Now Hawker was following the other carriage through the streets sandwiched between the Strand and the Thames. Several conveyances separated them, and the view was obscured by the thick layer of fog rising off the river. Angling to keep an eye on Ben’s carriage, Livy tapped her foot in a restless rhythm.
Where are they taking Ben? she thought frantically. What is their plan?
“Bleeding ’ell,” Hawker bit out.
He swerved to avoid a produce wagon that had emerged from a side street and straight into their path. Livy grabbed onto the side of the perch, holding on for dear life as the carriage tilted, skidding on the edge of its wheels. The horses neighed in fright, but Hawker managed to keep the carriage upright through the hail of cabbages and carrots. They came to a juddering stop.
“Everyone all right?” Hawker barked.
From the cabin, Glory and Fi called out, “We’re fine!”
Heart pounding, Livy strained to see ahead. “We’ve lost the other carriage. We have to find it!”
Hawker picked up the reins, and they sped off. Livy’s stomach sank as she saw no sign of the vehicle carrying Hadleigh. It could have gone down any of the small dark lanes branching off the arterial route.
Glory poked her head out of the carriage window. She’d taken off her cap and wig, her hair streaming in the wind. “Do you see the carriage?”
“No,” Livy said desperately. “If they mean to do Ben harm, where would they take him?”
Fi’s head appeared next to Glory’s. “If he’s drunk, they could dump him into the river. Make it look like he fell in and drowned.”
A likely ploy. Where would the villains go to do the heinous deed, to make it appear like an accident instead of foul play? Livy’s mind raced through the closest places…
“Waterloo Bridge!” she and her friends exclaimed as one.
Hawker reacted by pulling a sharp right. The bridge was mere blocks away, infamous in recent years for a spate of accidental deaths and suicides taking place there. Indeed, Waterloo Bridge had been immortalized in “The Bridge of Sighs,” a poem about a woman’s tragic taking of her own life. They arrived at the granite bridge, the lamps on its span illuminating a smattering of vehicles and people crossing on foot.
“How would the villains toss Ben in without anyone seeing?” Livy muttered.
“I see them. The embankment, to the right of the bridge,” Hawker said.
He drove them toward the spot where the other carriage was parked. Livy made out two figures in the swirling mist. They were standing on the edge of the embankment. They hoisted something between them and heaved it into the river.
Seeing and hearing the heavy splash, Livy felt terror flood her being.
The sound of their approach tipped off the scoundrels.
“’Urry, let’s get out of ’ere!” The figures dove into their carriage, the vehicle speeding off.
By the time Hawker brought the carriage to a halt seconds later, Livy had stripped off her jacket and shoes. She ran toward the river, her gaze trained on the dark waves where she’d seen Ben go under. She heard the others shouting at her, but there was no time to spare. Scrambling up the embankment, she dove in.
She fought the cold currents, slicing her arms through the water. It was dark, and she could hardly see, but she guessed she had to be close to where Ben had landed. Taking a breath, she dove under. She waved her arms out blindly, hoping against hope to find him. When her air ran out, she surfaced, gasping for breath. Then she went under again. And again.
With each successive dive, her fear and panic grew.
Where are you, my love? Help me find you. Don’t let go.
The chill numbed her limbs. She fought off fatigue, staring over the dark mirror of the river with burning eyes. At that moment, a light from a passing barge swept over the water’s surface, and she saw something bobbing in the water some fifty yards away, the current pushing it through the third arch of the bridge.
Ben.
She cut through the water with determined strokes. She pushed herself past cold, past exhaustion, past fear. Her mind and body were united in a single purpose: get to Ben.
She reached him, turning him over. His eyes were closed.
“Ben!” Frantically, she checked for the pulse at the side of his neck. His skin was horrifyingly icy. When she felt the faint leap beneath her fingertips, relief poured through her. Then she looked for the shore; the fog had thickened, and all she could see was water.
I will get us to safety. Hold on, my love.
With one arm hooked around Ben, Livy used the other to paddle. It was a struggle: she had to keep Ben’s face above the waves, and her energy was sapping. She felt heavier and heavier, the chill burning into her bones. Her strokes slowed, the fog pressing down upon her, watery chains dragging on her arms and legs…
“Livy! Hold on, we’re almost there!”
Livy blinked, disoriented. Glory’s voice—where was it coming from? An instant later, the prow of a lighter cut through the thick mist, Hawker rowing, and Fi and Glory leaning over the side. The Angels hauled Ben and Livy into the boat.
“Ben, wake up.” Livy knelt at Ben’s side, shaking him. She asked fretfully, “Why isn’t he responding?”
“Reckon he drank too much o’ the Thames.” Kneeling on the other side, Hawker placed his large palms on Ben’s chest, pressing down in quick succession.
Water spewed from Ben’s mouth, and he began to cough.
“Ben.” Heat trickled down Livy’s cheeks.
“He’ll live,” Hawker announced, stripping off his jacket and bundling it around Ben. “But we need to get the two of you somewhere warm straightaway.”
An awful pounding awakened Ben. It came from inside his head,
