The 7th of London (12 page)

“Somethin’ like that,” Sev answered before turning his attention back to his ribbons. Mary sniffed but didn’t pursue the subject any further.

A
FEW
hours later, Sev and Michaels walked back toward the servants’ quarters, chatting softly. They’d just finished the evening chores and were headed for a bite to eat. The sound of scuffling and a distressed whimper followed by a hushed admonition interrupted the boys’ discussion. Sev put a finger to his lips, and they crept closer to the noises, which lay just around the corner.

“Keep your voice down, stupid girl,” a man growled.

“Sorry, your lordship.” At the sound of the girl’s response, Sev’s eyes grew wide while Michaels’s eyes narrowed. They recognized the voice of their friend Mary. They shouldered up to the corner of the hallway and chanced glances. A finely dressed gentleman held Mary’s wrist as she tried unsuccessfully to free herself. Sev gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists. When he looked at his companion, Michaels mouthed the word
Fairgate
.

Mary’s strained cry spurred Sev to action, and he moved to help her, but Michaels caught his arm. The smaller boy shook his head. Sev sneered in response and tugged his arm, but Michaels refused to release his hold. Mary squealed. Fairgate chuckled.

Sev tried once more to free himself. “I’ve got t’help her,” he told his conspirator.

“Fairgate’ll have you tossed out on your arse,” Michaels whispered.

“I can’t stand by and do nothin’,” Sev stated, holding Michaels’s gaze.

The smaller boy shook his head slowly. “You can’t risk it. There’s no telling what Fairgate’ll do to you. Not to mention Midnight.” They heard Mary protest desperately.

“There’s more important things in this life,” Sev stated as he finally managed to free himself and slipped around the corner. Michaels followed close as Sev dashed toward Fairgate, tripping himself and tumbling into the man. Fairgate was knocked off his feet, forcing him to release Mary, who took advantage of the opportunity and dashed away. Michaels rushed forward to assist Fairgate to his feet. The man pushed him away.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Fairgate demanded.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” Michaels answered as Sev stood. “My mate was just eager to get to his next order of business. He meant no harm.”

“No, m’lord,” Sev added. “Please. I’m frightfully sorry. Clumsy I am.”

“Dead clumsy,” Michaels agreed. “Two left feet and then some.”

Fairgate stared daggers at the pair. “See that you watch your step in the future, stupid boy.”

“Of course, m’lord.” Sev bowed slightly at the waist, though his tone took on true coldness.

“Won’t happen again, Lord Fairgate,” Michaels assured him.

Fairgate sniffed. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous this evening, or you’d be on the street. Both of you. Little imbeciles.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Michaels inclined his head as he backed away, grabbing Sev and leading him off. Fairgate regarded the pair as they retreated. When they were out of earshot, Michaels whispered, “Quick thinking. Making it look like you stumbled.”

“I did stumble,” Sev responded. “I’d meant t’punch the bastard in the face.” Michaels looked up at Sev with a mixture of surprise and admiration informing his features. “What?” Sev asked, seeing the look on his friend’s face.

“I can see why Midnight took a shine to you,” Michaels answered as they reached the servants’ chambers. Their hushed conversation continued until lights out.

T
HE
next few days passed with little incident as the entire grounds and house crews were dealing with the last minute preparations for the Royal Christmas Ball. The palace glittered from floor to ceiling; the scents of baked goods and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen and mingled with the green scent of pine from the trees and garlands strewn throughout. Sev hadn’t even had time to feel nervous about getting to Fairgate’s journal.

Christmas Eve dawned cold and crisp with a fresh dusting of snow on the palace lawn. Cartwright’s voice barked the servant boys awake as he began running through the day’s itinerary. Sev scratched at his messy locks as he listened to the man’s rumbling.

“And finally,” Cartwright announced as he regarded his slate, “Wilson seems to have taken ill after last night’s evening meal. I need a volunteer to take on his fire tending.”

Sev raised his hand. “I’ll do it, sir.”

“Stephens, is it?” Cartwright studied Sev, who nodded. “This will be in addition to your regular duties.”

“I understand that, sir.”

“Good.” Without another word, Cartwright turned on his heel and left the boys to prepare for the day.

