Chapter Forty-One

Mere footprints can't prove this absolutely is Muir, but it sure as hell seems to be. Either he followed Florence or he knows she came down here. He approaches from the opposite direction. He "bumps" into her, which would be annoying, but she needs to be civil.

Wasn't that what she'd said in one of our first meetings? That she can't help thinking if those opposing the Seven got to know them, they would see that they were earnest and intelligent young women, no threat to them? It's a nice thought, and I can't count how many times I've had the same one. The hope that someone prejudiced against you would change their mind if they got to know you. I've won over older cops, either resistant to women on the force or resistant to working with "a millennial." That didn't mean they changed their minds about women or millennials. I was just different. An anomaly.

These women cops, expecting us to change things to suit them, can't even joke around on the job anymore. Oh, I don't mean you, Atkinson. You're different.

These millennials, don't know the meaning of hard work, blowing all their money on avocado toast. Oh, I don't mean you, Atkinson. You're different.

Lord Muir allegedly bumps into Florence. Maybe he says he's made a wrong turn. Maybe he's a bit anxious, being down here alone. He asks her to accompany him. Or she offers, because that's the young woman she is.

So what would be his plan? Why waylay Florence King? Does he still think she killed Sir Alastair? Is this more amateur sleuthing? Or something more sinister?

Once the footprints cross the bridge, they veer off the path onto a bare strip leading to…

"A tunnel?" I whisper to Gray.

He doesn't answer, which means he isn't sure either. All I can tell for sure is that the footprints lead to a gate under a building. A metal gate. And right at the edge of it, the footprints change, no longer two sets but a flurry of scuffs and drags that dig down into the dirt.

This is the spot where Florence realized something was wrong and tried to get the hell out of there. The arched metal entrance is shut but not locked, though a padlock hangs there.

I pocket the lock. Gray starts to lift his brows and then stops, remembering I've done the same thing before. Leaving an unclasped padlock behind is practically an invitation to trap me inside.

We slip through into darkness. Complete darkness, and I have to resist the urge to light a match. Wherever we are, it smells of damp earth, and when I scuff my boot, that's what I feel under it.

Gray eases the gate shut behind us. Once it's closed, I can make out the tiniest glow ahead. I get two steps before a voice sounds. Gray grabs my arm to hold me back, as if I might break into a run. I shake my head and focus on the voice, trying to make it out while an odd echo distorts it.

It's Muir. Undoubtedly Lord Muir. When another voice answers, I mentally curse.

Emmett King.

We ease forward, taking each step with care.

"I want you to fix this," Emmett is saying. "You promised you would fix any problems."

"Which is what I am doing, boy."

"You said you would talk to her. That if she figured out anything, I ought to tell you immediately, and you would speak to her."

Silence.

Emmett's voice rises. "You were supposed to take her back to your home for a conversation. This is not your home, and this is not a conversation."

"On the contrary. You and I seem to be having a conversation. Clearing up an obvious misunderstanding."

As they talk, we move forward. We finally reach what looks like a door, one that's strangely new for this old underground place. It's solid metal, and there's a hasp for a padlock, but no lock is there, and the door is slightly ajar, with a wavering light shining through.

"What misunderstanding?" Emmett is saying as I eye the opening, trying to determine whether I can peek through without being spotted.

"I said I would deal with it," Muir says. "Not that I would speak to her. That I would deal with her. That is what I am doing. She figured out what you have done—"

"She realized I cheated on the examination. That is all."

Despite the echo, I can tell the voices come from the far side of the room, and I decide a peek is safe. I crouch and put my eye near the opening. Inside is a storage room, solid construction, filled with crates and boxes.

This wasn't just a convenient spot to take Florence after Muir accosted her. Muir knew about this place, might even own it. He'd waited until she was close before he bumped into her on her walk.

When I shift, I can see Florence. She's bound and gagged and left sitting under a lantern, while the two men talk nearby, out of my sight. Her gaze is on them, her eyes wide.

"Well, that is a misunderstanding, indeed," Muir says in his smooth voice. "I thought you said she knew everything."

"No, I was very clear on that. I said she figured out that I had cheated on my exams, and that I wanted your help making sure she didn't learn anything more."

"That is what I am doing. Making sure she doesn't learn anything more."

"By taking her hostage?" Emmett says, voice rising. "She is my wife."

"Whom you married only for how she could help your studies. She is a dedicated scholar, from a group of dedicated scholars, all of whom would happily help you if you pretended to support their cause. Your wife would coach you and even write your papers, while you chased far more enjoyable pursuits, like ale and pretty girls. And then, when you finished your schooling, her father would take you on as an apprentice doctor. He can hardly refuse his son-in-law, can he? No matter how terrible a student the lad was."

