, for she knew at once that something entirely different was amiss.
“Oh, not I,” Lord Noakes said cheerfully. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to step aside, for I have need of Lady Phoebe. I’d like to leave England and I think it prudent to bring Wakefield’s sister should he try to detain me.”
If she let Phoebe be hurt, Maximus would never forgive her. She’d never forgive herself.
“My lord,” Artemis said carefully, backing a step to shield Phoebe, “Lady Phoebe has twisted her ankle and can hardly walk. I’m sure you’ll understand that she can’t come with you.”
“D’you know I can’t tell if you’re lying or not,” Lord Noakes said conversationally. A male shout came from their left. Lord Noakes’s eyes hardened. “But I suppose it hardly matters whether I take Wakefield’s sister or his whore. You’ll do just as well.”
Artemis had started to push Phoebe back as she ducked away from the madman but Lord Noakes was very fast for a man his age. He caught her wrist and yanked her against him, his grip as hard as steel.
She struggled but Lord Noakes pointed the pistol at Phoebe. “Stop that or I’ll shoot her.”