Although the official festivities weren’t to start until later in the evening, guests were already beginning to arrive. Sev sniffed at the superfluous decadence of the visiting aristocracy. The house girls were discussing rumors that Fairgate had some sort of surprise for the queen. Sev hoped it was true, because if Fairgate were occupied with his surprise, Sev would have an easier time at his task.

Michaels found Sev just after the Royal Luncheon dispersed. He carried a basket with leftovers from the meal, and he and some of the other servants feasted happily. Spotting Mary, Michaels grabbed a small bundle and trotted over to her. When she unwrapped the linen napkin, she unveiled a beautiful pastry. Mary squealed with joy and threw her arms around Michaels’s neck.

“You deserve it, luv,” Michaels said after clearing his throat and only blushing slightly. “You really helped us out.” Sev couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation as his attention was drawn to a group of figures on the lawn. Fairgate greeted the Duke of Sutherland and a few others, but the hulking figure at the rear of the group really caught Sev’s attention. The figure in a stovepipe hat. Kettlebent. “What is it, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost. No.” Sev continued to watch Kettlebent as Michaels sat.

“You know that bloke?”

“In a way.”

“He doesn’t move right. If that makes any sense,” Michaels said as he tore himself off a piece of bread.

“No. And I’ll tell ye somethin’ else. That fancy blighter with him wants Fairgate’s journal too.”

“You think they’re going to try something?”

“Midnight thought this’d be the best time, didn’t he?” Sev pointed out. “Makes sense they came t’the same conclusion.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the bearded fellow. What’s with them goggles?” Michaels pointed with his bread.

“I don’t know. That one’s a mystery, he is.”

“Mystery or no, you’ll get that journal.”

“Count on it,” Sev agreed. The boys watched until Fairgate’s little group moved out of sight.

A
CACOPHONY
of music and conversation drifted along the corridors as Sev finished tending all the fires in Fairgate’s wing, saving the man himself’s chambers for last. The majority of the servants were occupied with the ball; those who weren’t had already retreated to their rooms for the evening after an extra long day of chores. A lucky situation for Sev. He’d met no one since ascending to this floor. Even so, he crept cautiously toward Fairgate’s chamber. He tended the fires before beginning his search. His gaze drifted over desks, end tables, and wardrobes, all the usual places to hide something dear. Sev knew it wouldn’t be somewhere obvious. It was too valuable. He pressed his foot, testing the floor for loose boards, but found none. Then he lifted every painting in the rooms to inspect the walls behind. He still found nothing. Sev’s pulse quickened. Every sound seemed enhanced, each creak a crack of thunder.

Frantically, Sev started going through every drawer in every piece of furniture, searching for a false bottom or back, anywhere something could be hidden. Still nothing. Sev dragged his hands through his hair and took a deep breath to calm himself. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself as Fairgate. Presumably servants were in these chambers frequently performing all manner of chores. He needed to store it somewhere they couldn’t stumble across it. Where would Fairgate assume servants would never look?

Sev’s mind drifted back to his only encounter with the man, reviewing everything that had transpired. Fairgate’s voice echoed in Sev’s head. “Stupid girl. Stupid boy. Imbeciles.” Fairgate believed servants were barely literate morons. Where was the last place a moron would look for something valuable? Sev realized he’d been slowly turning on the spot where he stood. When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell on the built-in bookshelf.
Books
, Sev thought.
Of course. Where better to hide a book from morons than among other books?

Before Sev could get to the bookshelf, he heard a door open and someone whistling. Without thinking, he dashed to the hearth. The sound of the door closing followed by the whistled notes growing closer reached his ears. The whistling abruptly stopped.

“What are you doing, boy?” Fairgate growled.

“Tending the fire, my lord,” Sev answered. He remained kneeling at the hearth, his back to Fairgate.

“Ah, well done, Wilson.” Fairgate slapped Sev’s ass. “I have to return to the party at once, or I’d be happy to give you a bit of attention.” Sev bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut. “Finish with that fire and then off to bed with you,” Fairgate called from another room. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” Fairgate swept through the room and back into the hallway. Sev shoved a log violently onto the fire before he dashed into the study. He searched the books frantically, unsure of what he looked for. Sev was sure there would be a clue, something small that would reveal the hidden tome. His gaze scrabbled across the spines, reading the titles, looking for some insight. By the looks of the shelves and the thin layer of dust covering them, Fairgate rarely read any of these. The only book without a covering of dust was a copy of the Holy Bible. An enormous tome. Sev was struck by the irony that this would be the one thing that snake read on a daily basis. He reached up and retrieved the book, which was much heavier than he expected. The sudden added weight threw Sev’s balance off, and he toppled to the carpet. The Bible thumped loudly on the floor, flopping open to reveal a hidden compartment. Fairgate’s journal and a clockwork pistol spilled from within.

