Page 50 of The Viscount of Shadows

Claudia smiled, for she genuinely liked Lady Ainsworth. “I will.”

Claudia was hustled into a small but lovely morning room decorated in sunny shades, from the white French provincial furniture to the yellow rose wallpaper. The footman gathered pen, ink, and paper, then stood aside, hands clasped behind his back.

What to write?

Detective Simpson,

I work for The Galway Investigative Agency. O.W. needs assistance at once. He sent me to find you, for he has been seriously injured and is taking refuge at the place you were recently made aware of. It will be difficult to extract him, for the surrounding area is being watched. Vigilantly. I suggest the following: as soon as the sun sets, move into the site with as many uniformed police officers as you can muster. Create a distraction, even arrest some of the men in question. Enter the building with two policemen, smuggling in a uniform for O.W. He will walk out with you. Two uniformed coppers in, two out. The other police officer can slip out the rear. Please remove anything that could identify him.

Claudia hesitated. What to do next? Head back to Notting Dale? She must. Oliver’s life depended on it. She couldn’t stay here in Lady Ainsworth’s lovely morning room drinking tea and eating cakes. The thought of Oliver alone in that chilly cellar made her heart ache. She would not abandon him, alone and shivering in the darkness. Injured, feverish, and hungry.

I will head toward the Lancaster Police Station, hoping to find you there. If I cannot locate you, I will head to Cleveland Street and enlist the assistance of The Galway Agency. C. Ellingford

She should send a note to Cleveland Street. Evidently, her absence would have been noticed by now, as well as Oliver’s absence. Claudia glanced at the clock on the mantel. Half past two. Could Oliver hold on until dusk? Perhaps she should go to Cleveland Street first, then to the police station.

Hell’s bells, her mind twirled about in all directions.

Calm yourself.

Logic dictated that finding Simpson and enlisting his help must take priority over everything. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, Claudia pulled blank paper from the drawer. But logic did not always win out. Not when she was so worried about Oliver.

I am well. O.W. needs assistance. I left a note for Detective Simpson with Lady Ainsworth, 9 Westgate Terrance. O.W. needs him. Now. Please find him. Important: follow my instructions in Simpson’s note. I will come to Cleveland Street soon. C. E.

Claudia folded the note in half and wrote the Cleveland Street address. “Can you please deliver this letter to either Eleanora or Althea Galway? It is imperative. The address is on the outside of the note.”

James took the message. “I will, miss.”

Hannah entered the room with a pile of clothes. “My lady says to take your pick. They belong to the gardener and his son.”

“Thank you.” She folded the Simpson note. “This is for the detective. Please tell him it is urgent.”

James stepped outside while she changed. The clothes were not the best fit, but they would do. She kept the peaked cap as it hid her face and hair better than the hat in the heap of garments.

Lady Ainsworth knocked and entered the room. She handed Claudia a burlap sack. “Inside are various foods a laborer might carry. Ham sandwiches, oat biscuits, cheese, and the like. Along with a jug of tea. You will also find a small pocket knife with a serrated blade. Hopefully, you will not need to use it. James will escort you out through the rear courtyard. Make use of the water closet in the hall before you leave. Take care, my dear.”

A second knife may be helpful. “You have thought of everything. Thank you. I will return for a visit soon, I promise.”

Lady Ainsworth smiled. “I look forward to it.”

With a final thank you and after using the water closet, Claudia slipped out the rear entrance into a large, fenced yard filled with the remains of some September flowers, dahlias, and sunflowers, specifically. Once she located the gate, she exited onto the street and hurried along the walkway.

Starving, she reached into the sack and found one of the parchment-wrapped sandwiches and quickly ate it. A little voice kept nagging in her thoughts to go to Cleveland Street instead of the police station, but that would only waste valuable time. Locating Simpson was her top priority. Only Simpson knew of Oliver’s vigilante persona; she must protect that.

Besides, running into a random police station wearing man’s laborer clothes and demanding assistance would get her kicked to the cobbles. Dressing as a fine lady would have garnered even more attention, so this costume was wise, for she had dealt with enough coppers over the years to know how they react with either guise. Although the Galway Agency could convince the Met Police to offer help sooner. What to do?

She glanced over her shoulder at the burlap sack. There was a slim chance she could slip this food to Oliver before heading to the police station. If there were none of Danaher’s men about. It was a reckless idea but one worth considering. It would be hours until any rescue could be achieved. There was no food or water left. He was in a weakened condition; he’d never make it to sundown. As she surmised earlier, logic was hard to pin down in certain circumstances.

Especially in this case. Claudia had grown to care for Oliver in a short period. Claudia was worried sick over him all alone in that dark place. His comfort overrode every other consideration. What if he took a turn for the worse? He needed food to keep up his strength to combat the infection until they could extract him and get him proper medical assistance.

She must see to him. Right now.

Instead of traveling directly through Avondale Park, she took another circuitous route, cutting through a street filled with rubble, wood piles, and caravans. A dog barked loudly when she rounded the corner. Claudia froze. Luckily, the animal was tied to a post. She continued on her way, zigzagging through back alleys, hiding when she heard voices. Danaher’s men were still about, but she eluded them.

Holding her breath, she hurried past the bramble shrubs she had hidden in previously and darted across the walkway into the rear of the house Oliver hid.

Hell’s bells, I’ve done it.

Without time to further congratulate herself, Claudia quietly moved aside the loose boards and slipped inside. It was hard to tell if there were fresh footprints, for the wood floors were primarily clear of dirt and dust. Which, in itself, should be suspicious. But she understood why Oliver kept it swept clean. The iron bar was precisely where she had left it. Standing perfectly still, she listened. There was no noise from below, and the street remained quiet. Once she opened the trap door, she concealed the bar again.