Page 47 of Deposed

“He’s in the waiting room,” said the Asian nurse. “Would you like us to let him in?”

I nodded.

Dr. Chumley-Stokes furrowed his brow. “Two police officers are also outside. Are you ready to speak with them?”

“Yes.”

A moment later, Blake stepped into the room, his face pale, and eyes bloodshot. As soon as we locked eyes, he flinched. The movement was so slight I might have missed it, if it hadn’t sent a bolt of fear through my gut.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Enough time has passed for the swelling and bruises to emerge.” The doctor clapped his hand on Blake’s shoulder and gave him the kind of squeeze that indicated they knew each other extremely well. He said to Blake, “Your young lady is fine and just needs a little rest and care.”

Blake’s shoulders sagged with relief, and the corners of his mouth flickered into a smile. He crossed the room, sat at a chair beside the examination table, and took my hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, considering,” I replied.

Before he could say much else, a pair of uniformed officers stepped through the doors. The shorter of them, who wore the flat cap of a sergeant, asked, “Miss Hobson, what can you tell us about Peter Underwood?”

Chapter 16

I knew the name, of course. Peter Underwood was Charlotte’s older brother. The one she said worked for the Saudi Royal family but had amassed enough gambling debts to ruin the Underwood family fortunes. What I didn’t understand was his connection with Mr. Carbuncle.

The police revealed that the Saturday Correspondent had shared recordings of Peter Underwood dragging me across the hallway and down a few flights of stairs into an empty apartment. Because he had positioned me face-down, they were unable to work out exactly how many flights of stairs I’d been moved, and which apartment they had used as their hideout.

All throughout the explanation, Blake stared at me with the kind of tight expression people used to hold themselves back from saying something they would regret. I had no doubt that once the police had left, he would explain how he had managed to find me before them.

The sedative must have still lingered in my system because I remained calm as I told the officers as much as I could, considering I had been unconscious for most of the ordeal, and they probably had the footage from the camera in my hair. The taller constable wrote down my statement, read it out to me, and got me to sign.

As they stood, I said, “Please tell me you’ve arrested them both.”

The officers exchanged guilty looks. My heart plummeted. They had the camera footage, known I was in an apartment within the Chelsea Heights building, yet they still managed to lose my abductors? What did this mean for my safety?

“We caught Mr. Underwood as he left the building, but we believe Mr. Carbuncle may be hiding in one of the balconies.”

“Right,” I said. This was the second time bungling cops had let him get away.

One of the nurses escorted them out of the room. Blake scooted forward, his expression pained. “Carbuncle didn’t leave the buildings out of any of the exits.” Blake wrapped his hand around mine and brought my knuckles to his lips. “I think he scaled down the balconies and escaped while the police were in that man’s apartment.”

“He could be anywhere.”

“We won’t let him get close to you again,” replied Blake.

My gaze dropped to our joined hands. The sedative muted my feelings, but a little voice in the back of my head admonished me for ignoring the boys’ warnings. They had even offered me a distraction to stop me from going to London, but I’d been so determined to expose Charlotte’s secrets that I’d run head-first into a trap.

Dr. Chumley-Stokes strolled in, rubbing his hands together. The Asian nurse from before held a small paper bag.

“Right-ho.” His gaze dropped to our joined hands and then back to my face. “I have your prescription. One co-codamol every four hours with a maximum of eight a day. Temazepam half an hour before bedtime. No alcohol.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” I let my eyes close.

“Thank you, Stephen,” said Blake.

“Not at all, my boy. I’m just glad the rumors about you weren’t true. Hold tight, and we’ll arrange transportation to the palace.”

My eyes snapped open. “P-palace?”

Dr. Chumley-Stokes furrowed his thick brows. “Kensington, of course. You can’t sleep in an uncomfortable dorm with injuries like that, and you’re not well enough for a journey of any kind back to Mercia. That won’t do at all.”