Page 56 of The Viscount of Shadows

A face peered in the doorway above. “Yes, sir?”

“Take this bucket and dump the contents into the weeds, then toss the bucket. Here is the lantern as well. Wait for us outside.”

Stilton took the bucket and lantern and disappeared. Darkness enveloped them.

“The poor man,” Oliver muttered.

“He’ll get over it. Take my arm, and I will assist you up the stairs. We can take our time. Save your strength for your walk outdoors.”

Oliver took Mitchell’s arm, and they slowly ascended the narrow stairs.

“After we locate Miss Ellingford, I will take you to the hospital,” Mitchell said.

“No. I have a physician I trust implicitly. He is one of our family doctors. Doctor Drew Hornsby is the son of Viscount Hawkestone. If I cannot see to it, make sure you have my staff call him in, for you are to take me to my home, along with Miss Ellingford. You have the address. Promise me, Mitchell.”

“You are a stubborn sod. I promise to take you and Miss Ellingford to your house and see to it Doctor Hornsby is called. Isn’t the oldest son to a viscount a baron or lord of something? I can’t keep it all straight.”

Once above the stairs, Mitchell closed the trap door and hid the iron rod. Retaking Oliver’s arm, they shuffled toward the rear entrance.

“Drew Hornsby is the adopted son of the viscount. So, no honorary or courtesy titles,” Oliver replied quietly.

Mitchell snorted. “That bloody figures. Here we are at the door. Steel yourself and walk close to me. Try to keep your back and shoulders straight. Here we go.”

The cool air hit Oliver, and he inhaled deeply, savoring it. The atmosphere in his hideaway had grown oppressive and foul as each hour ticked by. A sharp pang tore through his left side, and he grunted softly. Each step forward was searing agony. But Oliver held his head high. He nearly moaned with relief at the sight of the carriage.

All around him, chaos reigned. Policemen tackled men fleeing the scene. Others were loaded into a large carriage built for transporting numerous people.

“We are picking up as many as we can, and if we are lucky, Danaher will be among the throng,” Mitchell murmured. “But I have my doubts. He is as slippery as an eel. You’re doing brilliantly. We are at the carriage. You enter it first, and I will be close behind to ensure you do not collapse.”

Oliver was ready to do that very thing. Biting his lip, he placed his booted foot on the first rung of the metal steps. A fierce jolt of pain tore through him at the effort, but he managed to climb inside the conveyance, where he promptly flopped onto the bench seat. Mitchell tossed the sack inside and followed it, slamming the door.

Mitchell stuck his head out the window. “Stilton. Climb up and sit with the coachman. Tell him to drive around the area. Be on the lookout for a woman dressed as a laborer. How tall is she?” Mitchell asked Oliver.

“Six or seven inches over five feet, or thereabouts, and she has red hair,” Oliver ground out between the waves of discomfort.

“Did you hear that, Stilton?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Stilton replied.

The carriage was underway, and Mitchell propped Oliver up far enough that he could gaze out the window. Oliver looked out one side, Mitchell the other. How many minutes passed? Oliver had no clue. They must find Claudia. Oliver wouldn’t rest until they located her.

“Is that her?” Mitchell yelled, pointing out the window.

There was no mistaking the red hair. Two policemen were holding Claudia up by her arms. “Yes.” The relief that tore through Oliver was unfathomable, indeed. All he wanted to do was hold her tight to his heart. The carriage pulled over to the side of the road before Mitchell could even ask the driver to do so.

Commotion swirled around him, not only from locating Claudia but also from other policemen amassing men and parading them toward the awaiting enclosed wagons. Oliver could scarcely determine what was happening since his mind reeled. The door opened, and the policemen assisted Claudia inside.

“She is in and out of consciousness, Sergeant,” one of the policemen stated to Mitchell. “We found her in one of the shacks. She’s been injured. Sliced on the left side.”

God, same as me.

“Put her there,” Mitchell said. The policemen laid Claudia across Oliver’s lap, along with her coat and knife holder. “Now go assist the others in gathering this scum off the streets. Keep them all at the station until I return. Stilton, go with them.”

“Right away, sir,” the policeman answered as he jumped from the bench seat.

After the coppers departed, Mitchell gave Oliver’s address to the driver, and they were off at a brisk canter.

Oliver gently pushed aside a tangle of red hair from her face. “Claudia.”