Rebel Magisters (Rebel Mechanics #2)(55)

“He’s writing to his friends to try to get loans to cover it up until he can find the missing money. If we could just get one of those letters…”

“That sounds like a job for the Masked Bandits.”

I was so shocked that I stopped playing. “Henry, no!” I exclaimed.

Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to get his hands on the keyboard and continue the music so that my outburst didn’t ring through the house. “Robbing couriers is child’s play. You’ve seen me do that.”

“I’m not worried about you getting the documents away from the courier. I’m worried about you getting away. And you can’t go robbing people while you’re in the governor’s house.”

“The couriers may get letters in the house, but they have to go elsewhere with them, and then I can carry out a quick robbery and be back home. The governor will hardly search my room when looking for missing documents.”

“But you’re on your own. Your gang isn’t here.”

“It doesn’t take more than one person to take documents off a courier. And don’t even ask to come with me. Both of us being out would only look suspicious. I need you to be entirely aboveboard.”

“We both went out in Boston,” I reminded him.

“Yes, and that was probably a mistake, as we were nearly caught. You don’t have a friend among the staff here, either.”

“Yet. Give me time.”

“We don’t have time. The letters will probably go out soon.”

The front bell ringing was loud enough to be heard over the piano. “Or possibly tonight,” I said, gulping down the lump that had formed in my throat.

He stood up. “That would be my cue.”

I managed to catch his sleeve before he got away from me. “Be careful.”

“Of course!”

But I knew he wouldn’t be. He might play the mild-mannered amateur scientist, but Henry loved danger.

I went to the window and watched as a man carrying an attaché case left the house about ten minutes later. Almost immediately afterward, a tall, lanky man followed him. I didn’t notice the courier turning around, so he must not have realized he was being shadowed. Within moments, they were both out of my sight. I doubted Henry would do anything so close to the house. He’d have to wait until the courier was in some area where it would look like an ordinary robbery.

If I could have thought of a way to follow him or go along with him, I would have, but he was right about that being difficult in this house. There was no maid who was an agent of the Rebel Mechanics—that I knew of—to sneak me out, no friendly hall boy to let me back in, and no proper governess would venture out alone at this time of night. Henry had it so much easier because young bachelors were expected to go out on the town.

With a sigh of frustration, I returned to the piano. I had to give up playing when it became late enough that it would have been rude to keep the household awake. I retreated to my room and paced for at least an hour. Surely he’d find a way to let me know when he was home, I thought. He’d said that stealing documents from a courier was easy, so even if he’d taken precautions, shouldn’t he have been back by now?

I finally decided I might as well go to bed. I knew it was sheer superstition, but I was afraid my waiting up was keeping the watched pot from boiling. Much to my surprise, I’d no sooner settled into bed than I heard a tapping at my window. I knew there wasn’t a tree anywhere nearby, so I jumped out of bed and ran to throw back the curtains. The window glass was spattered with rain, and I thought I saw a face pressed against it. I opened the window, and a body tumbled through and onto the floor.

I swallowed my instinctive scream of shock, but I couldn’t stop myself from scrambling back, away from the intruder. I heard a gasp that sounded like pain, and then there was a rough whisper, saying, “Verity, it’s me.”

“Henry? What on earth?” I asked as I moved to kneel beside him.

“I’m so sorry, Verity, but I didn’t dare go through the front door, there’s a watchman on the street and he’d have seen me, and your room is the one at the rear, there’s a trellis nearby, and I need your help.” All the words came tumbling out at once, as if he was verging on hysteria.

“What happened? Did something go wrong? Did you get the documents?”

“I got them, but there was a little problem getting away.” His voice shook as his teeth chattered. He was soaking wet and chilled, probably from having been out in the rain, but there seemed to be more than that wrong. I realized what that must be when I noticed that the hem of my white nightgown where I’d knelt next to him had a dark stain on it.

I conjured a small light in my hand, the way he’d taught me, so I could get a better look. “You’re bleeding!”

“I think this one might be a little worse than the last time you helped me,” he admitted.

It was too dark, even with my light, to examine the wound. “Should we send for a doctor?” I asked.

“How would we explain a gunshot wound?” He sounded more like his normal self. “The first thing we need to do is get me out of your room. I don’t want there to be any evidence that I was ever here.”

I pulled myself together. I prided myself on being good in a crisis, and this would be a test of my fortitude. “First, some towels, so you don’t go dripping down the hall.” I grabbed some from my bathroom and blotted him as well as I could. It was alarming how much blood ended up on the formerly white towels. I’d have to figure out later what to do about that. “Can you walk?” I asked.