Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(90)



Ross shook his head slightly when he saw that the devil’s closet was empty. “My God,” he muttered, filled with a combination of admiration and fury at his brother-in-law’s resourcefulness. A bent iron nail gleamed beside the massive pile of chains on the floor. Gentry had managed to pick the locks on his handcuffs and leg irons—in the dark, no less. A bar was missing from the inner window on the other side of the room. It was inconceivable that Gentry could have loosened that bar and squeezed his large frame through such a narrow space, but he had done it. There was every likelihood that he’d had to dislocate a shoulder to accomplish it.

“When was the last time someone saw him here?” Ross barked to the dazed-looking gaol-keeper.

“An hour ago, I think,” Eldridge mumbled, his eyes bulging from his sweat-drenched face.

Staring through the inner window, Ross saw that Gentry had broken through the moldy wall of the next cell, probably using the window bar. He strove to recall the details of the Newgate layout that was tacked to the wall of his office.

He shot a murderous glance at the gaol-keeper. “Does that key work for all the cells on this floor?”

“I-I think so—”

“Give it to me. Now get your fat arse to the ground level, and tell the runners at my carriage that Gentry is escaping. They’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, Sir Ross!” Eldridge fled with surprising speed for someone of his girth, taking the lamp with him and leaving Ross in darkness.

Gripping the key, Ross left the devil’s closet and unlocked the adjoining room. Swearing profusely, he climbed through the hole in the wall, following his brother-in-law’s tracks. “Damn you, Gentry,” he muttered as rustles and squeaks of unsettled vermin greeted his intrusion. “When I catch you, I’ll hang you myself for putting me through this.”

Breathing hard from exertion, Nick Gentry pushed a swath of damp hair from his eyes and emerged onto the roof of Newgate. Cautiously he placed a foot on an outside wall that connected to a neighboring building. The wall was about eight inches thick, and so old that it was crumbling along the top. However, it was the only route to freedom. Once he made it to the other side, he would enter the building, find his way to the street, and then be unstoppable. He knew London as no one else did—every alley, every corner, every hole and crevice. No one could find him if he did not wish to be found.

Slowly Nick proceeded along the wall like a cat, heedless of the possible fall that would see him crushed on the ground. He squinted fiercely, the dense sky relieved by a mere glimmer of moonlight. One foot after another; he tried to keep his mind clear. But a thought broke his concentration—Sophia. Once he left London, he would never be able to see her again. Nick did not identify his feelings for her as love, because he knew himself to be incapable of that emotion. But he was conscious of a rip in his soul, a sense that to leave her for good would mean the loss of the fragment of decency he still possessed. She was the only person on earth who still cared for him, who would continue to care, no matter what he did.

One step, another, right foot, left… Nick shoved the thoughts of his sister away and considered where he would go when he was free. He could make a new start somewhere, take a new name, a new life. The idea should have been cheering, but instead it sank him into gloominess. He was tired of the balancing act that never allowed him to relax for a minute. He was weary, as weary as if he had lived a hundred years instead of twenty-five. The thought of starting again revolted him. It was his only choice, however. And he had never been one to wring his hands over what he couldn’t change.

Part of the wall crumbled beneath his right foot, sending chunks of mortar and showers of dust to the ground. Silently Nick fought for balance, his arms outspread, his breath hissing between his teeth. Regaining equilibrium, he continued more cautiously, using instinct more than vision to cross the wall in the dark. There was little movement from the ground below, only a few foot patrols crossing back and forth. The groups of demonstrators who tried to gather were quickly ushered away. It was a mere fraction of the crowd that Nick had expected to protest on his behalf. He grinned in ironic appreciation of the obvious wane in his popularity. “Thankless bastards,” he muttered.

Fortunately, no one noticed the figure poised high above on the prison wall. By some miracle of God—or whim of the devil—Nick finally reached the neighboring building. Although he could not quite get to the nearest window, he found a carved lion’s head jutting from the stonework. Settling a hand on the ornamentation, he deduced that it was not real stone but Coade stone, an artificial material that was used for quoining and sculpture when using real stone was too expensive. Nick had no idea if the thing would hold him. Grimacing, he grabbed at a tattered blanket he had draped over one shoulder and tied it around the lion’s head. Jerking hard to tighten the knot, he focused on the window, three feet down. Good, he thought, it was open, and he didn’t care much for the prospect of breaking through glass.

Holding his breath, Nick gripped the blanket, hesitated for one reluctant moment, then jumped from the wall in a decisive plunge. He swung through the open window with an ease that stunned him, as he had bargained for a bit more difficulty. Although he landed on his feet, the momentum brought him forward until he fell with a pained grunt. Swearing, he rose and shook himself off. The room appeared to be an office of some sort, the window left open by some careless clerk. “Almost there,” Nick murmured, striding through the office and hunting for the stairs that would lead him to the ground.

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