Sayer swore in disgust. "We've lost him," he said flatly. "There's no way in hell that I would try that."
Surveying the wall appraisingly, Nick approached it with a few running strides, launching himself upward. He took the same path Follard had, digging his hands and the toes of his boots into the crumbling holes in the wall, using them to gain purchase. Panting with effort, he climbed after the vanished fugitive.
"Goddamn, Gentry!" he heard Sayer exclaim approvingly. "I'll find some other way to get inside."
Nick continued to scale the wall until he crawled into the gaping second-story opening. Once inside, he went still and listened intently. He heard the sound of footfalls above. His gaze shot to a ladder that led to the top floor of the building, in place of a set of stairs that had crumbled long ago. Nick headed to it with rapid, stealthy strides. The ladder was comparatively new, indicating that the warehouse was being put to use despite its deterioration. Most likely the building served to store smuggled or stolen goods, as well as providing an excellent sanctuary for fugitives. No law enforcement officer with any wits would have dared set foot in the dilapidated place.
The ladder creaked from Nick's weight. Once he reached the third floor, he saw that the floor planks and rafters had mostly rotted away, leaving only a row of support timbers that resembled the ribs of a massive decaying skeleton. Although the edges of the space still bore some flimsy planks, the center of the floor was gone, as was that of the second story, leaving a potentially deadly thirty-foot drop straight through the middle of the building.
As soon as Dick Follard saw Nick, he turned and began to make his way across one of the support timbers. Immediately Nick realized his intentions. The building next door was so close that it would require a three-foot leap at most. All Follard had to do was launch himself from one of the gaping window-holes, and he could escape to the adjoining rooftop.
Gamely Nick followed him, steeling himself to ignore the yawning void beneath the timber. Placing his feet carefully, he pursued Follard's retreating form, gaining confidence as he passed the halfway-mark on the beam. However, just as he was about to reach the end, an ominous crack pierced the silence, and he felt the beam give way beneath him. His weight had been too much for the corroded wood.
With a curse, Nick launched himself toward the next timber, and somehow caught it on his descent. Blindly he clutched at the beam and wrapped his arms around it. A shower of broken timber and brittle planks fell with a thunderous sound, while a stinging rain of dust and powdered wood made Nick's eyes blur. Gasping, he fought to lift himself atop the timber, but a sudden numbing blow to his back nearly caused him to fall. Nick grunted in mingled surprise and pain, and looked into Follard's triumphant face above him.
An evil grin split the bastard's narrow face. "I'll send you to hell, Gentry," he said, venturing farther out onto the beam. He stomped on Nick's hand with his booted foot. The bones in Nick's fingers cracked, drawing a growl of agony from his throat.
Follard laughed in manic glee. "One," he cried. "Two." He stomped again, the crushing force of his foot causing a brilliant burst of pain to shoot up Nick's arm. Follard's boot lifted once more as he prepared for the coup de grace.
"Three," Nick gasped and grabbed at Follard's ankle, jerking him off-balance.
Letting out a shrill scream, Follard toppled from the beam, his body falling two stories to hit the bottom floor with fatal force.
Nick didn't dare look down. Desperately he focused his attention on pulling himself onto the beam. Unfortunately his strength had been depleted, and his left hand was crippled. Writhing like a worm on a hook, he arched helplessly over the fatal drop.
Incredulously, he realized that he was going to die.
The note trembled in Lottie's hand as she read it again.
Lottie, Please help me. Mama says that Lord Radnor is coming to take me away. I do not want to go anywhere with him, but she and Papa say I must. They have locked me in my room until he comes. I pray you will not let this happen, Lottie, as you are my only hope.
Your loving sister, Ellie A village boy had brought the tear-stained letter not long after Nick had left for the day. The boy claimed that Ellie had bid him to come to her bedroom window and given him the message. "She said if I brought it to ye, I'd get an 'alf crown," he said, shifting his weight uneasily, as if he suspected that the promise would not be honored.
Lottie had gratified the boy by giving him a half sovereign instead, and then sent him to the kitchen with Mrs. Trench for a hot meal. Pacing around the entrance hall, she gnawed frantically on her knuckle as she wondered what to do. She had no way of knowing when Nick would return home. But if she waited too long, Radnor might have already fetched Ellie.
The thought filled her with such distress that Lottie clenched her fists and uttered a cry of outrage. Her parents, allowing Radnor to come take poor innocent Ellie...as if she were an animal to be traded. "She's only sixteen," she said aloud, her face hot with the blood of anger. "How can they? How could they possibly live with themselves?"
And there had been no mention of marriage in the note, which could only lead Lottie to believe that her parents were virtually prostituting Ellie for their own benefit. The realization made her ill.
No, she could not wait for Nick. She would go and collect Ellie herself, before Radnor came. In fact, Lottie was furious with herself for not already having done so. But who could have predicted that Radnor would have wanted Ellie, or that her parents would have given her to him like this?
"Harriet," she called out sharply, striding to the nearest bellpull and tugging it frantically. "Harriet!"
The dark-haired maid appeared at once, having run so fast that her spectacles were a bit askew. "Milady?"
"Fetch my traveling coat and bonnet." Pausing, Lottie considered the footmen in Nick's employ, and decided that Daniel was the largest and most capable man to help her in his absence. "Tell Daniel that he is to accompany me on an errand. I want the carriage to be readied immediately."
"Yes, Lady Sydney!" Harriet rushed to obey, seeming infected by Lottie's urgency.
In less than a minute, Daniel appeared, his tall form clad in black livery. He was a good-natured, robust young man with dark brown hair and sherry-colored eyes. "My lady," he said, making an impeccable bow and waiting for her instructions.
Receiving her bonnet from Harriet, Lottie tied it deftly beneath her chin. "Daniel, we are going to my parents' home to fetch my younger sister. I have no doubt that my family will offer strong objections. There is even a possibility of a physical altercation...and while I don't want anyone to be hurt, we must bring my sister back here with us. I trust that I may depend on you?"
He understood what she was asking. "Naturally, my lady."
She smiled slightly, her face pale. "Thank you."
The carriage was prepared in record time, and Lottie clutched the balled-up note in her fist as the vehicle rolled swiftly away from Betterton Street. She tried to make herself think clearly, to understand what was happening.
What did Radnor want with her sister? In the years that Lottie had known him, he had barely seemed to notice Ellie's existence, except to make disparaging comments-that Ellie was plump, simpleminded, unrefined. Why choose her, of all women, to make his mistress? Perhaps because Radnor knew that it was the worst way to hurt Lottie. He knew that she could never be content in her marriage to Nick knowing that her happiness had been purchased at the price of her sister's.