“I’ll be damned,” Sev whispered. He crawled over to the spilled contents, which included some other odd trinkets—bones, gems, medallions—as well as an elaborate knife and a lock of hair tied with black ribbon. Sev shoved everything but the journal back into the hollow book and replaced it on the shelf. At that moment, the main door to Fairgate’s chambers opened once more, and heavy footsteps followed.
Not Fairgate
, he realized. Thinking quickly, Sev slipped the book off the shelf and grabbed the pistol within, checked it for bullets, and replaced the Bible.

Sev spun toward the footsteps and his jaw dropped open. Kettlebent stooped through the doorframe. “Bugger all,” the metallic voice announced. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask
you
the same thing,” Sev stated, leveling the pistol at the other intruder.

“I’m here for that.” Kettlebent indicated the journal in Sev’s hand.

“Fer Sutherland.”

“You’re sharp. I’ll give you that.” Kettlebent held out a large, black-gloved hand. “Stay sharp and hand it over.”

“No. I think not. I was sent t’retrieve this book by a very dangerous man, and it’ll be very bad if I don’t return with it.”

“Midnight.”

“Now who’s the sharp one?” Sev asked.

“Lower the pistol and give me the journal,” Kettlebent growled. Sev only smirked and tightened his grip on the trigger. Kettlebent’s hand flashed lightning quick, knocking the gun from Sev’s hand with a metallic clank. The large man’s other hand grabbed for the journal, but Sev ducked, rolling to where the pistol landed. He followed through, aiming and firing the weapon at Kettlebent. The bullet caught the bearded man in the shoulder, but it didn’t slow him down. Sev ducked between Kettlebent’s legs and dashed for the door. A heavy object slammed into Sev’s back and sent him sprawling, though he managed to maintain his hold on the pistol and journal.

“Ye’re not gettin’ ’em, mate,” Sev barked from his spot on the floor. Kettlebent held a second book in his hand, ready to toss it at the young man.

“Your tenacity won’t do you any good. The duke needs that journal!”

“I don’t give a bloody fig what the duke wants!” Sev could hear voices in the hallway. Someone must have heard the gunshot. Sev stuffed the journal into his shirt, and Kettlebent loosed the second book. Sev ducked and rolled once more while Kettlebent retrieved another book from the shelf. Before he could throw it, Sev slipped out the door into the hallway just as Fairgate turned the opposite corner.

“Wilson? What’s the meaning of this?” Fairgate barked.

Sev stowed the pistol in the back of his belt and pointed at Fairgate’s room. “He’s mad! Gone off his bloody rocker!” Sev continued to back away from the crowd as Kettlebent burst from Fairgate’s chamber, book in hand, prepared for another toss.

“Stop there! You! What the hell are you doing, sir?” Fairgate yelled. When Kettlebent turned his head toward the crowd, Sev used the distraction to speed away toward the servants’ stairwell. He headed instinctively for the attic and then to the roof.

As Sev emerged into the chill night air, a crash sounded from a lower floor. He gazed out at the lawn as Kettlebent landed in a shower of glass. Fairgate screamed for the guards. The sudden sound of gunfire peppered the once peaceful night. One of the guards leveled a gas spotlight on the fleeing figure of Kettlebent, making him an easy target. Unsure why he did so, Sev carefully took aim at the spotlight and shot. Fairgate’s pistol was finely made, and the shot was straight and true. The spotlight erupted in a fireball that knocked the guard from his station at the side of the garden. Kettlebent glanced toward the roof for a mere second before he took advantage of the distraction, leaping over the palace wall. Sev echoed the man’s wisdom, making for the opposite side of the palace, where he could slip away while everyone’s attention remained on Kettlebent. It may not have been accomplished as silently as Midnight had wanted, but Sev couldn’t contain his sense of triumph.