Page 62 of Taken to the Grave
She was nearly afraid to hear the answer.
“Unfortunately for her, she befriended Comstock,” he replied with a blasé shrug of his shoulder. He inspected his nails. “She was a willing aspirant.”
Aspirant. The word made her stomach roll.
“Why would she ever wish to join a club like yours?” Disgust drenched her words, and by the slipping of his easy, amused expression, Abbey heard it. That smirk was his mask, she realized. His true countenance was the one he’d worn while glaring at Mr. Gye at the Cascade. One of bitter hatred.
“The Sanctuary is noclub,” he said. “This is a brotherhood, one my father founded. It has been building in strength for decades, operating out of sight, protecting its brothersandits sisters?—”
“You call passing young women around for some twisted initiation and strangling themprotection? You are deranged.”
Martin moved away from the bleeding physician and came toward Audrey. But Abbey raised a hand to stay the brute.
“Most members can restrain themselves. Sadly, Comstock was not one of them.” He kept strolling toward Audrey, the firelight from the hearth glowing over the black superfine of his jacket. She stood a few strides away from the dining table, which was dressed for dinner with silver cutlery and china plates. Audrey pretended to scuttle back, away from him in fear, and she went in the direction of the table.
“Things tend to become heated during our initiations,” Abbey said, stalking her. She made a show of backing up into a chair at the table and being startled by it. If she reached behind her, she could close her hand around a fork or knife.
But Abbey must have foreseen her plan. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her to him before she could grab for a utensil. Hespun her so her back sealed to his chest and wrapped an arm around her, pinning her arms into place at her side. His other hand closed around her throat.
“Comstock had a penchant for asphyxiation,” he said, his lips at Audrey’s ear.
“Release her, Abbey!” Thornton shouted, but Martin only struck him again.
The fingers around Audrey’s throat closed with slightly more pressure. “I gave him a second chance after what happened with Stromburg’s initiate.”The woman from the Red Lotus,Audrey thought as her pulse began to throb in her ears.Comstockhad been the one to strangle her. And then, he’d strangled Bethany too.
“But we must weed out troublesome members before the rot sets in,” Abbey whispered into her ear. “You, Your Grace, are very troublesome. As is the Viscount Neatham. Where is he? Oh, I know he would never allow you to come here all on your own.”
Her ears were pounding now, her breaths constricted. But elation still managed to weaken her legs. They may have captured Thornton, but not Hugh.
“He’s about to bring Bow Street down on your head,” she rasped, her words barely able to form for the pressure on her throat.
Air shuttled into her lungs as Mr. Abbey released her and shoved her away. She fell to her knees, lightheaded from the sudden influx of oxygen.
“The viscount is here, I am certain of it now,” Abbey said. “Martin, put her in with the other. Then send Trunchett and Boggs to search the rooms and passageways. Don’t overlook the stables. He could have come in through there.”
Martin hauled Audrey to her feet, her vision tipping. Thornton thrashed at his bindings in the chair as she was dragged out of the hall.
Abbey was right. Hugh was here. Somewhere.
Audrey only prayed that he had a plan.
Chapter
Nineteen
Thinking it better to split up and cover more ground, Hugh and Thornton agreed to part ways at the branch in the tunnel.
“And if one of is apprehended?” Thornton said.
“Pretend you are Sir Galahad, come to rescue the fair maiden, and are entirely alone, of course,” Hugh replied.
“Or I could sell you out to save my own hide,” his friend had muttered as he’d taken the branch leading right.
“If you do that, I will tell your father all about Dr. Brown in Whitechapel,” he’d tossed back.
Thornton had been running a charity clinic in the slums for a few years now under the pseudonym of Dr. Brown. If the Marquess of Lindstrom were ever to learn of it, Thornton’s generous annual income would surely be slashed. That clinic and his devotion to it was the one glaring flaw in Thornton’s otherwise impeccably drawn character as a devil-may-care rake. And it was why Hugh knew his friend would lay down his life before selling him out.
The left branching tunnel had gone on for another minute of twists before finally emptying out into what looked to be an underground stable. Several horses and coaches were storedthere, and sure enough, the door of each coach had been emblazoned with the inverted cross. He was in the right place. The Sanctuary. That didn’t give him much relief, only the vindication of being correct.
