What Angels Fear: A Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery

stopped, swinging back around, one hand coming up to clutch his hat tighter to his head. “And if’n the gov’nor don’t come?”
    “Remind him what happened to Rachel York and Mary Grant,” said Wilcox, taking Kat’s arm and drawing her close to him with a firm grip. “He’ll come.”

     
    Sebastian was changing his clothes in his room at the Rose and Crown when Tom came hurtling through the door, bringing with him the cold stench of the foggy night.
    “God save us, gov’nor, but ’e’s nabbed her,” panted the boy, his eyes wide, his thin chest jerking with the effort to draw breath. “E’s nabbed Miss Kat.”
    Sebastian whipped about. “ What ? What are you saying?
    “Yer nevy’s papa. Lord Wilcox. Grabbed her right outside her ’ouse, he did, and give me this ’ere message for you. Said I was to tell you—”
    Sebastian snatched the sealed missive from the boy’s outstretched hand and tore it open, his gaze scanning the cramped lines.
I have in my possession an item which I believe is of considerable interest to you. You may claim this item in person at the Prosperity Trading Company warehouse, below the Hermitage Dock. The rapidity of your response will ensure that the item remains undamaged.
    Needless to say, you will come alone and unarmed. The consequences otherwise would be swift and unfortunate.
    Sebastian felt a torrent of rage and fear sweep through him, a sick mingling of hot and cold that stole his breath and twisted at something vital deep within him. He knew Tom was still speaking, but the words were lost in the roaring in Sebastian’s ears.
    He lifted his head to look directly at the boy. “What? Say that again.”
    Something in Sebastian’s face made the boy take a step back, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath and swallowed hard. “It’s ’im, isn’t it? He’s the cove what you’ve been lookin’ for, the one what’s been killin’ them women. ’E said I was to remind you o’ what happened to them other two morts. Rachel York and Mary Grant.”
    “ Oh, Jesus. ” Sebastian flung aside the note and grabbed his boots.
    Behind him, Tom darted forward to pick up the fallen paper, his mouth moving soundlessly as he struggled to decipher the words. He looked up, his brows twitching together, his breathing still ragged. “You can’t be meaning to go there? To this wharf?”
    Sebastian shoved one foot into a boot. He hadn’t realized the boy knew how to read. “What would you suggest I do instead?”
    “But it’s a trap!”
    “So I am aware.”
    “What you thinkin’ yer gonna do? Just walk into it?”
    “Not if I can help it.” He paused to grasp the boy’s shoulders. “But in case something should happen to me, I want you to go to my father, the Earl of Hendon. Tell him as much of the tale as you can.”
    Tom’s nostrils flared as he jerked in air. “No earl’s gonna believe me! Not some snatcher off the streets.”
    “Show him the note. It’s a pity it isn’t signed, but then, Wilcox is no fool.”
    An unexpected gleam of delight danced in the boy’s eyes. “I lifted—” He broke off when Sebastian held up a warning hand. “What is it? What’d you ’ear?”
    Coat in hand, Sebastian crossed swiftly to listen at the door. “Did someone follow you here?” The sounds were distant but unmistakable: a quickly hushed whisper, the soft and careful tread of men upon the stairs.
    “No.” Tom’s eyes went wide. “But I seen a beak sittin’ in the taproom when I come in. I got the feelin’ ’e was waitin’ for someone.”
    The footsteps were in the hall now.
    Sebastian shrugged into his coat and started across the room. “I think we’ll go out the window,” he said, just as glass shattered and the casement frame flew in on a gust of cold, smoke-tinged air.
    “Bloody hell,” swore Sebastian. Snatching up the straight-backed chair from the table, he smashed it into the chest of the black-bearded man whose bulky torso had appeared at the shattered window. The man gave a grunt and disappeared. Sebastian was swinging what was left of the chair at a second man’s gut when he heard a key grating in the door behind him. He swore again. Damn that innkeeper.
    Chair still in hand, Sebastian spun to the door and found himself facing the big, blond-headed constable he remembered from that fatal night in Brook Street. “Tom, run ,” said Sebastian over his shoulder as he and Edward Maitland circled each other, both men crouched and