Page 110 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

FOR A MOMENT everyone in the room was still, gaping at Carson, who now aimed his gun at Grieves. Even Wallace stopped in his rush toward the Eye.

“Carson. Thank God,” Desmond said, a bit of color returning to his face.

“Thisbe, you’d best get that Eye before Mr. Wallace starts after it again. And you, the chap with the gun, put it down on the floor and kick it over to Desmond. Gently now.”

Grieves did as Carson bid, and Thisbe rushed to pick up the Eye. It was strangely hot, and a vision flashed through her mind—a gloved hand reaching into a fire. She went still, her eyes widening, but the Eye turned searing, and she shoved it into the box and closed it. She glanced over at Desmond. He looked almost as usual now. Had that shocked look on his face come from fear for her, or fear of what he’d seen in the Eye? He’d seemed peculiarly stiff, almost frozen, when she ripped it from his hand. Had he felt what she did?

Putting her questions away for another, quieter time, she set the box on the desk and went to help Desmond tie the hands of the other men. The first problem was finding enough bindings to wrap around three sets of wrists. Thisbe had sliced through the rope that had been around Desmond’s wrists. Picking up her abandoned penknife—these folding knives were remarkably handy; she would have to start carrying one in her pocket—she sliced off the bellpull and the tiebacks for the draperies.

“What shall we do with these three?” Thisbe asked as she returned with her makeshift ropes.

“Lock them in the cellar,” Carson suggested.

“Carson!” Gordon said, shocked. “It’s winter. There’s no heat down there.”

“Not the finest of accommodations,” Desmond agreed. “But the servants will hear you after a time and let you out.”

“Are there any servants?” Thisbe asked. “You’d think one of them would have been curious by now.”

“They’re not here,” Gordon said, looking more alarmed by the moment. “No one will hear us until tomorrow.”

“We’ll tell the authorities all about it,” Thisbe promised. “No doubt they will take you out to put you in jail.”

“Jail!” Gordon’s eyes bugged. “I say, that’s a bit extreme.”

“No doubt kidnapping, theft and murder are quite ordinary.”

“He wouldn’t have killed you,” Gordon argued.

“Only because it wouldn’t have suited his purposes.” Thisbe wrapped the pull cord around the professor’s wrists.

In the end, they wound up herding the miscreants into the cellar with blankets, water and candles, and locked the door. As soon as Carson turned the key in the door, Thisbe launched herself into Desmond’s arms and kissed him, until finally Carson’s discreet throat clearing recalled them to the present situation.

Thisbe picked up the box, Desmond grabbed a coat off the hook by the door and they started toward town.

“In retrospect, one of us should have hired a carriage,” Carson commented as they trudged along.

Thisbe began to laugh, and soon they were all roaring, the tension of the past few hours pouring out. Finally, they quieted and started forward again. Desmond took Thisbe’s hand as they walked, and they all recounted their individual tales of the past day. Desmond described what he remembered from the kidnapping, his story punctuated by Thisbe’s exclamations of outrage.

Thisbe told Desmond about her frantic search for him, and when she reached the conversation she’d had with Carson in the laboratory, she turned to him and said accusingly, “You followed me, didn’t you?” Carson’s grin was answer enough. “I knew I saw someone!”

“You tested my skills, I must say,” Carson said. “But Desmond would have had my head if I let you go off on your own, and I knew you’d only send me away if I joined you. It was clear you didn’t trust me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need.” He waved away the apology. “You’re probably wise.” He glanced toward the box Thisbe held cradled to her chest. “That seems to be a powerful lure.”

“You’re not looking at it,” Thisbe told him firmly. “None of us are going to look at it. It’s dangerous. I’m taking it right back to Grandmother, who apparently is insensitive enough to not be disturbed by it.”

“Were you disturbed by it?” Carson asked curiously.

Thisbe shrugged. “It seemed warm, which is odd.”

“What about you, Desmond?” Carson went on. “Tell me. Does it work?”

“No.” Desmond shook his head. “Not at all. It was merely a lot of jumbled, faceted views of the room. Nothing magical or mysterious.”

“What are we going to do about that lot?” Carson jerked his head in the direction of Wallace’s house.