"Very well, thank you. I should be done in another day or two."
"Excellent. I can't wait for you to read it to me so I can enjoy the fruits of your labors."
But of course, I had no intention of sharing Moribundus's treatise on ancient artifacts of power with her. And not just because she would think it was ancient Egypt's version of a penny dreadful—the grimoire was too full of ugly, dangerous magic to even think of uttering aloud.
When we stepped outside, we were met by a brisk if biting wind. I noticed there were quite a lot of people milling about in the square. It took me a moment to recognize Will, who was masquerading as a chimney sweep, his face half covered in soot. When our eyes met, he doffed his cap.
To the right of the museum entrance, a wide, stocky man in an ill-fitting morning suit sat on a bench under a beech tree. He looked vaguely familiar, and I finally realized it was Ned Gerton, code name Befen. Loitering in the doorway across the street was Basil Whiting (Mestafet), and Peter Fell (Petet) manned a pie cart.
Just what I needed—a troop of occultists following me about.
I glanced back at Will, wondering what he'd make of all the extra gentlemen, as I hadn't had a chance to explain yet about the scorpions, but my pulse quickened at the tall, lean form lurking against a lamppost a few feet behind him. The Grim Nipper!
"Theodosia? Are we going to walk or loiter?" Miss Sharpe's voice called my attention back to the matter at hand, and together we began to walk toward Cavendish Square. I couldn't help but wonder if Will even knew the Grim Nipper was there. It was clear that drastic action on my part was called for.
Grateful for the barrier of my heavy woolen coat between my arm and Miss Sharpe's pincher fingers, I took a deep breath, skipped ahead a few paces, then spun around to face Miss Sharpe. Walking backwards allowed me to keep an eye on all the goings-on behind me.
"What are you doing, Theodosia?" She glanced around, worried that someone would see my odd behavior. "Turn around before you trip and fall."
"Oh, I won't, Miss Sharpe! This is very good practice for balance, you know. In fact, it was my Grandmother Throckmorton who taught me this trick. You see, if a girl can walk backwards without tripping and stumbling, then she can certainly walk gracefully when doing it in the normal way." The whole time I chattered, my eyes darted behind Miss Sharpe, trying to locate all the players. Gerton had just gotten up from his bench, folded his paper under his arm, and begun sauntering behind us.
Will had pulled his cap low over his head and put the chimney broom over his shoulder. He walked slowly but purposefully, as if he were on the way to a job.
"Your grandmother never taught you any such thing," Miss Sharpe said. "Now we must add lying to your list of faults."
Miss Sharpe may have been a horrid cow, but she was nobody's fool, I'd give her that. "Oh, really she did! She said it was a good way to prepare oneself for ... dancing! That's it! Dancing is quite a lot like walking backwards, isn't it, Miss Sharpe." I paused. "You have been dancing before, haven't you?"
"Of course I've been dancing. But this ridiculous game of yours will do nothing to prepare you for that."
The Grim Nipper moved out of the shadows and slunk forward a few paces before scuttling into a doorway, just like a greasy shadow. Will seemed oblivious, but that could have been to keep the Grim Nipper off-guard.
Another figure appeared, this one quite small and sporting a large bowler. Snuffles was trailing behind the Grim Nipper. Thankfully, someone had Will's back. Although what an undersize eight-year-old could do to fend off the Grim Nipper, I wasn't sure. Perhaps he could sneeze at him.
As we neared the park, I noticed the Nipper drawing closer to Will. As I was wondering what Miss Sharpe would do if I called out a warning, the Grim Nipper put on a burst of speed. Just as I opened my mouth to yell (I'd decided to risk Miss Sharpe's curiosity), the Nipper grabbed Will's collar and yanked him into an alley. I squeaked.
"Theo? Are you all right?" Miss Sharpe asked.
Then, almost without conscious thought, as if my body had come up with the idea all on it's own, I pretended to get my feet all tangled up and tripped. "Ow!" I said, screwing my face up tight and clutching my ankle.
Miss Sharpe stopped walking, folded her arms across her middle, and pinched her lips in disapproval. "I warned you nothing good would come of walking backwards."
Honestly! Can no grownup resist saying, "I told you so"? I groaned as if in pain.
Miss Sharpe looked around, clearly unsure what to do. Finally, she knelt down and gave my ankle a sharp prod.
"I think I may have sprained it," I said.
She sniffed. "That is what happens to odd ducks who waddle backwards."
For a moment I was seized by an overwhelming desire to quack at her. Odd duck, indeed. Instead, I said meekly, "I'm sorry, Miss Sharpe."
"Do you think you could hobble back to the museum?"
I shook my head.
"I suppose you could lean on me," she suggested with a look that said she'd rather clean chamber pots without her gloves.
"I don't think so," I rushed to say. "I'm much heavier than I look." The whole point was to get rid of her for a few moments so I could go find out what had happened to Will.
She glanced around the square. "I can't very well just leave you here."
"Oh, but you can! Don't forget—my parents let me go out and about on my own as long as I don't cross Oxford Street, and we're nowhere near Oxford Street. Besides," I said, playing my trump card, "it's hardly your fault, what with me being an odd duck and all." I hung my head humbly for good measure.
"Well, you're right about that part, anyway."
Would the beastly woman never leave? Will was in danger.
"Very well. I'll return to the museum and see if I can get one of the servants to bring round a cart."
"That would probably be best," I agreed. "I'll be right here when you get back," I assured her. But as soon as Miss Sharpe was out of sight, I leaped to my perfectly fine feet and made a mad dash for the alley down which I'd seen Will and the Nipper disappear.
Basil Whiting was just nearing the entrance when I reached it. "Stay there!" I hissed at him. I did not need to involve the Black Sunners in Will's problems. Whiting gave a curt nod as I slipped past him.
At first the narrow brick alley seemed empty, but then halfway toward the far end I saw the Nipper leaning into a doorway with Will pressed up against the door, shaking his head.
As silently as possible, I made my way toward a large pile of rubbish. I squatted down behind it so I wouldn't be spotted, then strained my ears to listen, but it was hard to hear over the pounding of my heart.
"You ain't been avoiding me, 'ave you, Willie, me boy?"
"N-no. Course not. Just been busy, that's all."
There was a loud, wet sniff somewhere off to my left. Snuffles must be nearby.
"Busy wif that new job o' yours, eh?" the Grim Nipper said. "Them fancy pants keeping you too busy for your old gig, then?"
Before Will could answer, the Nipper twisted the bunch of Will's collar he held in his fist, cutting off his reply. "These fancy pants of yours have led me to a right sweet gig now, they 'ave. People are taking their gold out of all their hidey places so as it'll protect 'em against these mummies, see. I'm tellin' you, Willie boy. There's plenty o' work for someone with fingers as light as yours."
"I-I got a new job, Nip! All the work I can handle."
"That's too bad, now, Willie, 'cause I'm needing an extra pair of hands to pluck with."
"Sorry, Nip."
He shoved Will against the door so hard, I heard the thunk as Will's head connected with the wood. "That's not the answer I was looking for, Willie boy. I'll give you another day or two to think on it. And next time, you won't let me down again or you won't like the consequences."