letter at this distance. Melanie pushed herself to her feet. Charles’s hand closed on her wrist. “We can’t do any good. And if we’re seen, we may do harm. Roth will find us.”
Melanie subsided into her chair, hands gripped together in her lap. Each second tightened the knot in her throat and chest. The Bow Street Patrol in the brown hat and coat had gone, though the one with the applecart was still there. Perhaps it was her imagination, but his shoulders seemed to have a dejected droop. At last, Roth came into the coffeehouse, followed by Edgar, and by Raoul and Addison, whom he must have collected from across the square.
One look at Roth’s face told all they needed to know. “You lost her?” Charles asked.
Roth grimaced, then frowned. “How did you know it was a woman?”
“Melanie spotted her. It was too late to do anything.”
Roth dropped into a chair. The others did likewise. “Hilton and Renford didn’t realize it until they saw the letter was gone. By that time she was lost in the crowd—I suspect she caused the commotion with the donkey, though I can’t be sure of it. Hilton and Renford were looking for a man. We all were. Even so, they should have been more watchful.” He struck his palm against the tabletop.
“It’s done.” Charles drew the frayed remnants of his self-command about him. “We proceed to the next part of the plan.”
On Roth’s suggestion, in the coded message they had instructed the people holding Colin to bring him to St. Albans Court, off Salisbury Street, near the docks, at midnight that night.
“It’s a good setting,” Roth now said. He had recovered from his burst of anger. He pulled his notebook and pencil from his pocket, tore out a sheet of paper, and spread it on the table. “There was a bad fire last summer, and it’s not a part of town where repairs are done quickly. The houses are unoccupied. The two at the front form a passageway. Their front doors open onto the street, their back doors onto the court.” He inched his paper toward the light from the window and drew a quick sketch. “Two more houses front on either side of the court, two at the back. Once we get them to bring the boy into the court, my men can close off the passageway and we’ll have them pinned.”
“Won’t they be suspicious when they don’t see Carevalo in the court?” Edgar asked.
“They’ll think they do see him.” Melanie looked at Raoul. “Let’s see if your Carevalo impersonation is as good as it used to be.”
Raoul turned to her, his voice slurred, his shoulders set with Carevalo’s swagger. “My dear Mrs. Fraser, I’d hardly call it an impersonation.”
“Good lord.” Surprise momentarily overcame Edgar’s distaste for Raoul. “That’s him to the life.”
Charles nodded. “Before dawn, with O’Roarke in a dark cloak, in the doorway of one of the burned-out houses, it should be enough to draw them into the court. He won’t have to keep it up for more than a minute or so. They won’t have weapons drawn. We’ll get Colin safely away.” He looked at Roth. “Then you can arrest them, though that’s the least of my concerns.”
Roth nodded. “It’s as foolproof a plan as we can devise.”
“Quite.” Charles’s gaze swept the five of them with the level intensity of a commander before a battle. “This is the night that makes us or fordoes us quite. We all know the parts we’re to play. There’s no room for error.”
St. Albans Court was a comforting mass of shadows, lit only by the cloud-shrouded moonlight that slipped between the tall, close-set buildings and shone against the cracked, grimy cobblestones. Melanie shifted her shoulder against the charred wall and twisted her neck so she had a better view out the window. She and Charles were in the left-hand of the two houses that fronted on the street and backed onto the court. The interior was little more than a burned-out shell, half the first floor missing, fragments of wallpaper clinging to charred beams, floorboards rotted away to reveal gaping holes beneath. It was difficult to tell what the room they were in had once been, but it had a wide window that afforded a good view of the court. Half of one of the panes was gone, letting in the chill air and the creaks and stirrings of the night.
Raoul leaned in a doorjamb on the far side of the court, swathed in a hooded cloak, his posture aping Carevalo’s casual sprawl instead of his own catlike elegance. Roth and Edgar were in a house to the right. Addison and four of Roth’s men were scattered about the other buildings, while another Bow Street Patrol kept watch on the street at the mouth of the passageway.
A pigeon fluttered from the broken rafters, flapped its wings, and settled again. A gust of wind rattled through the window, ruffled the clouds over the moon, bit through the thin velvet of her cloak. It wasn’t possible to talk, let alone look at a watch, but surely it must be past midnight. She felt as if she were being pulled a dozen different directions at once.
Time dragged on, grating on her nerves, fraying the already frayed threads of her sanity. She felt the vibration of Charles’s breath on her neck, less regular than it had been a few minutes before.
And then a foot thudded on pavement, and a shadow and a flutter of cloak flashed into view at the far corner of the window. The breath froze in her throat.
Raoul turned his head. “Evans?”
“No, it’s me.” A woman’s voice, low and clear. She walked a few feet farther into the court, fully visible now from their vantage point. No small person stood beside her. Melanie suppressed a stir of agony. Charles squeezed her shoulder, part comfort, part reassurance, part warning.
“I see.” Raoul’s voice had just Carevalo’s note of frustrated impatience. “I believe I asked for the boy. Where is he?”
“Jack’s waiting with him off yonder. We want our money.”
“But of course.” Raoul held up a bag.
The woman took a step forward.
“Not so fast, my dear.” Raoul’s voice stopped her, the lazy drawl giving way to sword-cut sharpness in a way that was pure Carevalo. “I don’t entirely trust those pretty hands of yours not to be armed. And if you think I have any intention of handing over this money before you deliver the boy, you’re very much mistaken.”
The woman stopped ten feet away from him. Her back was to them, but Melanie could see her fold her arms over her chest. “It’s not so simple, your lordship. Seeing as how bloody much work we’ve been put to, the price’s gone up.”
“Damnation,” said Raoul, though they had in fact anticipated such an eventuality.
“Seems to me the boy’s worth a king’s ransom, given the fuss you’ve made.”
“Seven hundred pounds.” It was a guess, rounding up from what they thought Evans and his partner might have been offered. Raoul had a thousand with him, procured that afternoon from their startled banker.
“Two thousand.”
Fear and anger washed over Melanie like a cold sweat.
“That’s outrageous.” She felt Raoul funneling his outrage through Carevalo’s personality.
“And hacking off that kid’s finger wasn’t?” The woman’s voice had a sting of anger.
“That’s my business.”
“And the money is ours.”
Charles squeezed Melanie’s shoulder again. They could not risk speech, but the message was clear.
“You bloody bitch.” Raoul sounded on the edge of losing control. Melanie suspected it was not entirely an act. “I don’t have that much with me.”
“Get it.”
Melanie held herself immobile. She heard the faint scrape of the door behind her. Charles had gone into the street.
“You give me the boy.” Raoul’s words sounded as though they came from between clenched teeth. “I’ll give you a thousand tonight and get the rest tomorrow.”
The woman gave a harsh laugh. “Do you think I’m a blithering idiot, your lordship?”
“I don’t see your options.”
“Go to your precious banker and get the rest of the blunt. Meet us here tomorrow night. We’ll bring the brat.”
“That does not suit my plans, madam.”
