Saving the Scientist (The Restitution League #2)(83)

“Forgot the aluminum powder,” he muttered, and yanked the door open.

Henry bolted after him. “I’ll drive you.”

“No need.” Edison held up a hand to halt the boy.

He sympathized. Henry only wished to escape the tension, too. But he needed quiet. “I’ll walk.”

Edison jutted his chin at Crane. “Devices are packed and ready. Ada knows where they are. Bring the coach if anything changes.”

Edison slipped out the door before anyone else asked to join him. Only his inbred sense of decorum kept him from slamming the door.

A few more hours now, and they’d have this business done. Ada would be free to return to her laboratory, to her life. Whether she looked back on their liaison with fondness or regret, he had no doubt she’d forge ahead, making new discoveries. And meeting new men.

Men comfortable in her social circle.

Men comfortable with love.

Things weren’t going to be so easy for him. Much as he wished he could deny it, he feared it would be a long, long time before he stopped wishing were a different man. A man who deserved her.

A freshening wind gusted down the dark street, sending a scrap of newsprint tumbling past his feet. Edison kicked it, but the paper was too light, too insubstantial to offer any satisfaction, which, given the way things were going, was no surprise.



*

Head bent to shield his face from the chill wind, Edison stalked down the pavement, brooding over the great hash he’d made of his time with Ada.

His preoccupation was so complete, the collision with the overstuffed matron took him by surprise. Like two steamers rounding a rock on the same course, they slammed straight into each other.

“Oof!” The woman exclaimed as Edison smashed into her corseted side.

She spun about, like a top twirling on its point. Edison just managed to right her before she could tumble to the pavement.

“I say there!” Her red-faced husband complained. “Have you no manners?”

His own face now hot with embarrassment, Edison apologized profusely.

“No harm done.” The slight titter in the woman’s voice let him know she was unhurt.

“I do beg your pardon,” he repeated, including her angry husband in his statement. “Mind wasn’t on where I was walking. Stupid, that.”

Now that life had been restored to its normal order, the woman smiled up at him. “It’s a woman, isn’t it? Nothing like love to take a man’s mind off business.”

Edison coughed. The denial on the tip of his tongue stuck there, choking him.

The woman patted his hand. “A handsome lug like you?” She clucked at him as if he were a prize chicken. “There’ll be another beauty along quicker than the omnibuses around here.”

Edison gave her what he hoped passed for an encouraging smile. Not too encouraging though. He had no wish to discuss his dreary romantic life. Still, it wouldn’t do to be rude to a motherly stranger. A motherly stranger he’d almost knocked ass over tea kettle.

“Come along, dear,” her husband prodded, “We still have three blocks to go. I don’t want to miss the opening aria.”

“Ah!” Edison beamed at the couple, as if the opera were the most enjoyable thing ever. “Don’t let me delay you.”

He practically pushed them down the street.

When he turned back in the direction of the chemical works, he noticed a knot of street urchins had formed at the far end of the block. Tall, short, thin—and painfully thinner—the lot milled about, each of them, down to the smallest tyke, trying desperately to pretend they had good reason to be lurking around.

Picking off opera goers, was his guess. Not that he begrudged the small souls a penny here or there. Had his own father not been a decent con artist, he would have ended up the same.

One of the taller lads touched the brim of a moth-eaten silk hat as Edison drew near. “Evenin’, guv.”

Edison nodded, and kept moving straight through the knot of children, intent on crossing at the corner.

A bird chirped behind him. It was a quick, sharp sound, more like a robin’s tweet than an owl’s deep call.

Entirely out of place so late at night.

Damnable hell. The back of his neck prickled. He’d missed something. His hands balled into fists. Whatever it was, he’d pay for it now.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to hurt any of them.

He stilled, reaching out with all of his senses, listening, smelling, even tasting the wind for a hint of what was to come.

“We just wanna chat, guv,” the tall one assured him as the entire group closed in.

Edison didn’t like the laughter in the boy’s tone.

He turned to assess the threat, but kept his body facing forward, hips and shoulders aligned with the clearest path to safety. Might have to bowl over a few of the smaller ones, but they were tough little blokes.

“Meet my friend, Sleepy. ‘E’s the one what wants a conversation.” The boy’s voice was now curiously muffled.

Edison blinked at the boy’s greasy head, but something was amiss. The boy—all the boys—had pulled kerchiefs up over their noses.

But he’d already seen their features. It made no sense.

Until he saw the canister in the leader’s hand. The shrill hiss of propellant hit his ears at the same instant a swirl of condensed gas blew straight at his face.