Dawn at Emberwilde (38 page)

McKinney leaned close. “What's he doing?”

Colin strained his eyes to watch the man. He appeared to be headed toward one of the home's side doors. Alarm rushed him.
Colin had assumed that any criminal activity was confined to the tunnels.

“Is he going into the foundling home?” whispered Henry.

The very question sent a chill through Colin. There were children in that building. Young, innocent children. And as far as they knew, Bradford may or may not be there to protect them.

“I don't know, but I am going to find out. McKinney, you go check the shed where the tunnel leads. Do you know the one I am talking about?”

McKinney nodded his understanding.

“Henry, you take the far side of that fence. The other tunnel comes up just on the other side of the gate. See what you can find. But be careful. Signal with an owl's call if you need any help.” Colin pressed his finger to his lips to remind the men to be quiet, left his comrades, and made his way along the forest's edge, just as the mystery man had done.

Once he was closer, he got a better view of the situation at hand. The side door to the yard where the children played was slightly ajar. A faint yellow glow flickered from the space.

He held his breath in sickened disbelief as the shifty man made his way to the open door, dragging something behind him as he did.

Colin had not been in the rooms beyond Bradford's office, and he was not completely familiar with the home's layout, but he noticed the same flickering light coming from Bradford's study.

The man had closed the door behind him, and Colin took advantage of this cover to hurry over to the window.

He lifted his head just enough to see over the window's ledge. He saw Dent and Stanway inside, standing before an open door in Bradford's office.

Anger flared and his chest tightened painfully. In that instant, all the lines connected. Every bit of evidence thus far made sense. Bradford was a part of this, and far from oblivious to what was
happening in his own backyard. True, Bradford's timepiece had been found at the scene, and that could, he supposed, have been an accident of sorts. But now, with the two main suspects in Bradford's study, there could be no denying it.

Colin turned his attention back to the men in the study. They stood at an open door he had never noticed before on the opposite side of the desk. The door appeared to be built into the wall paneling, undoubtedly to disguise it. Through the opening, it looked as if a staircase led to a lower level, and the walls seemed to be made of a familiar brick—the same brick that lined the tunnels. Suddenly, it made sense. The disguised doors. The hidden tunnels. They were all connected.

Colin watched the men for several moments, then shifted his gaze to the other side of the room. Where was Bradford? If he had been coming back here from the inn, he should have arrived by now. Colin cast a glance over his shoulder to the road, as if he expected to see the man walking up it. But all was shrouded in hovering mist.

He would not allow this opportunity to slide. He assessed the men for weapons. Their weapons might be concealed, but a pistol sat on Bradford's desk in plain view. He saw nothing else.

He was about to straighten when a sharp jab to his spine stopped him.

“You just can't leave well enough alone, can you, Galloway?”

Colin stiffened at the familiar voice.
Bradford.

Bradford continued. “Just go ahead and toss that pistol on the ground there.”

At that moment, Stanway opened a side garden door, saw Colin, and leveled a knife at his head. It would be fruitless to attempt to fight them off, not with a pistol behind him and a blade before him.

Colin obeyed and tossed his weapon on the ground. He locked eyes with Stanway and kept his voice sharp. “Seems I've been outplayed, is that not right, Bradford?”

“You'll be coming with me.” Bradford's motions grew rougher by the moment. “Let's just say I'll not be underestimating you again, Galloway.”

Again.

Colin fixed his feet firmly to keep his balance as Bradford pushed him forward. “Walk.”

Colin complied, not taking his eyes off of Stanway. He stumbled over the uneven ground. He could only hope that McKinney or Henry had observed what happened, but he could not be sure. And he had his blade in his boot, just as he always did. It was not an inconceivable idea that he could wrest away from these men, even while they were armed, but he needed to be smart about how to proceed. He clenched his jaw as Bradford shoved him into the house.

