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.

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.”

There was no response.

He glanced down at the seeping wound. “We need to place pressure on it.”

Mitchell took the wool scarf from around his neck and balled it up. He handed it to Oliver, who placed it against Claudia’s side, holding it tight.

“Claudia!”

This time, her eyelids fluttered, and she looked up. “My lord?”

Thank Christ.

He smiled at her calling him ‘my lord.’ “We are on our way to my place. This is Detective Sergeant Mitchell Simpson. He got me out as per your instructions. And now we have found you.”

“Oliver insisted that we not leave here until we had you. He was most adamant,” Mitchell interjected.

Claudia swung her gaze back to Oliver. “You did?” she whispered.

“Yes. I would never leave you behind,” Oliver replied fiercely. “Not. Ever.”

“When all is settled down, I need to hear the story of what transpired from both of you,” Mitchell said.

“One thing at a time,” Oliver answered as he stroked Claudia’s face. All Oliver cared about? Seeing Claudia well. If anything had happened to her— “Are you injured beyond this stab wound?” Oliver asked worriedly.

“No. A few slaps. Nothing more,” Claudia rasped weakly.

Thank God for that. Yes, they would hear the rest of the story. And if Danaher were the cause of her injuries, Oliver would see to it that he paid—with his very life.

Oliver continued to stroke her cheek and hair. “We found you. That is all that matters. I was bereft to hear you hadn’t turned up. I—” He spoke in an emotional rush, his heart exposed. Oliver glanced up at Mitchell, who had an eyebrow raised at Oliver’s passionate tone.

To hell with someone listening in.

“If anything had happened to you, I would have broken into pieces. I would be a complete wreck,” Oliver continued, looking down at Claudia. “You are safe. I have you.”

Claudia took his hand and squeezed. “Oh, Oliver,” she whispered, her voice raw. Her emotions hovered at the surface, ready to spill over. He could see it.

He leaned in closer, as much as his injury would allow. “I want you in my arms, always. I am falling for you, Claudia Ellingford. I am absolutely smitten. You have captured my heart.”

Claudia closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. A lone tear escaped and trailed down her pale cheek.

Oliver continued to hold her, caressing her hair. He understood if she spoke, Claudia would lose control. In light of that, he would not say any more here.

Forget pain. Forget the fever and other aches. 

Claudia was safe and in his arms. That is all that mattered.