AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Now for the waiting. The hardest part of any operation like this was waiting for an enemy to make their move. All the preparation in the world did nothing unless one’s foe acted as anticipated. He’d tried to think of every contingency, but no plan was completely foolproof, and Boucher was a clever criminal.
The proprietress of the elusive Temple of Aurora had slipped his and many others’ nets too many times to count. The only way to catch her would be to bait a hook and see if she could be drawn out to bite.
Will surveyed himself in the mirror with a critical eye. Jacqueline might not have been enough of a lure to make the monster surface, but the Archangel would be. The man had been harrying Boucher at every turn, cutting deeply into her profits and making her life very difficult. Her desperate actions of late told him she was ready to remove the pestilence at any cost.
Taking out his pistol, Will again checked it. Should the real Archangel ever confront Boucher, he’d kill her without hesitation. Of that, Will had no doubt. Jacqueline had told him enough of her friend to know it for a certainty.
But the real Archangel is not a constable sworn to uphold the laws of the land. My job is to hunt down and bring criminals to justice. It’s a judge’s duty to deliver their sentence, not mine. He was moved by more than duty, however. Love made him fearful of what might happen if Boucher were allowed to live. Such was her reach that he didn’t doubt her ability to act against Jacqueline from within a prison cell. If she does anything but surrender meekly, I’ll pull the trigger.
It was a reasonable compromise. But still his conscience pricked him. His overwhelming instinct was to protect Jacqueline, but there was more at stake here. As an enforcer of the law trusted with its upkeep, could he simply kill Boucher? If he did, it ended there. Jacqueline would be safe, but he’d never learn the names of Boucher’s clients and suppliers, her hired ruffians and assassins, those who fed the vile industry of which she was part. Names she would doubtless happily give in exchange for a softer sentence than that of swinging from the gallows.
But first, she had to be caught, and he knew better than to think it would happen tonight. Tonight was about provocation. Those she sent to kill him had to be thwarted. Several defeats might be required before she became desperate enough to see the job done personally.
As he went down to eat the fine dinner for which he had no appetite, he paused to listen. Night had fallen, and all was silent in the house save for the occasional rustle of skirts as one of the maids passed. On nearing the dining room, soft conversation greeted his ears. Richards was instructing one of the footmen concerning his shift in the watch.
“Good evening, my lord,” he said on noticing Will standing in the doorway.
“Good evening,” Will replied, entering and nodding to the familiar f
aces of those present as he sat at the head of the table.
Anyone peering through the tall windows facing the street would never suspect the servants here of possessing the skills they did.
Richards could indeed polish boots or expertly shave a man’s face but could also slice a fellow into utter mincemeat in a matter of seconds with the blades he kept concealed about his person. Thomas, Gerald, and Benjamin were all veteran foot soldiers, and Peg was one of the best shots he’d ever seen. Experience told him her deep apron pockets each held a small pistol and that there were several more strapped to her legs beneath her voluminous skirts.
Just as he was finishing his meal, a footman entered and handed him a note. Ripping open the seal, he read:
I am delighted to accept your invitation and will call at your earliest convenience to discuss the details of the endeavor.
Sincerely,
Mr. S. Jorgenson
A satisfied smile lifted the corners of Will’s mouth as he read the encoded message from “Mr. Jorgenson.” Gonson had received his note and was sending reinforcements. The perimeter would be secure before the clock struck eleven, and any lurkers found within it would be taken in for questioning.
He longed to know how Jacqueline was faring. Why have I not yet received a reply from her? His friends ought to have arrived by now. He doubted Boucher would risk injury to her bait until she’d secured the Archangel—but he felt better knowing they were there.
The night dragged on. Weariness at last overpowered worry at about one o’ clock, and he gave himself up to sleep, secure in the knowledge he was well protected.
The sound of shouting woke him. Darkness still blanketed the room as he hit the floor at a run. Coming to the head of the stairs, he spied Richards below. “What’s happened?”
“Fire,” called the other man. “In the carriage house. The men are putting it out now—it was a diversion. Someone attempted to enter through one of the east windows just after it broke out.”
“Was he captured?”
“Yes. He’s wounded, but not too badly.”
“Good, then he can talk. I assume he’s being held in the larder?” It was the safest room for an interrogation—no windows. At the other man’s nod, Will began descending the stair.
The sound of breaking glass brought him to a halt just as he reached Richards.
Richards pulled out his knives and silently bade him wait. While he continued his descent, Will dug the pistol from out of his pocket and readied himself. A moment later, there was the sound of a struggle. A shot rang out.
It was already over by the time he arrived. The fallen intruder lay in a puddle of scarlet. “Won’t last long,” muttered Richards. “I had no choice but to take him in the gut. Better ask your questions now and be quick.”
That anyone had managed to get past Gonson’s perimeter was a surprise. Though he knew it was likely, Will hoped his own people hadn’t suffered any casualties. Kneeling beside the injured man, he saw the wound was indeed mortal. If the fellow didn’t first die of blood loss, an infection would surely finish him off. “Who sent you?”
The man remained silent, his lips tight and his eyes fixed on a spot above.
