Page 55 of The Viscount of Shadows

Chapter 19

Oliver could hear the tumult above, rushing footsteps, cursing, police whistles, and shouting. Had Claudia’s ingenious plan come to fruition? It appeared so.

He lay, weak and wounded, wondering how to leave this hiding place. Partaking of the sandwich, tea, and biscuits helped, and the food was not roiling in his stomach, another promising sign. Could the sustenance provide the temporary strength needed to leave here walking upright?

Lying in a dark cellar gave one plenty to ruminate over. Such as acting as a vigilante was not quite the clever idea he had initially thought. But Oliver wouldn’t change anything, for it allowed him to come to Claudia’s rescue, briefly making him feel like a hero. But then Claudia rescued him in return, nursed his wound, and even returned to check on him. She kissed him soundly more than once. And held him close, soothing his brow. She must care for him on some level.

Where was Claudia now? Was she safe?

He was worried sick about her. Who knows how Danaher would react if he came across her? That clamor extended to the floor above. Oliver held his breath as booted footsteps headed in his direction. The door opened.

“It’s Mitchell Simpson.”

Oliver released the breath he held. “Down here.”

“Hell, there’s no light,” Mitchell growled.

“The oil burned out long ago. Follow my voice.”

“Stilton, give me your lantern. And remain on your guard. No one is to enter this building. Knock them unconscious with your truncheon if needs must. Understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

A light beam filled the cellar’s interior as Mitchell closed the trapdoor behind him. “Stilton is a good man; I trust him to stay quiet. I haven’t told him the particulars, nor does he know your identity. I said you were a trusted informant trapped and hiding from Danaher.”

“Clever. You never mentioned you are a Detective Sergeant.”

“A recent development.” Mitchell laid the lantern on the floor and held a sack aloft once he faced Oliver. “I have a police uniform here. I believe it will fit. Do you need assistance?”

“Yes, Danaher sliced me on my left side. I’m not sure I can walk out of here without drawing attention. But what of Claudia Ellingford? Did you speak to her? She found you at the station?”

“Er, not exactly.”

Oliver’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“Once I obtained the note she left at my residence, I immediately sought out The Galway Agency. They also received a message, but neither of us has seen Miss Ellingford.”

“Damn!” Oliver hissed through clenched teeth. “Help me get dressed. We have to find her. She’s dressed as a laborer.”

“You need medical assistance.”

Oliver grunted as he sat upright. “I managed to get this far without dying. Another few hours will not matter.” Mitchell assisted him in standing. “I am not leaving here without her. End. Of.”

“End of what?”

“Any further discussion.”

With great difficulty, they managed to fit the uniform on Oliver, with Mitchell buttoning the tunic and placing the belt around Oliver’s waist. He handed the helmet to Oliver. “Wear it low over your eyes, and walk close to me, lean on me if needed. The carriage is out front. We must approach it from the rear since the front entrance is nailed shut. Can you walk that far?”

“I have no choice. Gather up everything you can and place it in your sack. Smash the oil lantern. Upend the furniture. And I hate to say it, but there is a bucket that will have to be disposed of.”

“So that is what I smell.”

“What can I say? I’ve been down here for hours. It is nearby; do not knock it over.”

Oliver watched Mitchell methodically carrying out his suggestions, gathering up bits of clothing and remnants from the trunk. With a swift kick, the detective smashed the oil lantern and splintered the table and chairs into kindling. Slinging the heavy sack over his shoulder, he picked up the bucket and headed toward the trap door.

“Stilton!” Mitchell shouted.