Chapter Forty-One

O
nce inside Bradford's stifling study, the image Colin had glimpsed through the window was much clearer. There was indeed a door that he had never noticed before. In fact, Colin realized, the entire wall was a line of paneled doors that might be closets or entries to other tunnels. A second panel was slightly ajar.

“So you knew of the tunnels the entire time, did you?” Colin said more as a statement than a question as he fixed his eyes on Bradford.

“They've been around longer than you or I. I'm surprised, actually, that someone so observant as yourself never noticed.”

Bradford's dripping sarcasm irked Colin. Bradford's coat sat askew on his shoulders, and his neck cloth had come untied. He moved past Colin, and the scent of spirits hung heavy in the air. Colin soaked in all the details he could before Bradford's heavy hand pushed him down into a chair.

Dent stepped in through the tunnel door's opening and caught sight of Colin. His face twisted in question. “What's he doing here?”

Bradford cut his eyes toward the smaller man, accusation stiffening each word. “Thought you weren't followed.”

Dent dropped a crate on the ground. “Didn't think I was.”

Bradford gave Dent a warning glance and motioned for Stanway to continue lowering crates into the tunnel. “Go find me a length of rope to secure him. Quickly. Then get back to work.”

Bradford cocked his pistol, blew something off of it, and returned his attention to Colin. “Congratulations, Magistrate Galloway. I had a nasty hunch that you were going to figure this
out sooner or later. You were always clever. After all, the simpletons surrounding us may believe in ghosts and spirits and fairies, but you? Surely not.”

Colin ignored the sarcasm. “So are you going to let me in on your little secret?”

Bradford shrugged, no doubt in an attempt to appear untroubled, but the tightening of his jaw betrayed him. “What does it look like to you?”

Perspiration trickled down the side of Colin's face. His waistcoat felt too tight, his neck cloth restrictive. The gravity of his situation pressed heavily on him. But he could not let his nerves show. “Come now, Bradford. I'd expect you to be above smuggling.”

“Would you?” Bradford asked. “And I never took you to be so naïve.”

“There are children near,” reasoned Colin. “Innocent children whom you have vowed to protect. Think on it, Bradford. The presence of these men puts them in danger.”

“The children are in no danger,” Bradford shot back through clenched teeth.

“Really?” huffed Colin in pointed disbelief and fixed his eyes on the pistol still poised in Bradford's hands. Light from the dying fire reflected on the shiny metal. “I don't know about that.”

He was poking Bradford, he knew. But Colin was not one to back down.

Colin continued to stare at the reflection, and the sad reality became clear. All these years everyone had believed Bradford's determination to run the foundling home had been in earnest. All this time, had he only been interested in the building itself, for the tunnels and secrets it hid? Colin could only guess there was much more to the circumstances than met the eye. For all the stories that had come out of the forest of ghosts and people disappearing and folklore suddenly made sense. This building had to be tied to it in some way.

Bradford sat atop his desk, half watching the man in the tunnel and half watching Colin. His foot tapped an erratic rhythm on the wood floor, the sound magnified in the quiet space.

From the looks of things, Bradford was getting desperate. If Colin knew anything about desperate men, it was that they were capable of anything. He wondered how long it would take McKinney and Henry to figure out what had happened. Hopefully not much longer. If only he could get to the blade in his boot and not be detected.

Colin considered Miss Creston. How easily things could have taken a much darker path had Bradford lured her into this world. Either he loved her, as he claimed, or he knew of her inheritance and the wealth that would accompany such a union.

He needed to formulate a plan and quickly. He scanned the room for exits. The door between Bradford's study and the foyer was closed. The front windows were latched. That left the door to the home's halls and the series of secret paneled doors that seemed to line the room. He focused his attention on another paneled door that was ajar.

Was it just his imagination, or did he see a flash of movement in the opening?

Colin bit his lip and watched as closely as he could without giving the impression that he was staring.

He noticed another movement. It was long, dark fabric, like that of a gown. And then he saw the toe of a narrow boot. Someone else was in this room. A woman.

Colin shifted his eyes back to Bradford so the captor would not grow suspicious.

