Chapter 20

Twenty

I fought and I kicked, and cursed. And discovered even with my training in the Far East, I was no match for a man as tall as Brodie but thicker of build, a butcher by trade, who was no doubt accustomed to handling carcasses of hogs and beef.

I was unable to throw a jab or my knee at him. I dropped my bag, however any attempt to sweep his feet was completely futile.

I continued to protest and curse, and managed to remind him that Brodie was the one who would be able to get him into England. All of it to no avail as he carried me, kicking and protesting, into the dark alleyway beside the opera house and threw me into the back of a wagon, the wood boards scraping my cheek.

How did he come by the wagon? Who did it belong to?

We had to wait for Brodie!

"A man I know in the city. He hauls things for people," he replied as he pushed me down into the bottom of the wagon that smelled suspiciously of animals, his knee at my back.

He grabbed one wrist then the other and bound my hands, then bound my ankles as I tried to kick out at him.

"We must go."

When I would have protested, he tied a cloth over my mouth and we left that part of the city...and Brodie.

The wagon eventually rolled to a stop. I tried to sit up, and felt a large hand at my shoulder pushing me back into the bottom of the wagon.

I caught the glow of a street lamp, and heard the familiar sounds of a train station, and knew we were quite nearby.

Brodie would be there. He had to be, however, instead of being released I was pinned once more in the bottom of the wagon. I was then rolled onto my side, a heavy carpet that smelled of grease and all sorts of other things thrown over me.

"It is best that no one sees you." Karl said. "I know these kinds of men. They will be looking for you. I am sorry. Do not struggle."

Do not struggle? I would have if it would do any good. It didn't. And where was my bag with those documents?

We knew almost nothing about Karl. We were taking it on faith that he was determined to reach England. How easy would it be for him to take the documents then sell them himself?

With that, unable to protest or defend myself, I was rolled again onto my other side, that carpet tucked around me in a tight cocoon that smothered my face.

It was hot and stifling inside the carpet as I was then hoisted once again over Karl's shoulder.

I was caught, trapped, and there was nothing I could do as I was jostled over his shoulder, barely able to breathe. I thought of the knife in my boot, impossible to reach. Yet the first chance I got…

He stopped, adjusting me in that stifling carpet on his shoulder as easily as he might have hoisted a carcass ready for the butcher's cleaver. I caught a muffled conversation in a mixture of German and English as I struggled to breathe.

"Ja, the baggage car for this," he told someone as he adjusted me over his shoulder.

I heard the sound of a heavy door rolled back. He clamped an arm around the rug, then continued a short way with some effort. We stopped again and he pulled the rolled carpet from his shoulder, and with a grunt of effort lowered that bundle with me trapped inside.

Were we in the baggage car?

There was a sharp slam of a heavy door, the distant sound of a train whistle muffled by that musty carpet, then a jarring motion as the train began to move.

No!

The tears came then, stinging at my eyes, then hot at my face and tight at my throat. I wanted to scream but couldn't as I lay there bound with that tight cloth over my mouth in that moldy rotting carpet.

Where was Brodie? Had Szábo and his people caught him?

There was a brief thought about that short man who had attacked me in Paris. Then it was gone as I thought of Brodie.

What would happen to him now? Was he even still alive?

I told him to trust me, and he had...The floor jolted and swayed beneath me as the train gradually picked up speed.

I tried to scream, choking on my tears, smothered by the heat inside the carpet.

After everything that had happened...

The air was knocked out of me as I was rolled over, the carpet coming loose about me. I was then rolled out into a disheveled pile at the floor of the lurching baggage car, the light from a nearby lantern almost painful.

The cloth was pushed down from my mouth. I cursed, but it was nothing more than a dry croak. My hair had come down and it was pushed back from my face. That dark gaze met mine.

"You need to take care, Herr Brodie" Karl warned. "She has a temper. She kicks like a mule, and I have never heard a woman curse like that."

"Aye," Brodie replied. "She does have a temper."

There was a great deal I wanted to say. Several curses came to mind as he pulled me against him, a hand going back through my tangled hair.

"Next time, ye need to tell me yer plans. Ye verra near got us both killed."

I was dirty from wherever that carpet had been before it was tossed in that wagon. My shirtwaist was torn from being hauled about by the butcher; my cheek throbbed. And the rope cut into my wrists.

"A hundred thousand pounds?" he then said, as he cut the rope with his knife. "Sir Avery? Something ye should have told me."

"Not Sir Avery," I finally managed to say as my voice returned. "I don't trust him after…"

I was about to say when he refused to help Brodie at first in that last inquiry case, after Chief Inspector Abberline had him arrested on charges of murder and badly beaten.

He gently touched my bruised cheek. "If not Sir Avery, how did ye get the guarantee for that amount of money?"

I saw as the answer came to him, that dark gaze narrowing. He slowly shook his head.

"You know," I told him. " She is quite fond of you, and there are the rumors…"

He shook his head. "Aye, that she is wealthier than the Queen. Do ye mean to tell me that these thieves now have her money?"

I managed a smile. "It is only important that they think they have the payment."

After everything the past months, that previous case, his anger when I left for Africa, my certainty that we were too different, that he didn't understand...

He did understand. And he had trusted me, although admittedly I should have told him about the amount I was going to bid to win that auction.

And more if necessary. It was the only way I saw of obtaining those documents.

"It worked," I said as he bent to cut the rope around my ankles.

"Aye, it worked."

"My bag?" Had it been lost when I was attacked by that ‘mad butcher'?

"It is here, miss," Karl assured me. "It is good that I didn't have to make a choice to save you or the bag that is so important."

That could only have been something Brodie told him.

We spent the rest of the night in the baggage car as the train continued on to Paris.

There, we caught a connecting train to Calais where I made use of the accommodation facilities as best could be done on a rolling, rocking train. From there we caught the ferry across the channel, and a train from Dover back to London.

When we finally arrived, Karl Schneider immediately left to join his family, but not without enormous gratitude.

Brodie arranged to meet him the following day at the German Gymnasium, once Brodie had the opportunity to meet with Sir Avery. He'd keep his word that he would make certain Karl was allowed to remain in London.

We were both exhausted and bruised. Myself from that wagon ride across the city of Frankfurt to the rail station in time to take that last train of the night to Paris. Brodie from fighting his way out of the opera house after encountering two guards that one of the gentlemen bidders had sent after him.

I didn't want to go to the town house. There would have been too many questions from my housekeeper.

Nor was I ready to answer endless questions about the resolution of the case, most particularly that auction, from my great-aunt; there would be time enough for that later. Nor questions from Lily with her avid curiosity.

"Sir Avery?" I asked, as it was necessary for us to eventually meet with him in the matter of the case.

However, after sending Karl off to join his family, Brodie gave our driver instructions to take us to the office on the Strand.

Mr. Cavendish nodded a welcome, guarding the street entrance below should anyone arrive asking for either of us, while Rupert the hound settled himself outside the door to the office at the second-floor landing.

Once inside the office, Brodie poured some of my great-aunt's very fine whisky into two glass tumblers.

He emptied his glass and that dark gaze met mine.

"It's time to go to bed."

"It's barely past noon," I pointed out, hardly a respectable time to be abed.

He took my empty glass, set it on the table beside his, then took my hand as he led me to what served as a bedroom.

"There could be a scandal," I said then, my voice quite husky.

It could have been the whisky, that smothering ride rolled inside that filthy carpet on that insane trip across the city, or...that dark gaze that looked back at me now.

"Aye," he replied. "There could be. Do ye care?"

"Not at all," I replied.