Muir pauses. "Oh, I am sorry, Mrs. King. Is all that news to you? Did you think Emmett married you for love? No, you had begun to fear otherwise, which is why you stopped writing his papers and coaching him for exams. Your betrayal forced him to cheat. I hope you take responsibility for that. It is your job, as a wife, to assist your husband, and you did not. Look where it led him. He cheated on his exams and was caught, and then he—"

"No!" Emmett says.

"—murdered Sir Alastair. Oh, did you not know that either, Mrs. King? Dear me. That happens when you grow old, my dear. You just blather on."

"You sent me to murder him," Emmett grinds out. "You knew Sir Alastair had caught me cheating, and you offered me a way out, complete with a sizable payment. You told me where to find the tunnel and where to find him. You told me to pretend I came to plead my case, as if the servants had let me in, and then kill him and wrap him up like a mummy."

"I did not tell you to take the mummy bits, lad, and that is where it all went wrong. I promised you money, but you got greedy. You took the mummy, and the police are now at your apartment, waiting for you. There is only one way out of this. Flee the country. I will help, in acknowledgment of the service you've done me. Your wife, however? She cannot follow. She would not. She will be your undoing if we let her live."

I tug Gray's arm so I can whisper into his ear. "You are hearing all this?"

"Yes. Can you see them?"

"Just Mrs. King."

"That is enough," he says. "I propose we slip inside, and I will divert the men while you rescue her."

I nod. That was exactly what I was going to suggest. I have no doubt Gray can handle the elderly Lord Muir and young Emmett King. If he has trouble, I'll be there to help, but I'm fine with leaving the fight to him. Getting Florence out of there is the priority.

I move back to the door gap and analyze what I can see through it. The two men seem to be behind stacks of boxes. The light is inside the room. That means they shouldn't notice the door opening.

I test the hinges. If they squeak, I'll need to wait for Emmett's louder voice before I open the door. When he speaks again, arguing for his wife's life, I ease the door open another inch. It doesn't make any sound. Nor does either man notice. They're too wrapped up in their drama, Emmett insisting that Florence will flee with him while Muir mocks his naiveté.

I pull the door another inch and then another, until it is open enough for me and Gray to creep through.

"Go on ahead," Gray says. "You get into position to protect her, and then I will storm—"

He turns, and only as he moves do I hear a noise behind him. Gray spins, fist flying out just as a huge shape lunges at him. Gray's fist makes contact, knocking the shape backward, but then another shadow grabs him. I fly at the second figure. I'm hitting blind, striking out in the near-darkness and praying I'm not hitting Gray.

Someone grabs me from behind. I kick and start to twist, but I'm already sailing through the air, thrown against the door, knocking it fully open and tumbling through.

I hit the ground, and my brain screams that this is the worst possible outcome. I've been practicing fighting in skirts and corset, and one thing I've learned—particularly if my opponent is male—is to stay on my damned feet. Once I'm flat on the ground, it takes work to get back up. I can't just vault to my feet, the way I would in my old body, my old clothing.

When I hit the floor, the first thing I do is yank up my skirts and flip over. That puts my bare knees on the ground, and from there, I can propel myself up. Or I would, if my attacker didn't use the opportunity to grab the back of my dress. There's a huge difference between fighting an actual opponent and sparring with Simon, who'll give me that second to get on my feet.

My attacker hauls me up, clearly ready to throw me again. I kick backward as hard as I can. My foot connects with his stomach, given his oomph of pain. I kick again, harder, and here's where Victorian clothing is better than modern-day, because a hard-soled boot in the gut is much more effective than a sneaker. One more kick, this one aimed lower, and with a yowl, the man releases me.

I start falling and somehow manage to land on my feet, if awkwardly. I spin to see a huge man, like the one McCreadie arrested. He's red-faced, doubled over, clutching the front of his trousers and spouting words I've never heard, all aimed at me.

I charge and punch him in the side of the head. That takes him down. Behind him, Gray and his equally outsized opponent are inside the storage room and circling each other, both breathing hard, blood flowing from the other man's nose, Gray's lip split.

I'm charging in to help when there's a blur of motion beside me. A third man, smaller than the others. Shit! I forgot about Emmett.

I wheel, but it's not Emmett. It's Muir, and he's at the door. No, he's going out the door.

I leave Gray to his fight. His opponent might outweigh him, but Gray has it under control. I charge toward Muir and reach the door just as he slams it shut.

There's no handle on the inside. I push the door. Something clicks outside it. I shove hard, throwing myself against the door as my brain flashes an image of that empty padlock latch.

I'd grabbed the one on the exterior door, but the second one had been empty. Because Muir had it.

The door doesn't budge. Muir has snapped the padlock into place… leaving us locked in here with his two goons and Emmett King.

I spin toward Gray, who has his opponent in a headlock. Damn. I wish I'd seen how he managed that.

