She’d already stepped out of sight of Barth, who’d rattled off in the carriage as soon as her slippers touched the ground. And the thick hedge of the mews, which ran along behind the row of houses, obscured the view from any of the residences-should anyone happen to be watching, which was in itself unlikely.
Any further considerations evaporated as she braced herself, ready for battle. “What do you want?” she asked, aware that her heart was racing.
“Come now, Lady Rockley,” Goodwin said with a supercilious gesture. “It should be no surprise to you that the magistrate awaits your presence. I’m merely here to see that he gets it.”
“For what reason?” She inched to the side, eyeing the thug closest to her as a feeling of urgency began to build, and her heart to pound. He couldn’t be as strong as a vampire. Or a Venator. None of them could be. Confidence surged through her. She was also smaller and could slip through the hedge more easily…
“It will do you no good to run, Lady Rockley. You may be quick and strong, but you cannot outrun this.” He pulled a gun from his pocket.
No, she couldn’t. But the bullet would have to find her first.
Red glazing her vision, she ducked and rushed at the first of the burly men, knocking him into Goodwin. The sharp retort of a pistol shot sounded, and something whistled through the air much too close to her.
Victoria spun and began a mad dash through the hedge-if she made it through, she’d be in sight of the rear windows of the house and there was a chance someone would see her.
Something yanked hard at her cloak, and she flew backward, landing with the jolt of her skull on the ground. Head spinning, heart pounding, veins pumping, she rolled and leaped to her feet. Rage blasted through her, and she kicked out, tearing into the man closest to her. She felt her nails pare the skin from his face and her foot connect with something soft.
Her red-hued world became a cyclone of movement and ferocity in that narrow, dark walkway until suddenly something wafted down over her. It was clingy and heavy and she realized a net had been thrown over her. It wrapped around her legs, restricted her arms, and before she could fight her way out of it, the net tightened and Victoria felt herself falling.
She crashed to the ground, her head slamming onto a rock. Someone shoved her into a spin. She rolled, tangling further in the net, shouting now-hoping that someone-Max, Verbena, Kritanu, someone would hear.
Something dark went over her head, muffling her voice and smothering her gasps for air, and, like a bundle, she was lifted. The heavy cloth tightened over her face, cloistering her nose and mouth, making her struggle for every bit of air. She struggled, bucking and kicking… the red of her vision faded, consciousness ebbed, and she knew no more.
When Victoria became aware again, she found herself sitting in a hard wooden chair. Her hands were bound behind her and she slumped forward. The only things preventing her from tumbling off the chair were her arms bent over the top of it. They ached, and her fingers were cold and numb. Her feet were in a similar condition, tied to the rung of the chair.
She wasn’t alone. She kept her eyes closed and listened. It took her only a moment to realize that she’d awakened in the middle of Goodwin’s meeting with the magistrate. Her hearing, such as it were.
Her mind was fuzzy, and she knew little about the workings of the Bow Street Runners and their responsibility to the magistrate. But she did know that there were few honest magistrates. And fewer honest Runners. Which did not ease her anxiety in the least.
“I find your evidence against Lady Rockley compelling, Mr. Goodwin,” intoned a voice, presumably that of the magistrate.
“The woman is exceedingly strong,” now spoke Goodwin himself. “She will have to be transported in chains, and in secrecy. She has some fairly able friends.”
Victoria’s mouth went dry. Chains? Good God. But surely they would have to bring her to public trial. And by that time, Max, and Sebastian, and Lady Melly-
But did any of them know where she was?
Barth and Oliver would know. They’d still be watching Goodwin. Or they would be able to figure it out.
She lifted her head. Its throbbing was so harsh it had to be audible. “Who brings the charges against me?” she said. Her voice… it was not one she recognized. It was… dark, heavy, rough. A shiver rattled down her arms and she pulled on her bonds as rage shuddered through her. “Someone must charge me.”
She knew at least that much about crime and punishment in London. A victim or family member must press charges for a trial to occur. There were no representatives, or prosecutors, for the general public.
“Ah, she is with us again.” Goodwin’s face came into her view, blurred and clouded with the red haze. His breath smelled of stale ale.
“Who charges me?”
“It is I who bring the charges,” Goodwin replied.
“You?” Victoria blinked rapidly, trying to alleviate the distortion. Her thoughts were scrambled. “Why?”
His face came in front of hers, his long sharp nose shining, eyes dark with loathing. “My brother. You killed my brother.”
“Your brother? Who is your brother?” Victoria demanded. “I’ve killed no one.”
A loud crack sounded, a hammer slamming onto a wooden surface. “Take the prisoner to Newgate. I’ll arrange for the trial to be held tomorrow.” The magistrate’s voice was filled with malice. “The assizes judge is in my debt and will be happy to hurry things along in this case.”
Tomorrow?
Victoria raised her head to protest, but something hard slapped against her cheek. Her head whipped up and back so hard the chair tottered.
“I have no sympathy for murderesses, especially those who mutilate their victims first.” Goodwin’s ale breath was hot on her face as he bent in front of her. His eyes glowed with triumph. “Cutting them up and tearing them to pieces. What did you do with your husband, Lady Rockley?”
Her cheek throbbed, and the room wavered, but she fixed her gaze on him. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Goodwin rose upright, crowing. “The proclamation of innocence-but of course. You’ve used your powers and strength to do whatever you choose… and you’ll pay recompense and hang by your lovely neck, dear lady.”
She would have responded again, but the black hood came down over her face, obstructing her vision. As she breathed, the cloth became more smothering, as if her need for air drew it closer and closer about her face, plastering it to her nose and eyes. Victoria struggled to dislodge the hood, but something tightened about her neck, holding it in place.
She heard the clink of chains. Her arms were loosened from the back of the chair, and she fell forward, dizzy and still bound by her ankles. Crashing onto the ground, she realized the ties at her wrists were no longer as tight. Someone moved next to her; she felt the bump of a leg or knee against the side of her hip, and heard more clinking.
Dragging in a hot, muffled breath, Victoria lurched onto her face and shoulders and, using her legs, raised the sturdy chair, snapped her heels toward the back of her head. The powerful swing whipped the seat onto the man kneeling next to her, and she heard-and felt-it smash into pieces. Chunks of wood splintered, raining down on them. Goodwin groaned as he slumped to the ground, heavy against her.
Still fighting for air, Victoria pulled at the ropes around her wrists and frantically began to jimmy her hands free. Someone shouted, and she heard quick, hard movements in the room. One wrist popped free and she tore at the hood and its tie.
Something smashed into her shoulder blades, and she fell face-first down against something warm and soft- Goodwin, she realized. The other movement must be coming from the magistrate. A heavy weight lunged onto her, and he was shouting for assistance in her ear. One of her arms was captured, yanked up behind her back-but the other one was safely under her, tearing at the tie at her throat until at last it came loose.