Bradford turned his attention once again to Colin. “We had such a lovely arrangement all these years, did we not? Pity you had to ruin it.”

Colin unclenched his jaw. “It will all catch up with you sooner or later, do you not know that?”

Bradford snorted. “Well, for that to be true, this would all need to be reported, and you are the only one who knows of our little arrangement. And there are ways to prevent you from sharing what you know.”

Colin took the moment to assess his captors. Bradford held a weapon. Stanway had a blade tucked in his waistband. Dent was still finding a rope.

He rubbed his cheek against the shoulder of his coat to wipe away the perspiration.

With pistol still in hand, Bradford leaned over one of the crates, pried it open, and lifted a bottle of wine.

Colin fixed his attention on the pistol. Yes, it was in Bradford's hand, but Bradford was distracted.

Colin glanced toward the open door.

The fabric was dark, like the gowns the other foundling home workers wore, or perhaps a child.

But then another thought crossed his mind. The black fabric was the same hue that Miss Creston had been wearing when he delivered her to Heddeston Park.

The thought nearly stopped his heart.

Surely not. Surely the person inside was not Miss Creston.

But what had he told himself all along?

Desperate men were capable of anything.

Bradford lifted another bottle and assessed it. The nearby candlelight flickered on the bottle's glass.

Something had angered Bradford, for he reached toward Stanway and grabbed his arm and ordered to know something about the crate. As a result, Stanway returned to the tunnel.

Colin pressed his eyes shut and drew a deep breath. He could handle this situation. He did not want a woman or a child harmed. He flexed his hands.

Now was the time to take advantage of the break in Bradford's concentration.

Colin moved to stand, and as he did, the chair scooted across the wood floor, the sound shrill in the silence. Bradford whirled and his expression flamed into anger. He aimed his pistol at the same moment Colin jumped toward it and gripped Bradford's wrist tightly with both hands.

Bradford sprang into action.

Colin attempted to wrestle the pistol from Bradford, but a fist slammed into his ribs. Colin doubled over. With every ounce of energy he had, he rammed his body into Bradford, forcing him to stumble backward against the broad desk. The pistol flew from his hand.

Stanway emerged from the tunnel, grabbed Colin's collar, and pulled him off of Bradford, but Colin jabbed his elbow into Stanway's belly and twisted from his grip. Gasping for air, Colin did not like his odds. Both men were larger than he. He gave a quick scan of the room. Dent's figure was retreating into the corridor that led to the other rooms of the home.

He swung around and punched Stanway's jaw, sending the blackguard staggering backward. The man fell to the floor, unconscious. But for how long? And how long before Dent returned? Colin drew a deep breath.

He turned back to Bradford, who by this time had regained control of the pistol. It was pointed directly at him.

Chest heaving, Colin had no choice but to raise his hands in defeat.

“I will achieve my ends, Galloway. And you will not stand in the way.” Perspiration now dripped to Bradford's coat, leaving dark spots on the fabric. He cocked the pistol.

Seeing the moment to distract him, Colin spoke. “Who is behind that door?”

Bradford twitched. His eyes flashed to the door and back to Colin.

“There is someone in there. Who is it?” demanded Colin. Despite the gun pointed at his chest, he felt a strange surge of confidence. As he spoke, he calculated how many steps it would take to retrieve the blade at his ankle and reach Bradford.

Whoever was behind the door moved just enough to make the door creak outward, as if she wanted her presence to be made known.

Bradford looked. Colin snatched his blade and lunged, slapping the gun from Bradford's hand and sending it clattering to the floor.

Bradford was a match for Colin. The men were of similar build. But Bradford swiftly ran out of air and energy. Colin wrapped his left arm around his opponent and squeezed and held the blade at his throat with his right hand, preventing Bradford from moving.

At that moment, McKinney and Henry burst in through the back entrance. Colin had never been so relieved to see the two men in his life. Henry gripped Dent's arms, which were bound behind him, and McKinney had his own pistol pointed at Bradford.