"Rope," Gray says, jerking his chin as he grits his teeth with the effort of holding the man.

I follow his gaze to see extra rope from when they bound Florence. I'm grabbing it when my former attacker stumbles toward me. Nice try, but he isn't walking too well, and a hard kick to his kneecap takes him down.

I bind the hands of Gray's opponent while Gray keeps an eye on mine, who has realized that damn door is shut and decided that's now his bigger concern. He's slamming meaty fists against the metal and shouting for Muir.

Once the other man's hands are bound, Gray says, "Emmett?"

"He must have run with Lord Muir."

Gray grunts and strides to the man still pounding on the door, so intent on his shouting that Gray has only to grab his hand. Well, grab his hand and throw him down, and then I help him wrestle the man onto his stomach and bind his hands.

When we have the man bound, I exhale. "Okay, so the next step is—"

"Getting me out of here," a voice says from across the room.

I look toward Florence, but she's gone and that wasn't her voice. I take a careful step around a pile of boxes to find Emmett with a rope around his wife's neck, his foot on her back.

"You are going to find a way out of here," he says, gaze fixed on Gray. "And you are going to let me leave first. Otherwise, I kill her."

Didn't he just argue with Muir to keep Florence alive? Surely he won't kill her.

But it's not that simple. He also led Muir to her, and he can claim he thought Muir was only going to talk to her, but how much of that speech was for her sake, so she wouldn't go to her grave cursing his name? Or for his own ego, telling himself he wasn't that evil, and if Muir killed her, at least he'd protested.

I don't think Emmett wants Florence dead. He might even care for her, in his way. You don't marry someone just to help you through medical school and get you a job. He doesn't want her dead, but if she has to die to protect him? Well, a man has priorities, right?

Emmett keeps talking to Gray. Variations on a theme. I'll kill her if you don't let me leave. Really. I mean it.

He's paying no attention to me. None at all.

I ease back. Emmett doesn't look over. Gray says something. I don't catch what it is, only trust that Gray realizes what I'm doing and continues holding Emmett's attention. I keep moving until I'm back around that pile of boxes.

As I creep across the room, I pass one of the bound henchmen. He's not gagged. He could warn Emmett. But he only glares at me and sets his jaw. He's not getting involved. There's nothing in it for him.

When Emmett's voice rises, I peer between two crates. Gray has advanced a step, and it's freaking Emmett out. I double-check my trajectory. I wish I could catch Gray's eye, but he's intent on his own part of the ruse—keeping Emmett's attention.

I reach up, count to two, and then shove the boxes.

The stack crashes over. Emmett yelps, and I catch sight of him staggering back, dropping the rope. Gray lunges and shoves him away from Florence. I push through the remaining boxes while Gray subdues Emmett. That happens quickly enough, and by the time I have the ropes off Florence's hands, I can pass them to Gray to bind Emmett.

"It's true then." Those are Florence's first words when I remove the gag. "He killed Sir Alastair."

That is what stands out for her, in all of this. Not that Muir wanted her dead or that Emmett threatened to strangle her. Maybe none of that came as a surprise. After all, there's still dried blood under her nose from where Emmett struck her earlier this evening.

What has tears in her eyes is knowing that Emmett killed a man, not in a fit of rage, but to save himself from expulsion and earn some money. I have a feeling that marriage to Emmett King had already been an erosion of hope for Florence. A dawning understanding of why he'd married her. Without divorce as an option, she had to deal with it and soldier on. Maybe he'd change. Maybe he'd get his degree and a job with her father and the stress would ease and he'd be a better man for it, the man she thought she'd married.

Now, with this revelation, her hope evaporates, and she drops her head in silent tears.

With the three men secured and Florence asking, softly, to be left alone, we have one more task. Getting out of this storage room. I don't think Florence has fully realized we're trapped in a windowless underground room, and I'm not telling her until I have to.

We circle the room, checking every bit of the walls, but it's as tightly constructed as it seems.

"The only way out is that door," I say. "With a padlock on the other side."

Gray squares his shoulders. "Then we need to open that padlock. I'll batter the door until it breaks."

"Or we could ask one of them to do it." I nod toward the two behemoths watching us.

"I volunteer," one rumbles.

"Yes," Gray says, "and once you have it open, you will run. No, I shall do this myself and—"

"And save the day?" a voice says as the door swings open and McCreadie walks through. "This time, Duncan, I have saved the day. And saved you, using fine detective work to track you down."

"Because we told Iain we were following Mrs. King," I say.

"Still required detective work to actually find you."

I smile. "It did. But you'll want to go after Lord Muir. He's the one who locked us in here and—"

"Iain has him right outside."

"Fine detective work," I say.

He doffs his hat in a bow. "Thank you. Now tell me what we have here."