Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(82)

The home’s manager widened his eyes. “I …”

“Because I’m the only one who can do this.” Godric looked at her finally. Megs didn’t know Makepeace had been a Ghost once, but it didn’t matter: the man had sworn to his lady wife not to take up the swords again. “Megs, there are little girls in peril.”

She closed her eyes at that, visibly fighting something within herself. “Can you promise that this will be the last time? That you won’t be the Ghost of St. Giles anymore?”

He watched as the last strap was cut away, freeing his arm. The swelling had gone down, but there were nasty purple-black bruises around the wrist. He didn’t dare try flexing it. Moulder brought forth an old pair of stays they’d previously cut down to fit from his knuckles to his elbow in preparation for his next trip to St. Giles. He began binding it onto Godric’s arm.

“Godric?”

“No.” He didn’t dare look at her. “No, I cannot promise that.”

“Then promise me you’ll return alive and whole.”

He couldn’t do such a thing. She knew that. Yet he found himself saying, “I promise.”

The door opened and shut quietly.

Makepeace cleared his throat. “Perhaps if I alerted the dragoons—”

“We’ve been over this. Trevillion would take hours to agree—if he could be persuaded at all—and then hours more to mobilize his men.” He met the other man’s gaze. “Are you willing to risk the workshop moving again—or the girls being killed to cover the evidence?”

Makepeace flinched. “No.”

Godric looked down just as Moulder tied off the last binding. He swung the arm experimentally. If he made sure to favor it, it should do all right. “In that case, perhaps you can help me get ready?”

“Very well,” the home’s manager said. “And then we’ll need to plan a way to get past the dragoon standing guard over your house.”

“He’s still there?”

“Oh, indeed,” Makepeace said drily. “And he no doubt saw my arrival.”

Godric contemplated that fact while Moulder finished dressing him in his Ghost costume. When he sheathed his sword five minutes later, he nodded to Makepeace. “Come with me.”

Godric doused the candles in the study and crossed to the long doors that led out into Saint House’s garden. He spent a full minute waiting for his eyes to adjust as he carefully peered out, but saw no one. If Trevillion was good enough to hide from him in his own garden, he deserved to be caught.

Cautiously, he opened the doors and stole out into the moonlight, Makepeace a silent shadow behind him. The home’s manager might not have donned the mask of the Ghost for over two years, but it was obvious that he’d not lost any of his skill in that time. The old fruit tree made a macabre outline against the night sky, and as he passed it, Godric wondered how long before Megs gave up and conceded that the thing was dead.

Then he shoved any thoughts of his wife from his mind. He needed to concentrate if he was to survive this night. Past the garden was the old river wall, the sound of lapping water and the stink of the river rising from beyond. An ancient gate pierced the wall, a crumbling arch crowning it. Godric pushed open the gate, glad that he made Moulder oil it monthly.

He grinned in the dark as the other man followed him. “One of the few advantages to owning a very old London house.”

They stood at the top of a set of bare stone steps, set flat into the river wall. Below was a small dock with a rowboat tied to a post. Godric led the way down, stepping carefully into the rowboat. He picked up one oar while Makepeace settled into the boat; then with a practiced movement, he used it to shove away from the dock and began sculling quietly downriver, using only his right hand.

They hadn’t far to go. At the next set of river stairs, Godric maneuvered the rowboat in and tied it up.

“You’ll not be able to use that method again,” Makepeace said as they climbed the steps. “Trevillion is smart. He’ll figure out how you slipped past him when he hears about your activity tonight.”

“Then I’d best make sure I need not return again.” Godric shrugged and amended his statement, “At least not for a while.”

He felt the other man’s gaze upon him as they made their way into the warren of streets beyond the river. This area wasn’t rich, but it was certainly respectable enough. Lanterns shown by nearly every door and they were forced to keep close to what shadows they could find.

“This life isn’t best suited for a married man,” Makepeace observed neutrally.

“I’ve been married nearly two years,” Godric replied. He didn’t want to think about Megs’s reproachful face right now.

“But living apart.”

They paused at the corner of a cobbler’s shop as a night watchman went limping by.

Godric glanced at the other man and Makepeace raised his brows. “Your good wife only came to London recently, yes?”

“Yes.” Godric shook his head irritably. “What of it?”

Makepeace shrugged. “Most would take the change as opportunity to quit this life.”

“And leave those children to be worked to death? Is that what you’re proposing?”

“No, but perhaps the dragoons could be of more use, especially,” Makepeace said drily, “if we let Trevillion in on the information we sometimes get.”